It's Father's Day this weekend, a time to celebrate dads and their dadliness. For some it's not so great - either dad was absent or dead or worse. For this dad it is a time to realize how much I need to improve in my dad-hood, and frankly it seems to be getting harder and harder each year.
I found this poem in an old email, I think my friend Marvin Hines sent it to me. I wanted to use it for a meditation in the worship guide this Sunday but our worship pastor ixnayed it. She thought it was a little too depressing. I find it convicting and compelling. Hopeful, in a weird way.
By Reid Bush, from What You Know. Sorry, Reid, I didn't get permission to publish this, but maybe it'll a) Help a dad to wake up or b) Help you sell a book.
Where are MenWhen they're Not at Home?
Different places.
Some are out at the barn checking on the mare that's about to foal. I know, not many now. A few.
Some are running down to the corner store to pick up something they forgot. Be right back.
Some are in offices practicing pitches. Spiels.
Some are phoning from offices—saying they'll be late.
Of course, many are dead. You suddenly think about them because you're back where you haven't been in 20 yearsand go to look them up.
But they're not there.
Just some widows.
But most are way off somewhere searching for fathers who were never home enough.
2 comments:
Had to read that twice to get it. Once gotten, easily agreed with
If you'd used that poem you would have pulled the pop-top on a shaken can of carbonated trauma - which, if I know you as well as I think I do, is just your style.
- Doug
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