On Father’s Day

Psalm 103:13

Last night I saw some lovely cards displayed,

And stopped to look, with others who would choose;

I paused, but soon I moved along the aisle;

The cards were not the kind that I could use.

I always sent them for this day in June

To say the things I seldom voiced aloud.

My father loved to read them; then he’d smile

And hold them as he sat with white head bowed.

I’m sure he thought of ice cream cones and toys,

Of lazy days on beaches, of games, and walks,

Of Easter clothes, of streetcar rides, parades,

Of family prayers, of light, and also deeper, talks.

I’m sure I know the reason for his smile:

He saw again the baby God had sent;

And then the searching child, the baffled teen,

Rebellious, questing, with such a selfish bent.

He would recall the day his heart was warmed—

The time I talked to him about God’s call.

I still remember what he said to me,

“This means you’ll never be your own again—at all!”

I’m glad I said my “thank you’s” while I could,

And sent the cards that seemed the ones to choose.

Last night I left the lovely cards displayed:

The kind of cards I can no longer use

Mina Russell, It’s Beautiful!

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