Category: Things that matter

I hate being lied to.
I hate being lied about.
I hate being used.
I hate being misquoted.
I hate being maligned.
I hate being smeared.
I hate being misrepresented.
I hate being manipulated.
I hate deception.
I hate injustice.
I hate the deeds of the devious.
I hate slander.
I hate the dealings of the deceitful.
I hate gossip.
I hate truth distorted.
I hate talk behind the back.
I hate the scheming of scoundrels.
I hate false promises of loyalty.
I hate ‘armor bearer’ promises concealing a knife for the back.
I hate dishonest gain.
I hate duplicity.
I hate disparaging dialogue.
I hate two-facedness.
I hate self-righteous pious snobbery.
Dare I mention, I hate the underhanded, two-faced, conniving, circuitous, insincere ways of the hypocritical?

I love innocence.
I love truth.
I love justice
I love fidelity.
I love open dialogue.
I love honest smiles.
I love a firm handshake.
I love a warm embrace.
I love integrity.
I love honest gain.
I love correct change.($)
I love an accurate measure.
I love hands extended.
I love hands raised.
I love hands that lift.
I love hands to hold.
I love lips that encourage.
I love lips that protect.
I love lips that praise.
I love a tender voice
I love a firm voice.
I love a reliable friendship.
I love an honest appraisal.
I love a straightforward answer.
I love a direct response.
I love a truthful counselor.
I love sincerity.
I love a candid observation.
I love a trustworthy friend.
I love an upright friend.
I love a loyal friend.
I love a devoted friend.
I love a reliable friend.
I love undying devotion.
I love dependability.
I love the pursuit of truth.
I love the power of truth.
I love truth.
I love it when truth is loved.

 

I haven’t purchased a fathers Day card since 1998.

Today I watched my sweetheart methodically selecting a Fathers Day card; carefully reading each word making certain it expressed with accuracy her thoughts and feelings for her dad.

That’s when it hit me like a sledgehammer to the side of my head, I don’t search for Fathers Day cards anymore.

I miss him.

Dad had fists of granite with huge fingers like cast iron pipes and forearms, disproportionately large, a bit like Popeye of spinach fame.

As a little boy I would walk alongside him with all of my fingers wrapped around just one of his.  When he worked on the car I watched in amazement at the way those forearm muscled moved rhythmically with each turn of the wrench.

Once during middle school I was so mad at him.  To my chagrin I found myself just outside the back door standing toe to toe with my dad.  I apparently moved my hand into an aggressive posture suggesting I wanted to take a swing at him.  Without the slightest change in his voice he invited, “go ahead and try.”  I was young and foolish yet smart enough to change my attitude in time to avoid a premature demise.  (Actually dad never used his fists on me although I do remember his hand of correction being applied to my backside)

Dad was a veteran of WWII, a sailor who’s love for drinking was only eclipsed by his love for fighting.  He might be on the ship boxing for recreation or in some port at a Bar busting heads for entertainment.

His brother Jimmy once told me how the war changed my Dad.  Like so many young men, he returned traumatized and tortured from the experience of so much death and destruction.

Don’t get me wrong, the fighting drinking sailor is not the man I knew.  There were those moments when his old ways would slip up on him but by the time I came along he was a transformed man.  Still tough as nails but fighting a different battle.

I was told that it happened at a little Pentecostal Church not far from his home town of Reedley, California.  On that particular Sunday the message of hope, forgiveness and peace with God resonated in dad’s troubled soul.  He exchanged his confusion, hurt and anger for a burgeoning relationship with Christ.

I miss my dad.  It’s Father’s Day this Sunday and I wish I could search for just the right card.