Father’s Day

As a child, there were things I knew:

Pain was painful, pink was pretty.

And every morn, when night was through,

Dad would be up before me.

As I grew, I oft didn’t know

What was wise, or how I should learn.

But if my worries ran late and I came home low,

Dad was up until I returned.

And so my childish faith proved sound:

Dad was the first one up, and the last one down.

In my life, I’ve asked God and been shown

Blessings in burdens I had to bear.

I learned to pray when I lived at home

And Dad would lead family prayer.

Years have passed, and I can say

I’ve felt faith, and joy, and more.

But nothing has touched me the same way

As Dad’s devotions on the living room floor.

And since then I’ve never forgotten the way

Dad was the first one to read, and the last one to pray.

With my kids, I hope to do right;

Like Dad, I’ll be constant and caring.

So if they cry out in the dark of night

They’ll know that someone is coming.

Sometimes, the grown-up I became

Misses the way it used to be.

Sometimes I wonder if Dad feels the same

Or if he still sees the child in me.

That child still believes (though I fear I’m wrong)

Dad was the first one here, so he’ll be the last one gone.

Written 2023 and Copyrighted 2024 by Abigail Helland