Tag Archives: a father’s love

For my Dad


Dad and just a few of his girls
perspicacity-(noun) keenness of mental perception and understanding; discernment

I just learned that word. I sounded it out syllable by syllable.  I discovered it while searching for the symbolism of the eagle.  Let me explain.

With Father's Day upon us I was thinking of my dad and a conversation we've had more than once.  We talked flying dreams and how they differed amongst dreamers. One person dreams they can fly with ease. They just levitate and then soar wherever they desire. Sounds freeing.

I've had several dreams about flying. The one I can remember though, was a dream where I could fly, but only on a carpet. I had to keep it with me wherever I went. I was a psychology major when I started college so I look to deeper meaning even when it's probably not there. In my talk with my dad I concluded the "flying with aid only" dream must represent my codependent nature.

My dad said he had a flight dream, but he had to flap really hard. It was WORK.  This sent us into a conversation about birds and what kind we'd be.

Dad decided-

"I'd be a buzzard because a buzzard sails without flapping much."

I'd never had a pleasant thought about buzzards. My buzzard sightings are usually unfortunate. I usually meet the beasts in the road feasting on road kill.  A buzzard met my windshield one time. I suspect he was being greedy after having watched all the other buzzards move off the road; either that or he had terribly slow reflexes.

My dad isn't a buzzard. He could never be a buzzard.

He works too hard. 

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters. Colossians 3:23

Whether it was teaching us kids to ride a bike, drive a standard,or play basketball, Dad taught us to give it our all.

He wasn't concerned that we were the best at it, just that we did our best. 

He's unlike a buzzard, ugly up close. Dad's a beautiful soul.  I've never not-thought that. Even in my moody teenage years he encompassed virtue. Integrity sums up his character. He's a rock. He is strong with a kind heart. He's honest; compassionate without giving to flattery. He sticks to his moral principles in times where morals shift.

If you look closely at my dad's hand you'll see a scar. I can't see that it's ever faded.  The scar comes from a serious burn from when he was little.  That scar looks exactly like an eagle.

Nope.  You're no buzzard.

In my intent watching I insist you're an eagle; like the buzzard they soar.  Maybe to some you do soar effortlessly. But more importantly is what you see up close. You are the embodiment of perspicacity (thought I wasn't going to back to that, did you?).

You're understanding is beyond compare.  Your advice is welcome and even sought after by many. This understanding is evidenced by the many that come to you to be ministered to-be it on the bus or at your shop. You seek out the downtrodden.  You're a friend to everybody and you're fatherly to many, but I'm lucky to call you MY dad....

I say you're an eagle.

...those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles. Isaiah 40:31

Love you Pops!!

Happy Father's Day


If you ever see me eating M&Ms you can be certain that they melt in my mouth AND in my hands.  -That's because I've microwaved them for as long as I can remember.  Before you start thinking that I'm crazy, know that I'm not the only one who does this. My siblings do it too.  And our children microwave their M&Ms.  My mom even has a stack of small microwavable bowls and a large container stocked with M&Ms at all times.

The origin of intentionally melting our M&Ms is quite simple. For years, my Dad drove eighty or more miles everyday from our small town to his workplace in Arlington.  He worked long hours and then had a long drive home.  I remember being excited along with my brother and sisters when we would hear his truck driving down the dirt road returning home.  We were doubly excited when, many times Dad would get out of his truck and then pat his shirt pockets.  That signal let us know that he had stopped on the way home to get M&Ms for each of us.  Having stayed in his pocket for the trip, the M&Ms were always melted to perfection.

My Dad

Having tasted my M&Ms that way, I have abandoned eating them any other way.  I mean, I may have tossed a few of the unmelted candies in my mouth if they were offered to me or if I see a bowl of them at a party.  But I hold no affection for them.

The candies I love are reminiscent of my father's love. They represent a father who, though busy and tired, took the time to make his children feel special and loved. They bring back time spent with my father. I am thankful my children and my nieces and nephews have experienced the thrill of seeing Papa pat his pocket.

We live over three- hundred miles away from my Dad now. My Dad is still the hardest working man I know.  We look forward to finding time between demanding schedules and distance to spend time together. Even over geographical distance, M&Ms are still eaten melted at the Burden house. I don't remember who started microwaving the M&Ms. Like many other things, my siblings and I would probably each assume lone credit.  But I think we would agree on one thing. The melted M&Ms serve as a reminder that our lives have been blessed having been warmed by our father's heart.

You must know Dad.

Through your provision,

through your sacrifice,

through your love,

and simply through your presence,

you have colored my world and warmed my heart.