Fathers Day Week Postings

POST ONE: “He had already done the work that made life possible.”

A living soul does not only notice the life in front of it.

It also begins to ask what kind of life it is leaving behind.

This week, leading into Father’s Day, I find myself thinking about my father.

His work.

His rest.

The food on the table.

The faith that steadied us.

The camper packed and ready.

The drive through the night.

The hope of a creekside campsite in the Great Smoky Mountains.

And the image that makes more sense to me now than it did when I was young:

my father, stretched out in a worn lounge chair near the creek, resting after he had done the work that made life possible for the rest of us.

As a child, I wondered why he wanted to sleep.

Now I understand.

He had already done something.

POST TWO: “His rest was not absence. It was peace.”

As a child, I wondered why my father wanted to sleep by the creek.

We had finally made it to the mountains.

The camper was set.

The creek was running hard over the rocks.

There were bikes to ride, trails to explore, games to play, and trouble for children to find.

I was ready for life to begin.

But my father would stretch out in that worn lounge chair, usually in his blue jeans, shoes still on, plaid shirt softened by years of use.

And he would rest.

I did not understand it then.

Now I do.

He had worked to get the camper ready.

He had driven through the night.

He had waited at the ranger station.

He and Mom had walked the campground looking for the right site.

He had leveled the trailer, filled the tanks, pulled out the canopy, strung ropes through the trees, stacked the firewood, and made sure his family was safe.

By the time I was ready for life to begin, he had already done the work that made that life possible.

His rest was not absence.

It was peace.

The DKP Word 2026
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