Yes, Father's Day was yesterday. My Father's Day gift was a little late to my dad. In fact, I only spent about 15 minutes with him on the special day. So, after failing so miserably on that holiday that will never ever possibly be for me, it's only fitting for a post regarding fathers (and mothers) to be a day late.
I spent most of this weekend in Sioux Falls, staying with the family of a couple Dordt friends. We spent a significant amount of time in suburbia, at Falls Park, driving around the city, and attended a rather large and youthful church on Sunday, so I was able to observe many families interacting. For some reason--maybe because of the upcoming holiday or maybe simply because I will have a family someday--I was very interested in the family dynamics going on around me. I saw parents pushing their children on swings, catching them at the bottom of slides, and chasing them around on the wood chips. I observed a baptism followed by the newborn child's older brothers singing a song of dedication for the ministry of music in the service. I passed by a nursery full of crying infants and rambunctious toddlers. Families and small children were everywhere.
Sometime during these observations, I was reminded of the reality that my family had once looked like these. A mom, a dad, a six-year-old nerdy brunette boy, four-year-old crabby redheaded girl, and a collic-y blonde newborn baby boy once roamed the streets of Hospers. Strollers and bikes with training wheels cruised those cracked sidewalks. And cries, whimpers, arguments, pouts, and plenty of spankings filled a God-centered household. Yes, we were the Janssen clan. I know from stories shared that my brothers and I were a handful. David was a space cadet. He would tend to wander off while spacing off or with a book in hand. I was an energetic, yet attitude-filled child with the flaming orange locks to match my personality. And Jonathan, well, he collic-y from day one, which I'm sure made for a hectic life. The boys became best friends quickly and often left their only sister to play alone with her dolls all afternoon. (It wasn't really as bad as I made that sound.)
Regardless of the memories my parents have told us about, the young family we remember only through pictures and stories still exists today because of love. A love that a Father showed to all of His children through His Son. A love that that same Father showed to the young parents of that family. And a love that those parents were able to model their own love for their mischievous children after.
Yesterday was Father's Day. A day in which every child is supposed to remember his or her father and thank him for the love and support he has given to his children. On Father's Day, my first feelings were that of remorse and regret. Regret for all the pain and difficulty I've given both my parents. Remorse for making them have to struggle to spank me, discipline me, and show the tough love that they're so good at granting. My parents have raised me with a selfless love for almost 21 years. They gave up their carefree, youthful lives to marry and acquire an immense amount of responsibility and commitment through their relationship with one another. They decided to give birth to David, me, and finally, Jonathan, giving even more of their personal, spare time up in order to commit their lives to raising Christian children. Finally, they turned their backs against the world and chose to commit their lives to Christ before they had even met one another, knowing that one day they may both be called to influence their children in the same way.
My parents never gave me everything I wanted. In fact, our upbringing could be considered frugal by many. I am a PK, after all. However, this has never bothered me. My parents were able to give us everything we needed and that is all that mattered. They provided us with a Christian home, full stomachs, clothing, and all the love they had to offer... everything necessary for a life of service to God.
More importantly, though, is the truth that my Heavenly Father has freely given me everything I could never deserve and more.
Two examples of beautiful love left me with my own feelings of love, gratitude, and obedience at the end of Father's Day. Obedience..a feeling that will always need work. Gratitude..for the self-sacrificial commitments. And finally, love..for two parents willing to sacrifice their lives for mine..and for my true Father, the one who did sacrifice His own Son's life for mine..and my parents'.
Lesson learned: The next time I decided to argue with, ignore, or pick a fight with my parents, it is my prayer that my Father's Day feelings are stirred within me once again and that instead, I am able to embrace my God-given parents with the same love that they raised me with.
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