Welcome to 2TheHeart!
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With Fathers Day fast upon us I had to share this! As family and God are most important to me I have wonderful memories. Placed this on a beautiful graphic set last night and would like to share the url.
~Pattricia Pummill rugged_faith@yahoo.com
http://swanscottage.peacesites.net/mysoul.html
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Get out the Kleenex! Today we have two wonderful Dad stories as our "Dad Week" draws to an end. Happy Father's Day to all the Dads and "Stand-in" Dads out there! If you aren't on our Funny Friday list, you'll want to be for this week's story, "Laughing With Dad" by Bevanne Sinclair.
"I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection."
~ Sigmund Freud
"A Father's Eyes"
by Amanda Krug
The noonday sun stared overhead as heavy, humid air draped cloudless skies with temperatures reaching nearly one hundred degrees. Beads of sweat dripped relentlessly from my husband's narrowed brow, trickling along a path of tired lines etched in his forehead, then finally mingling with the tears that continuously welled in his deep brown eyes. My heart ached for him, as I knew his did for me.
I watched intently from a distance, keeping my eyes focused on his. My mind wandered back to easier days like our very first meeting and how I gazed into those tender, dark eyes as they spoke directly to my soul when Michael unflinchingly declared he would marry me someday. He later sealed that first promise when we knelt across a holy altar and pledged our lives one to the other for eternity, Michael's loving eyes mirroring my reflection as though I were truly the greatest treasure he'd ever beheld. I reminisced about how his beautiful eyes danced with pure joy in the delivery rooms at the hospital when each of our children was born. And how Michael carefully followed every detail of their arrivals
with great interest, charming the doctor and nurses with his natural curiosity and obvious devotion. Oh, how he loves his children! His eyes truly sparkle with delight each time the kids dash out the door to greet him when he arrives home from work, pummeling him with hugs and kisses before he is barely able to get out of the car. Somehow he manages to walk with children hanging from his arms and waist, his eyes searching for me to appear and complete the daily family reunion in a big group hug.
As my eyes followed his, I remembered the difficult times when his eyes would become fraught with worry as illness or hardship struck, and the few times I have even witnessed a hint of justifiable anger behind his normally controlled gaze. Or the playful gleam he gets when he thinks he's outsmarted me.
I thought I knew each look, each glance, behind every emotion and thought, but his eyes now revealed an intense pain and sadness I had never seen in them before.the sorrow of a father's broken heart.
Michael's steps seemed measured and heavy as he approached the limousine that had ushered our newborn babies from the funeral home to the century old, family-filled cemetery. With the sheltering touch known only by fathers, he lifted the tiny, white casket they shared from the seat of the car and gingerly carried it to the newly opened and painfully undersized gravesite. Michael carefully set aside the cascade of daisies and multi-colored roses that lay atop the casket and lovingly lowered the bodies of our precious twin sons into the ground as though he had simply found Max and Ben fast asleep on our family room floor with the TV buzzing nearby -- gently lifting them into bed, tucking them in for a good night's rest.
I felt my knees buckle and reached for his hand. Michael's hand instinctively gripped mine as he drew me into his strong arms and held me close while I laid my head on his shoulder. We wept.
He kissed my tear-stained cheeks, lifted my chin with his hand and looked directly into my eyes. From a distance, I had only focused on the pain in his eyes, but up close, I once again recognized within his gaze a familiar, protective reassurance.
"I have to finish this now. They're too little, Hon, I have to make sure they are safe." Michael whispered as he pulled away from me. He picked up the heavy shovel that he had taken care to request from the cemetery caretaker, and in the sweltering heat, lovingly covered the tiny grave.one shovel-full of dirt at a time.
Our babies had been born without the breath of life - still and silent. They had never felt the warmth of their daddy's tender touch or heard the soothing tones of his deep voice. They never had an opportunity to crawl upon poppa's lap and giggle endlessly at vintage cartoons or sneak off with him to the nearby pond to sit quietly and watch the turtles when they got too wiggly during church services. Perhaps they would miss a lifetime of cherished father-son moments and even the guarded instruction that only a father can give to his children. But, I am convinced our sons watched with great pride as their daddy courageously laid their mortal bodies to rest and, from heaven that day, looked deep into their father's eyes and understood the harmony of a father's perfect love.
Amanda Krug copyright 2001
Fishers, IN
Krug_family@iquest.net
This is only one of many acts of selflessness and courage displayed by my husband when our babies died. Some stories I can tell, some he will have to write himself. He is also equally awesome with our four living children - Abby, Lilli, Evan, Grant (who remind us each day what a joy and a blessing it is to be parents). Thanks, Michael, for your perfect love.
Amanda is author of "Vanessa's Legacy", "Hope When I Need Her" and other inspiring stories found in our archives.
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DADDY'S TREE
by Shelly Duke
Climb up real high,
and hide and seek
Count to 50
and then take a peek.
Climb up in her arms
and dream a dream
Or wait till night
and catch a real moon beam.
There is a great big tree
That stands in our front yard.
To try to find a memory
Where it is not, is truly very hard!
_______
Under that tree we've had so many childhood games... Red rover, and green light, and hide and seek We always had the best tire swing a kid could ask for. We climbed that tree till we had the bark worn down smooth in our favorite places. So many times I'd climb that tree just to feel the wind better. It was a place of freedom and fresh air. Until I got my last spanking for being up there as a storm was approaching. I remember mother saying to me. "Shelly, what are you doing up there?!! Don't you see it's about to storm?"
" I know Mom it feels good up here! "
" Well get down ! Right now! "
"But it feels too good! "
" You get down right now or get a spankin! "
" A spankin! Ha,ha! You can't spank me I'm too old! Ha, haha!" "You think your too old huh! You get down from there and I'll show you just how old you are young lady!"
Well I did and she showed me , and though it hurt like the dickins, I couldn't stop laughing which only encouraged her on! But you know what, that big tree was worth it! We have played hard and worked hard under that big tree. How many ears of corn did we shuck together? How many bushels of beans did we snap or shell? But somehow, (maybe Hackberry magic) it would all turn out the same, laughter, laughter and love. To me that big tree is my Father. It's trunk is immovable! So strong in it's stance. It knows it's job and come rain or shine, blistering hot or so very cold , it never fails it's duty. It's branches are so impressive . I remember asking Daddy to make a muscle , that was always impressive too. : )
Those branches, like his arms were always stretched out for us. Ready for a game, a hug , or just a hide away from the world. They reached out in every direction in our lives; governing, shielding, owning, protecting, loving us. That tree is always there! So reliable , and though I can't climb up in it's branches as I used to, I still feel wrapped up in them . A very sweet and protected feeling. And it's leaves. We've watched them change their colors and even leave for a time, all the while knowing that the bare times would pass and soon we'd have the beautiful tiny green leaves back again. How grateful we were each spring when those leaves would return! In the spring it brings giggles to my heart to see them tickle the sky as the wind floats through them. We've watched the way they dance in the breeze as they whirl and twirl to the ground in the Fall . All this reminding me of Daddy's sense of humor, and his tickles from my childhood.
How inspiring that tree has been, lessons in it's just being there. When I was young and claimed it for my own, it was already so big. I didn't realize that it could have grown anymore, it was already so huge, but it did! It was amazing to think what history it had seen. How could this great tree/ or man/ have started out as humble as a seed? How did it get to this stature? I know how.
Day after Day, it stayed put , and endured to the end. It accepted it's place in this world, but it stretched up as tall as it could and reached for Heaven. That big tree has been so good to us, all this time. We have claimed it as our own. And I think that has been good for the old tree. Somehow, I think all those children who found such pleasure and rest in it's branches, and even the occasional escaping kitten, or sheltering bird, also gave something back to that big tree.
Perhaps even though we weren't always gentle, we were needed. Maybe to wear down some of that rough bark. And now, a new crop of children claim that tree as their own. We are so thankful that it is still there for them! It's lessons have been too valuable not to be passed down to the next generation. How we love that old big tree!
We'll miss that big old tree one day when it is gone, as it must go someday. But it won't be so very far away. It is in us. It has helped to shape us and teach us. And we will be a part of it, and it will be a part of us. I hope there will be a life giving tree in my own yard one day. But until then, I'll hang on to the one I have in my heart. And if there is a heaven, and I know that there is, there will be a place by your mansion where a big tree will be waiting to shelter and shade us all again!
Thanks for the tree Dad, and for the life lessons! It has helped grow us up so good, that we'll be fine, and even thrive, even after it is gone.
Happy Father's Day
All my love to you,
Shelly
Shelly Duke
sduke@tcworks.net
I wrote this story for my father who is heartbroken over the fact that the city has crept up and surrounded his country home and soon will want to cut down his most beloved, giant Hackberry tree. This tree has about a 15' circumference, and it's limbs spread about 100 ft. at it's widest part.
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The Letter Box:
Dear 2theheart,
"Planting a Memory" and "Stand-In Dad" both tugged at my heart string this week! What an excellent week of stories this has been! God bless you for your hard work and continuing to make a difference to others in the face of your own heartache, Susan. 2TheHeart is a Godsend. Thank you!!
~Barbara R.
Chico, CA
Dear Susan,
The stories this week have been AWESOME!!! Daddy's Teachings was beautiful and I cherish it and all the other stories you run.
~Geena
Dear Angie ,
I love "Daddy's Teachings", and I can't resist leaving you a message with my thoughts.
Your "Daddy" was such a great role model. What a dear father he is. I think it's so important for you to tell him exactly what makes him so "special" to you. Of course he can read this story and find out.
My father was also a good man, and he showed me every day how much he loved me. I adored him, and still do. I lost him in 1965 at age 65. It nearly broke my heart.
I wanted to mention how my husband has always been a loving Dad. He is so full of fun, and now of course he is enjoying our grandchildren. What do you think of a father who comes home from a hard day's work to entertain his kids and their friends on the front lawn by standing on his head, with all the loose change falling out of his pockets? He always found a way to make our girls giggle, especially when he read stories with his amazing voices. He treats our grandchildren to his fun ways too.
As I remember, he also played jacks with our girls. He even taught them to play chess, and to fish, among other things. I have to be careful not to complain about any tiny little thing he does, because the girls leap to his defense. Their Dad can do no wrong.
I'm sure you will treasure your father forever. Isn't it wonderful
that God created fathers? Thanks to your story, I'm going to ask our grown daughters write down a few things they think are special about their Dad to give to him on Father's Day. I'm sure he'll have tears in his eyes when he reads them, and it will be worth it.
Keep your delightful stories coming.
God Bless You,
Pat Lowe
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