Gone Fishing

Father's Day. Right before the Father's Day sermon this year, Mike and our middle child, Justin sang a song called "My Old Man" by David Mallet. I created a power point presentation with pictures of the fathers in the congregation and when possible, their fathers. When it came to the line about going fishing once a year, I couldn't resist. I used this picture of my Grandfather, our son Justin now grown, and Heidi. He taught both of them as much about fishing as he could during our stay that year. Grandpa was not well, and we had traveled to Florida to see him. Heidi was worried about him and it shows in this picture.

I did not realize how it would get to me. My Grandpa -- long dead. My father died. And of course, Heidi.

But there really is no of course about that. At least not here in the US. And maybe never.

Today I read in the Post about a nine-year-old Afghani girl who was hit by a Taliban bomb. Only perhaps the story is more about her father. In a part of the world that seems to value boys above girls, he cradled the shattered body of his daughter and ran to the American base for help. While the medics searched for signs of life, the father stooped down out side. Burying his face in his hands, he prayed for his little girl as the rain poured down to wash her blood from his tunic. It did not matter that some see girls as having less value. When the medic told him Akhtarbabi had died, his father's heart also shattered.

Even in a place torn by war and bombs, parents do not expect their children to die before them.