kellydelp.com

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Being a pastor’s kid has all sorts of implications. There’s a strange element about watching the pastor of your church walk around your house in the morning, tuck you in at night, and lose his temper.

I remember as a child coming home from church and we would all change into our Sunday afternoon clothes – which for Dad was generally cargo shorts, a tshirt, and his black dress socks pulled up mid-calf. I remember sometimes staring at him trying to imagine him as the man in the pulpit, but couldn’t do it. He was Dad.

When you are a pastor’s kid, you have a special opportunity to criticize the church, especially the pastor. You see everything. You see every inconsistency between what is practiced and what is preached.

I am privileged to have a Dad that is part of my life. I am beyond blessed to have a Dad that is deeply involved in my life and who cares for me so much. But to have a Dad who is a man of integrity, who is the same wherever he is…I don’t know an adjective for that. I could call it lucky…maybe I will, for now.

Some know my Dad as the man who is speaking into their lives. Some know him as a preacher, and they know some of his quirks (like rocking up onto his tiptoes when he gets excited). Some know my Dad as spiritual leader. Some know him as mentor. Some know him as the guy who comes in to Lowe’s every day for 8 months and buys ridiculous amounts of lumber, paint, and who knows what else.

I know him as the guy who came in at night to pray with me and kiss me on the head and tell me he was proud of me, even though I was 10 years old and there was really nothing to be proud of yet. [pullquote]But to have a Dad who is a man of integrity, who is the same wherever he is…I don’t know an adjective for that. I could call it lucky…maybe I will, for now.[/pullquote]

I know him as the guy who used to trap me in the kitchen when I was in my awkward phase (which lasted about 15 years) and hug me and tell me how beautiful I was (with a straight face even!).

He’s the guy who has led our family in communion every Christmas Eve for literally as long as I can remember – since my sister was put to bed early because she was a baby and the three of us – Mom, Dad, and I – would stay up and take communion.

He’s the guy who could bring my sister or me to tears of repentance with one pointed glare, but I’ll leave that out for now…

He’s the one who has always pushed me to reach my potential yet stood to the side and let me live my dreams the way I wanted.

To me, he is the guy who honors my mom and lets her know that he is the lucky one.

He’s the guy who eats everything I cook, even when it looks disgusting. He’s the guy who filled my suitcases and bins to Paris with little cards with scriptures, encouragement, advice, and love written on each one.

My Dad has strived to live his life in step with the Spirit, and with integrity. I am the beneficiary of his work.

I love you, Dad.