Growing up, I couldn’t have asked for more. I was wanted and welcomed into my family and have no excuses for the bad stuff I’ve done, no one to blame for my mistakes.
Being born as the second girl, I once pressed Dad to tell me the truth. “Were you disappointed I wasn’t a boy?”
When he paused before answering I said, “So… you were.”
“Only for 60 seconds,” he said. And I took him at his word.
That was the undercurrent of our father-daughter relationship. Although he was generally pleased with me, when I disappointed him, it lasted only about 60 seconds. I never once doubted his love.
Mom was his opposite, remaining a kid at heart even at 92. She dressed in costume for every holiday, and loved playing games and practical jokes. She often told me, “You make me laugh!” Coming from a woman who never muffed a punch line, that was high praise.
Eventually I became the middle child, a great place to be. Firstborns have to lead, and babies never get out from under that label. The middle kid can bounce along beneath parental radar, no problem.
If I was asked to give a one-word summary of my childhood, it would be “secure”. I wasn’t ridiculed at home, labeled as something I wasn’t or compared to my more intelligent siblings. My friends were always welcome, even in droves, and when decisions were being made, my opinion was heard.
So?
Big deal.
Who cares?
It does matter, and here’s why. God blesses people for only one reason: to bless other people. Everything I’ve been given wasn’t/isn’t mine, including the intangibles. It all belonged and still belongs to God.
Sadly, I’ve often failed to be responsible in passing along the goodies that came to me. It wasn’t as if my folks weren’t continually modeling the giving principle. Dad would solicit our help in spreading out the charity envelopes he accumulated throughout each year, in preparation for slipping a check into each one. It seemed like a great deal of giving to me, since there were dozens of different charities represented. But I guess that’s the point he was quietly trying to make.
And Mom gave herself away in countless ways, first to other people’s children but then to neighbors, friends, strangers, the needy, the elderly. She was modeling what she hoped I would be eager to give away years hence.
My entire life ought to be about serving and giving. Because it’s not, I’m falling short. My folks sat on committees and boards, taught Sunday school, stood for Christ in the neighborhood, entertained weekly and worked hard every day.
Mom used to tell us she dreaded shaking hands with a preacher because her calloused, rough skin might injure his petal-soft palms. But Dad worked just as hard at his engineering firm, despite having soft hands. Both of them modeled valuable, virtuous habits.
Maybe there’s still time for me. Both Mom and Dad lived into their 90’s, so if I figure it out fairly soon, I might have one-third of my life to get it right.
“When someone has been given much, much will be required in return; and when someone has been entrusted with much, even more will be required.” (Luke 12:48b)
