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48 East – The tools my Father gave me

I don't remember how old I was. I do remember how tall Dad looked to me. So I must have been pretty young. On that mild winter's afternoon, I was outside “helping” Dad (which at that time meant I was playing close by while he worked).

            I don't remember how old I was.

            I do remember how tall Dad looked to me. So I must have been pretty young.

            On that mild winter's afternoon, I was outside “helping” Dad (which at that time meant I was playing close by while he worked). Dad was making chop for the cattle. He was using the PTO on the tractor to run the machine. I don't remember much about what the whole process looked like. I can just barely picture the old tractor he was using.

            But, I do remember seeing that massive belt that was hooked to the PTO. I remember standing and watching it. It almost looked as though that heavy belt had transformed into a fluid.

            I imagined it might feel something like syrup.

            I stretched out my hand to touch it.

            My feet left the ground.

            Before I even had time to breathe, I felt myself lifted up, then set back down again. I was now meters away from where I'd been standing half a heartbeat before.

            Dad was clasping me by the shoulders. Decades have passed since the moment happened. But, I can still see the look on Dad's face as clearly as if the incident had happened five minutes ago. I now know that the peculiar tone I heard in his voice that afternoon was pure shock.

            “Don't touch that! Connie, that's a machine. Machines don't care if they kill you!!”

            It took a few years for me to understand everything that my Dad taught me that day.

            In that instant, Dad taught me that even the handiest tool can hurt you. He taught me not to base my decisions solely on what I think I see. He taught me to stand back and think twice before I commit myself to doing something that I might regret. He taught me that before I decide to put my trust in something (or someone); I'd better know that trust is warranted.

            Above all,my Dad taught me that even when I make a bad decision, his love for me will never falter.

            I have not always taken heed of the lessons my Dad taught me. I'm not going to treat you here to a litany of all of the poor decisions that I've made over the years. (Neither of us has THAT much time.)

            But I will tell you this:

            Whenever I have repented of my mistakes; the lessons that my Dad taught me have proven to be my best tools; whether I am trying to repair the damage or starting from scratch. And through it all, I have grown more and more thankful for the blessing that my Dad has been in my life.

            These days, God has entrusted me with the task of being Emily's only living parent. At times, I struggle to try and “fill in the gaps” that Gary's death has left. The older she gets, the more I find myself seeking God's guidance, as I try to fill the role of both 'Mom' and 'Dad'.

            Often, I find that the example God puts before me, is the example that my Dad set in my life.       The lessons I learned from my Dad that particular winter's afternoon, and in the years that followed, are still among my most reliable tools.

            With a thankful heart, I strive each day to use them well. 

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