Tag Archives: dad


I've been collecting my thoughts about you, you being the most important father (and person) in my life. You're not MY father, you're my main man. But I'm a star witness to you being Dad to the three runners up for most important people in my life. 
For Father's Day this year I'm giving you something different. It's not another sappy love post or one that boasts how proud I am of you. (Though I am proud). I'm giving you a gift that keeps on giving.

 I'm giving you a promise; one that I'll likely fail at. But it's a promise I'll renew daily, just like commitments should be.

 It came tumbling over me, in my thinking, just how weighty your job as a father and as a man is.  

 You're called to lead our flock. We look to you to financially and emotionally support us. I know how exhausting that job is. We expect you, after working long (often stressful) hours at work, to come home with energy to entertain us...or guide us.....or both. 

We want you to joke when we want you to joke and to be able to discern when your joking isn't called for. We call on you to be the settler of disputes. I ask you to support me in my parenting, requesting clean up on aisle five after a mess has been made by my "moody momming". 

We need you to be concerned about our day when concern for countless others takes up residence in your mind.  

  Somebody asked me once if I had keys to the church. I told them no. I joked that I'm glad not to have them because having extra keys means added responsibility. 

I lose my own keys enough without being accountable for another important set of keys. 

You have that responsibility though. You've got a big set of keys in this calling you've been given. 

I promise to remember that. 

You're answerable to many, namely three (most of the time) darlings. 

Here's what else I promise. 

I promise to reconsider the keys on my own keyring, ridding it of the ones that weigh it down. Because too often I ask you to carry those keys that we don't even need.  I'll learn better to say no to things leaving room for better things for us. 

I promise to guard the keys that I do have, protecting our time together at home and at the table. 

We expect unwavering strength in you. We need your unshakable love and commitment. 

I promise to pray that God would give the measure you need of each. 

I'll remember to remain in prayer for you, calling out to the one who makes the rough places smooth, The Keeper of the Keys. 

For it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose. Philippians 2:13

Remind me when I forget. 


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.