As a fulltime missionary with Children's Bible Mission, he supported his family with church donations. No extra cash really, especially at Christmas with three children to think about.
I don't think it dawned on me as a child that Daddy did some of the work he did in order to supplement his missionary offerings.
Jobs like putting bikes together at the Western Auto located on Main Street in our tiny town. Most afternoons during the holiday season, I'd walk from elementary school to the lot behind the store. Yards away as I crunched over the gravel, I'd see Daddy in a small white shed, door open, bent over a bike, tightening a bolt.
Whistling a tune, he'd pull out his trusty bandanna and wipe sweat from his brow. Even in the colder months, Daddy stayed hot.
His face split into a generous smile when he saw me approach. We'd catch up on the day for a few minutes, then I'd turn and skip away home.
A simple exchange. Yet it meant the world to me. Mostly in hindsight. At the time, it just was . . . after all, that was my Daddy. A constant. I didn't really stop to think about this comfort I curled up in. I merely experienced it and went on my way.
Yet now I see how that earthly touch is similar to my relationship with my heavenly Father. A constant comfort that at its best is simply experienced, not necessarily mused upon, but delighted in as it unfolds day by day. A child coming to her Father, enjoying His presence, His provision, because that's what a child does with a faithful Father.
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