Dad

"Consider how much love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God." I John 3:1[MEV]

The familiar and comforting smell of Old Spice clung in the tiny warm space between my Dad and me as my fingers gripped the back of his shirt collar. In spite of the awkwardness of the situation, Dad was able to safely navigate each step down toward the door at the end of the little hallway with me cradled in his arms. From there, he still had to skirt the obstacles between him and the final goal of the living room sofa. But I wasn't worried about it. I will ALWAYS be in awe of the way my Dad seems to gracefully traverse this mortal coil of ours with so much poise and strength. 

Dad and Mamaw Babb

The man contracted and barely survived Polio when he was in the third grade - leaving him with the functional use of only his left arm and hand. The right one stopped growing way back then and has since done little more for him than just hang at his side, his fingers stuck in a very non-helpful configuration.  And yet, as I have known him, he has never, one time applied for disability, accepted a cut in line, taken a blanket that could be used by someone else, expected society to monetarily compensate him, provide for him, shelter him ... or ever behaved in any other physical manner than would the rest of us. To such a degree does this amazing human being not recognize what would amount to a disability for most of us - but he has managed to navigate the disappointments that come with others' perception of being "abled" in a manner of integrity and grace. His heart was broken when Uncle Sam denied his application to serve alongside his countrymen in the Vietnam War, but he came up with other ways to support the guys sent over there. My favorite example would be the pen-pal he arranged for his best friend upon deployment. The pen-pal and BFF were later married, and I now have the awesome privilege of calling them Aunt and Uncle.

Fast way forward and here we were, on my doctor-approved daily trip down the stairs, my head not even really bobbing up and down that much as my amazing Dad raked his knees on the thankfully rounded edges of the coffee table and gently deposited me onto the couch. This gesture came with more cost than you might realize on the surface of it. It was not just my body Dad carried, I was pregnant. So he carried us both down the stairs. Because he didn't want me to be alone in my bedroom all day and wanted me to enjoy the big bay window with all the light and the birds down in the living room. 

Me & Dad

One day ... I WILL find where this man hides his cape.

With the bright Tennessee morning sunshine dancing through the blinds and onto the floor, for a split second as my rump hit the sofa cushion, I was taken back to exactly eleven years earlier - and a ratan sofa more than six thousand miles away in Davao, Philippines - when I watched my Dad carry my pregnant Mom down the stairs for the same reason. In danger of losing my baby brother to miscarriage, she'd been put on complete bed rest. So, Dad carried her down the split staircase to give her some company and a change of view. I couldn't help but smile. My Dad - meeting all of your incapacitated pregnant woman travel needs. 24/7 availability. No reservation required. Won't even complain. [LOL]

And while I will always be amazed by my Dad's tenacity and strength - what moved me so very deeply on this bright Tennessee morning - was the forgiveness and mercy freely given from my Dad to me. This little trip down the stairs cost my Dad dearly.

I was certainly pregnant. And I was most certainly NOT married.

So picture this Pastor, Missionary, Baptist Convention employee with one arm - who watched his little girl accept Jesus at age 5, get Baptized at age 8, and then completely turn her life upside down almost on purpose - FIGHTING for and with that very unmarried little girl to save the life of her unborn child by following doctor's orders for complete bed rest.

Dad & Great Grand #1

Two things in my life, two moments, have permanent rent-free space in my memory banks. One was the look on my Dad's face when he pulled into a randomly chosen parking lot, and through the window of his car, I had to tell him I was pregnant. The second one was the look on his face when he deposited me onto the sofa, smiled at me, and said: "Why does this feel so familiar"?

That moment, that second one - was when the light came on, and I learned who Jesus really is. Because my Dad showed me. It wasn't in his sermons [though I've always loved my Dad's Pulpit], it wasn't the care shown on the mission field [though some of that care nearly cost him his life on more than one occasion], it wasn't the songs he taught or the encouragement when I couldn't tie my shoes. It was ALL of those things. And the moment he demonstrated the grace and mercy of Jesus the way Jesus would.

In that moment on the stairs with my dad, Jesus became very real to me. I was reminded that God calls us His children, and I was shown how very deeply a Father's love can run, even when His heart is broken.

Happy Father's Day Karl D. Babb, Phd. Thanks for being such an outstanding Dad.