Happy Birthday, Daddy

I can't believe I posted below and forgot to say THIS IS MY DAD's BIRTHDAY. Happy Birthday, Daddy!

To those who've never met my dad, you must. Don't get a day older before you make his acquaintance. I've always called him "Jesus with Skin On." He exemplifies First Corinthians 13:4-7. Where you see the word "love" fill in "Lyle" or, as I do, "Daddy." Where you see "it," substitute "he" or "him."

4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Ten Things About My Dad:
1) He has never yelled at us. He only got visibly disturbed twice a month, and that was when paying bills. We knew not to bother him for money then. When he'd pay bills and we happened to mention wanting something that cost money, he would say, "Dearheart--" or "HoneyChild--." Imagine! A father whose harshest name for his girls is "dearheart" and "honeychild." He didn't even fill in our middle name after that. I never heard "HoneyChild Marie--not now."

2) He has only used foul language one time in my presence. (Maybe in his life.) That was when, as a pastor in Kansas, he and my mom had a rental property in Missouri. Their tenants were low-class scumbags. (In case you couldn't tell,I didn't inherit niceness from Daddy.) They were slobs to the 100th degree. I remember a conversation he was having with the man and my dad was trying every which way to control himself. My parents had recently seen the place and there was filth everywhere, the worst of it being dog mess in the basement. My dad had the phone (which back then was also attached to the base) and was trying to keep us out of earshot, but we were nosy. Seeing Daddy mad was so rare we just had to hear him! Well, imagine our shock (and subsequent giggle) when he, Mr. Wonderful Pastor, says to the guy, "And there was dog shit on the basement floor!" We asked him later why he said a bad word, and very embarrassed said, "Because he's a person who wouldn't understand any other language, dearheart."

3) My dad is incurably romantic. He should give writing lessons to men who know nothing except how to underline what Hallmark has already written. Whether an anniversary card to Mama or a Valentine to his daughters, he knows how to write sincere mush that just makes ya melt. Every Valentine's Day he would leave a big box of chocolates and a big mushy card for Mama at her place on the kitchen table. Each of us girls got a small box of chocolates and a small card. To this day, he lavishes us with sweetness on that day. I always wanted to repay him somehow, but it wasn't until God gave me a son, my last child, on February 14th, that I felt I adequately could. When I handed Joel Lyle to him four years ago, I said, "Daddy, I've never known how to thank you enough. Here's a Valentine with your name on him."

4) My dad taught me how to give. (So did my mom, but this is about Daddy.) When he paid bills, tithe was always first. Then house mortage and Christian school tuition. Tithing was never a have-to, but never negotiable. When I was a little girl, sharing a pew at church with my sisters and my parents at Harford Baptist--before he was a pastor--, he would dig into his pocket for change as the offering basket was being passed. He put a quarter into each of our little hands, and we, in turn, dropped our quarter into the basket. It has always been a picture, to me, of where our money and everything else comes from: Our Heavenly Father. He puts it in my hand, I give it back.

5) My dad loves to have his family around his table. You can feel his pleasure at just having us near. "How GOOD it is!" he'll exclaim, "to have you all here. This is wonderful."

6) My dad loves to work. But I'd never call him a workaholic. He enjoys being busy with his hands and his mind. Whether designing chemical filters for the US Army (one which he invented and patented) or tilling the acre-wide garden or fixing a little girl's broken bicycle chain, Daddy likes to be productive. Without him I wouldn't have passed Algebra 1 or 2, Rachel wouldn't have attempted Electrical Engineering classes at Delaware, Andrea wouldn't have a barn for the horse she raised, and Jill wouldn't have , well, the world.

7) My dad loves the Lord. I should have made this #1, because it's for this reason that all the other things are true about Daddy. You can hear it when he prays, you can feel it when he hugs you, you can sense it when he preaches, you can sense it when he sings, you can see it when he waits patiently for all the slowpoke women in his family. He loves Jews and Gentiles, rich and poor, black and white, pretty and plain.

8) My dad is a gentleman. In 46 years of marriage, he has maybe not opened my mom's car door a dozen times, and that's because she insisted on holding it herself for whatever reason (for his benefit). It was one thing I was looking for in a man, and if he didn't come with the door-holding habit, I'd train him in that. My parents always watched the guys I dated to see if they held the car door. (DAddy said it was a telltale sign that he was a Prince of a Fellow.)If Daughter's Date did not hold the car door, they had their doubts about what other selfishness he was harboring. Well, poor Paul, he grew up with all brothers and a dad who didn't practice the car door thing because he and his mom were split up. I wanted to keep Paul no matter what, and had to whisper occasionally (the training part) on the way to the car, "Please hold my door, my parents are watching." To this day, I think Daddy watches Paul to make sure his daughter is being treated like a lady. (She is.)

9) My dad is a math whiz. His claim to fame: he tutored legendary basketball star Wilt Chamberlain in college. I don't know if it was college algebra or calculus or what (I don't know if a basketball player needs calc, but anyway), he said he and Wilt used to sit together in the cafeteria at KU where Wilt was Jayhawk. Wilt was 7'4", I think, and his knees were too long to fit under the table. Daddy said he always had to sit on the end across from Wilt to eat and show him how to work equations. Wilt passed away a few years ago; my dad's still a loyal Jayhawk. He forgives Paul for being a Terps fan. (It may be the only reason Paul is not a 100% Prince of a Fellow.)

10) My dad loves me. I know it with all my heart. He has told me time and time again since I was born. I never have to guess, never have to wonder, never have to earn it or never feel like I'm going to lose his love because of bad behavior. (And trust me, of all his daughters, I've been the baddest. I don't mean worst, I mean baddest.) His unconditional love for me has been the bedrock of my stability when I've questioned why I was put on this earth. No matter how I've sinned, Daddy has forgiven me and held me through the hardest of times.

Thank you, Daddy. I love you with all my heart. You will never know how much that is. Thank you for being Jesus with Skin On. Happy Birthday!