Daddy didn’t talk much. Every morning he woke up at five, exercised, read his Bible then left for work. When he got home, he read the paper, watched the news, read a book or sat with the family for a while before calling it a day.
His profession as an electrical engineer also kept him close-lipped as he spent most of his working years on some top-secret project for the phone company.
But somehow his reticence made me believe that he didn’t love me. I was so convinced in fact, that I did whatever I could to get his attention and spent many years trying to win his approval. I would sit at his feet and drink in anything he would say to me. When he did talk it was always about God, the Bible or Christianity. His love for God’s word was so strong that rarely would he talk about anything else. He would say, “You can always learn no matter how old you are.”
Daddy worked hard. He was always improving our home or repairing something. We lacked nothing, but always knew he maintained a disciplined budget and the first check he wrote each payday was our family tithe. His voiceless toil from dusk to dawn spoke volumes and only now can I hear all he was saying.
Still, I lost those early years of his love to ignorance, foolishly refusing to accept the only way he could communicate. I was so convinced that I needed his verbal and physical response and so craved his spoken affirmation that I missed his messages of affection. He loved me. His love spoke not through sounds that tickled my ears, entertaining facial expressions or constant hugging, but through his faithfulness—his servanthood to our family and to our God.
Daddy made sure we never missed church. In fact, we were always the first ones there because he had to unlock the doors; he was the sound-man and was always the last to leave.
It was his vision that every one of our church’s missionaries be able to “attend church weekly” by having the entire service on cassette tape. So, every Sunday night our family would duplicate tapes, package and mail them before we went home. It was neat to think that although these unseen members were all over the world, my dad’s efforts helped to keep them close to home.
I remember sitting next to him at a man’s funeral who had worked with him to grow that ministry. The pastor praised the deceased saint for his dedication to the Lord’s work and then credited that man for having the vision and implementing the program in our church. My Dad sat in silent humility and I was outraged. I asked him if he was angry that his partner got all the credit for this special ministry that I knew my parents birthed. Dad just said, “No, Cheryl, I work for God’s glory, not for man’s praise.”
As I look back at his life, I realize that the proof of my Daddy’s love didn’t come through his voice. It’s the same way my Heavenly Father loves me; though unseen and unheard, He shows His love for me daily by the things He provides for me and the amazing grace and mercy he showers over me. I don’t have to earn God’s love, just like I didn’t have to earn Daddy’s love; I don’t have to prove myself worthy to receive it, He simply loves me.
Daddy said he wasn’t good at finding the right words to express his feelings but he kept trying. I’m just glad he spoke God’s word to me and that he learned how to hug.