Dad

With mom it was different. The Sorrow showed up again when Jacob was born, when Whitney graduated, when I was ordained, etc. - or when I changed some thing that was "hers". When I removed the hibiscus bushes in the front yard, the empty place where they had been provoked The Sorrow every time I looked in that corner of the yard. There is still a hook in my ceiling where her oxygen tubing used to run. It looks silly, but it is comfortable.

With dad, it's different. He was my greatest fan, my greatest cheerleader, my greatest counselor. He was the first one I went to when I was uncertain. He was the first to hear of my latest "heresy" whether it was a new understanding of God, scripture, evangelism or how you "do" church. He new all my insecurity when I launched into unknown waters. He was the candle in the window in the darkest night that reminded me where I had come from so I knew why I was going.
The only question a man ever has to answer is, "Am I enough ... ?". Dad was my constant example/mentor on being enough.

With mom, The Sorrow was a momentary shadow that clouded my day.

For dad, The Sorrow is an ever present ache with a sharp pain in every triumph, every change, every new idea, every insecurity, every failure, every question, every new revelation of God, every time I reach to pick up the phone to ask/tell dad about ...
It's like nothing is ever quite complete since I haven't told dad about it yet.

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