Dear Dad,
When I reflect upon all the different kinds of dads out there in this huge and busy world, I always end up coming to the same conclusion: I have, hands down, the best dad. There is no contest.
You took me on our first Daddy/daughter date on my fifth birthday...and I remember it well today. We sat at a table by a wall at Bishop's Family Buffet, and I wore my green velvet Christmas dress. I felt like such a little lady. You asked me questions about my life, my thoughts, my hopes, and my five-year-old dreams. I knew I was precious to you then.
As I grew older, and drove you insane throughout my teenage years, you were a constant source of wisdom and guidance to me. You came to every violin recital, cheered (loudly and emphatically) at every one of my basketball games (which I know had to be painful to watch seeing that I do not have one athletic bone in this body of mine), attended plays, choir concerts (that lasted for hours), and counseled me through many ups and downs, and believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. I remember how sad you would get when summer or Christmas or spring break was over, because you genuinely loved hanging out with me and Jen.
In high school, you took time to take me for coffee, ask me about my life, and listened to my hopes and seventeen-year-old dreams. I knew I was precious to you then.
My early adult years were not such a sweet time for me. I wrestled with transitions, depression, and burn-out. When I hit bottom, and it was an ugly one, you saw something beautiful in me. You supported, encouraged, listened, and prayed. You sacrificed so much because we, your family, were more important than ministry success or achievement. You truly exemplified what it means to lay down your life for your family. What a treasure that was...is...to me. When I was at my lowest, you and mom came and spent time with me, you held me, you cried with me, and you listened to my twenty-three-year-old hopes and dreams. I knew I was precious to you then.
The older I get, the more I realize that the kind of father I have is a very rare kind of man. I still call you just to hear to say, "Amy, it's all going to work out." I still smile when I open up an e-mail from you, knowing that it probably took quite some time to hammer it out with your two index fingers. :) I still covet your prayers, respect your insights, and appreciate your valuable words of wisdom.
And that we can go out for coffee, sit and talk for hours about life, thoughts, hopes, and my thirty-six-year-old dreams, reminds me that I am, and will always be, precious to you.
Thank you, Dad.
I love you!