Mad Props for Mike

With Father's Day almost upon us, I would like to write a small tribute to one of my favorite dads.

Now, I could write a heap about my own dad. No one has had a better dad than I. He is King O' Dads -- a man who has unfailingly supported and cheered and loved me every step of my life. I have not left a footprint upon this earth that does not have the mark of his devotion upon it. He gave me wings and let me fly.

I could write volumes about the wonderful man I married, the father of our now and future children. He has been charged to love me as Christ loves the church -- that holy, sacrificial love nearly impossible to enact -- and he does a marvelous job of that. He loves his little girl, and my heart swells with gratitude to see them together. He gave me a nest where I can be safe.

The man I want to write about defies the bird metaphor. So, we're done with that.

One of my favorite people in all the world is my father-in-law, Mike.

Now, Mike and I have practically nothing in common. We've never shared a warm conversation over hot coffee. We've never compared notes on a book we've both read and enjoyed. We've never sat down and watched a movie together.

He thinks, I'm sure, that I am sort of a snob and rather spend-thrifty -- leading his son down a rose-strewn path of extravagance and away from those nose-to-the-grindstone Midwestern values. I think he's a gas; though, I cannot really relate to his interests or personality. He's about as opposite from my own treasured dad as can be; but he is beloved by me, nonetheless.

Mike has given me a gift so undeniably precious that I am forever in his debt. He has given me a husband who was raised by a father who cherished, respected, adored, protected, and delighted in his wife. By his example, he showed Jason what being a husband means -- in those real terms of sacrifice and love that too rarely are given more than lip-service. Because of Mike, I have a husband whose natural inclination is to cherish his wife.

It has been said that the greatest gift a man can give his children is to love their mother. And yet, there is much more at stake. The actions of parents have reverberations in eternity, as sins and sapience echo down through every subsequent generation. Because Mike loves Sheri well, I have a husband who loves me well. Because she had a father who loved her mother well, Sadie will (please God) choose a man who will love her well and show her children what that means. Should we have a son, he will have a model of a model of sacrificial love. These are the legacies that last.

So Mike -- lover of NASCAR and Wal-Mart -- is a gift, rightly treasured by his daughter-in-law -- lover of British literature and fine dining. What a man he raised! What a man I married! Blessed, blessed, undeservedly blessed am I! Thank you, Mike, and the happiest of Father's Days to you!

A Silver Cross

Nine times out of ten, when I look in the mirror, I see my big, goofy face staring back. But, on that tenth time, my eyes focus, not on my visage and its various imperfections, but on the small silver cross that hangs from a thin chain around my neck. And my worldview makes a sudden, seismic shift from shallow vanity to eternal truth. And that is why I wear the symbol of my Lord's shame and torture and death -- to remember that I have been purchased at a great price.

Keith Green, in his amazing and convicting sermon, "What's Wrong with the Gospel," asserted that he did not think that the cross was an appropriate thing to wear as jewelry. He said, "If Jesus had been killed in the electric chair, would we wear small replicas of that around our necks?" This gave me pause, and I had to think long and hard about whether God wanted me to continue to wear my cross. I decided to continue to wear it for two reasons. The first is that I do not see it as jewelry, per se. I do not wear the cross to draw attention to myself, nor to adorn my body for personal gratification. I wear it for that tenth time that I look in the mirror -- to remember anew what my Savior did for me at Calvary. And, secondly, I would wear an electric chair around my neck, were that the method by which I had been saved from hell and redeemed of my sins. I would wear it gratefully, joyfully, prayerfully -- as I hope I wear the cross.

I used to take my cross off at times. When I did not think that I was adequately taking up my own cross in His name, I would remove the symbol of my Lord's burden. Then, I realized that that was inappropriate. Because of the two boards stained with His blood and scarred with the holes into which they drove the nails, I have been given a grace that means that though I fail repeatedly to live His example, He shall never forsake me. The times when I am unfaithful are the times I need that glint of silver most to greet me in the mirror. In its reflection are the rough boards, the dark stains, the holes that will never fade away. Now, with an even greater realization of my unworthiness to wear it, I never remove my cross.

And wouldn't a wooden cross be more fitting as a remembrance? Well, again, I am not so sure. Wood, hay and stubble will burn up in the fire, but the things done in the name of Jesus will be turned to silver and gold in His kingdom. I wonder what that device of torture and death that stood underneath a violent, black, mid-day sky two thousand years ago will look like on the other side, transformed to reflect His glory. I see no hypocrisy in a silver cross.

The last comfort I take in my little silver cross is this: Though I only see this symbol in the mirror every tenth time instead of my face, my Father in Heaven sees me 100% of the time through the blood that was shed upon the original. And if He can see me like that -- with mercy and grace and love (and I know what kind of sinner I am -- how black and deceitful my own heart can be even after twelve years) -- how it gives me impetus and strength to see the world through more compassionate eyes. Because of what is represented by this little silver cross, I am seen and can in turn see through the covering of Christ. And that is what I want more than anything in the world.