There’s a white Ford F-150 supercrew pick-up parked in my garage. Her name is Blanca, and there are two booster seats and a carseat in the back. The console is full of carpool pick-up placards, country and western music CD’s, and a box of tissues. She’s a great ride for hauling around our grandpeople and bringing home groceries, but when I look at Blanca, I think of Dad.

There are lots of great trucks out there. A couple of months ago, a good friend of ours landed a really nice Tundra – and I mean nice! Another friend drives a sharp-lookin’ Chevy. And I do give a nod to the occasional Dodge Ram on the road. But if my dad had any idea I was driving anything but a Ford truck – Lord, have mercy!

This week will be the tenth Father’s Day I’ve spent without my dad. I don’t fall apart in the Hallmark store like I did the first year, but the heart of this daddy’s girl still hurts a little when the third Sunday of June rolls around.

Dad was a tough fella with big hands and a big heart – that part was supposed to be a secret. He was a little on the gruff side, but the twinkle in his eye let you know a practical joke was just around the corner. When my parents divorced, that big ol’ heart of his broke wide open. He let my two younger brothers and me know that if we wanted to stay with him, we were more than welcome. Two of us took him up on that offer. One was too young to really have a say, and he went to live with Mom.

Imagine this rough, tough man – suddenly single and suddenly parenting two teenagers on his own. Bless him. I tried to be a good kid, but sometimes I didn’t try very hard. I learned pretty quickly that tears shed at the opportune moment often worked to my advantage, and I worked it. Poor Dad.

The three of us managed to develop some order around the house. No one left for any sort of fun or other activity on the weekend unless everything was vacuumed, dusted, swept, and mopped. Laundry was a big deal to Dad – not just washing and drying, but ironing, too. And we ate so much Hamburger Helper – Dad’s specialty – that I swore it off for lots of years after I was out of the house.

Dad wasn’t extravagant. I didn’t have name brand clothes, but if I needed something for a special occasion, he managed to come through. At the start of my junior year, he and I went to look at senior rings. The one I fell in love with was a dainty gold ring with a tiny diamond in the center. It was one of the more expensive rings, and Dad told me not to get my hopes up. And I didn’t. On Christmas Eve, after we had opened all of the gifts under the tree, Dad went down the hall and came back with a beautiful little box wrapped in shiny paper with a delicate bow. I held my breath as I opened the box, and – nothing! The look of shock on my face was just enough to send my dad over the edge with laughter! I just stared at him, and after pulling himself together, he reached into his pocket and gave me the ring that I had convinced myself I would never get. I knew that ring was a sacrifice for him, and I treasure it still.

I could tell you stories and memories about my dad for days, but the essence of what I would want you to know about him would be that his life spoke what he wasn’t freed up to say until much later in life – “I love you.” With age and increasing vulnerability came a softness to my “tough fella” dad, and he began to end all of his phone calls with those three beautiful words. As much as I cherished finally hearing them and of course saying them right back to him, what I should’ve said was, “I know.”

“I know…because you so desperately wanted our family to stay intact…because you worked so hard to provide for us…because you sacrificed to make special memories for us…because you always put us first…because you said with your actions what it was hard to say with your words.”

Dads out there, you may be rolling up on Father’s Day with regrets about things you could’ve said but didn’t, things you did say that you wish you could take back or things you did that you wish like crazy you could do over. No one gets it right every time. In fact, you may have lost count of the number of times you dropped the ball.

But do yourself a favor. For Father’s Day, give yourself the gift of grace. By all means, if there are things you need to own or apologize for, ask God to help you to muster up the courage and strength to have that conversation. Say, “I love you,” and then bust your tail to prove it.

Speaking from experience, one day (it may be a few or a lot of years), your kids will realize all that you did for them and will appreciate your presence, your sacrifices, and your attention. And even if they don’t, your Father in heaven sees and knows. You’ve taken what the Lord has entrusted to you and done your best to serve Him in humility and faithfulness, and He’s pleased with you.

If you haven’t been the dad you know God wants you to be – and the dad your kids need for you to be - today is a good day to begin. I’m praying for that first step, brother. Happy Father’s Day.

“His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’” – Matthew 25:23