For several months now, my Dad has been the interim pastor of the church he and my mom are members at. I too was a member there many years ago, but over the course of time, went elsewhere to church. Last summer, their pastor resigned, and my Dad having been more or less the one who filled in there in the past when the pastor was gone any time, was asked to step up and fill the pulpit.
Although my Dad pastored for most of my childhood, it has been years since he has been in a position where he was preaching at every service and directing things. Although he is not the official pastor, he is there to help lead and guide until they find someone they feel led to ask to permanently fill that position. This has been a time of renewing in my Dad in many ways, but, due to his many health problems, has been very physically trying on him.
I can't tell you enough, how proud I am of my Daddy.
My parents aren't perfect, nobody is. They made mistakes in my childhood and they didn't always do things the way others or I would have had we been in their shoes, but there was never a decision made that they didn't love me and my sister in. They were protective and cautious and strict, sometimes to a fault, but always, always did things because of love. And I see the same thing in how he has dealt with his small flock in this church.
They are much like children to him. He loves them dearly and wants the best for them. Individually and as a whole. And he may struggle at times to tell them or show them, but in his heart, he just wants them to look to God for direction and make wise choices.
And sitting under him for many months now as he preaches, I am being led once again by my Daddy. And it's a privilege that I don't take lightly nor for granted.
For years, I went to other churches with my parents and without them. We attended the same churches, then they stayed and I left and went elsewhere. And for the last 15 years, I have only heard my Daddy preach on occasion when he filled in here and there as needed.
Only God could know that I needed my Daddy to be my pastor at this time in my life. And here I am, almost every week, getting up on Sunday morning, and sitting with my Beau in church listening to my Dad preach from God's Word.
And I am blessed.
Since last fall, I have witnessed first hand how my Dad has stepped in not only to deliver a sermon or Bible Study on Sundays and Wednesdays, but to minister to the people in and out of the church as they needed. He is only one man, he only has so many hours in a day, but he has tried hard to be there when others have needed him. I saw him on Thanksgiving Day, one of his few days off per year, get up early and make the hour and a half drive to visit a man in the hospital. And that after being up half the night because my 7 year old son had been sick. I saw him only days after that, being a minister and strength and help to a woman in the church whose husband of years had passed away rather suddenly. I see him still every Sunday morning reaching out and hugging that very same woman, reassuring her and loving her. I've seen him go make visits in the evenings after long days of work (because he still has a full time 6 day a week "regular" job too). I've seen him loving his flock. Every single day.
I've watched my Daddy learn how to text. That may not seem like much, but for him it's a big deal . (Texting and Facebook are of the Devil!) I've watched him and heard about him texting people within the church to check on them and encourage them.
I've witnessed my staunch "Southern Baptist don't like music that isn't a hymn and don't dance" Daddy, raise his hands in praise and sing loudly along with the peppiest praise music the leader could find. I've seen him tap his foot and nod his head along with the drums and electric guitar and praise music in Sunday morning worship. I've had the privilege of praising my Savior WITH my Daddy.
I've watched my Daddy weeping for his church. Praying for his family, for himself and for every person sitting in those pews. I've seen his heart literally breaking before me as he was so burdened with the church and it's future.
As a child, I didn't see these things. Not because he didn't do them, but because I wasn't paying attention. I didn't notice or appreciate what my Daddy did for others near as much as I do now. I wasn't aware because I was too wrapped up in myself to notice how he cared for others around him. I knew he was loved and appreciate by some, hated by others, as is the life of every pastor. But now, as an adult, I see something different. Something more. Something clearer.
I see my Daddy not only as my Daddy, but as a pastor, as a man. I see my Daddy and I am proud of him. I am proud to say he is my Daddy. I am proud to be his daughter. I hate that my decisions in this life have marred his name in any way and I wish I could go back and change that.
I am proud to say that my Daddy is currently my Pastor.
"Your Dad is a wonderful preacher. He delivers the word with passion and knowledge. You are blessed to have him."
Later, he was speaking with my parents and myself and mentioned again how blessed he had been and that he would be back for additional services at our church while he and his family where in town. I can't say enough how much it blessed me to see someone else appreciate my Daddy like that.
It's one thing to hear your own family praise you or another family member. It's a whole other thing to hear a complete stranger say all the things you've thought yourself. It validates how you feel and lifts you up.
Yes, I am proud of my Daddy. I am proud of his dedication to his church and I am proud of the fact that he speaks what is on his heart, even when those listening don't always agree or want to hear it.
I am proud to say my Daddy is my Pastor.