good dads

Every year on Father's Day I waffle between discouragement about that horrible statistic about fathers' church attendance and the resulting faith of their children (what is it, one in fifty children grow up to be church going if the father doesn't go, I need to look it up) and huge gratitude and joy that I have a good father, that my husband has a good father and that my children have a good father. And by Good I mean Kind, Godly, There, Having a Backbone and Being Wonderful in Every Way.

I was always surprised and happy as a child that my father laughed when I said something funny. Also, it seemed that his highest priority in life was to organize a fun time. This priority included fun things like going to church and eating cake. Now, far away in Kenya, he does fun things like play in fancy Recorder Ensembles and preach many Sundays at St. Francis church. 

Here we are, way back in the bad old days in the village, eating toh (I actually have no idea how to spell this essential delicacy) and probably peanut sauce.

Matt's desire for a good time means that we eat really fabulously and are on our way to an enormous and lush garden. This spring, though, to keep me from generally freaking out under the vast weight of laundry and baseball, he has spent hours in the basement, I mean Sheol, bailing me out of the pit of laundry I dug for myself, and at almost all other moments standing on the top level of the baseball risers biting his nails and praying for the strength of Alouicisous' skinny angular arm.

He well deserves a moment to sit down and 

receive a fancy card from Elphine. Marigold wasn't able to make a card, she said, because it its her Earth Day. This has become her standard response when asked about anything. In fact, said Marigold, we should have made her a card. Honestly.

So Happy Father's Day! And thank you for being a true picture of God's good fatherliness.