Happy Birthday Daddy, did I do a good job?

I think my father’s birthday is today. Or maybe it was yesterday.  I am not sure what day he was born. His mother said today, and he said yesterday. They are both dead now, so there is no one to ask.

Today I thought about my father. I thought about him while I made my breakfast. I thought about him when I shoveled the driveway and took the dog outside to go to the bathroom. When I was painting in the basement I could hear his voice.

Do whatever you want to do with your life. Be a janitor if you want to. Just be the best janitor you can be. 

And as I painted I wondered. Would he be proud of me? Did I do a good job Daddy? I stayed home with my children and didn’t get an outside job with a paycheck. I write now Daddy, just like you, and I am painting. I am trying to be the best mom and writer and painter I can be. Sometimes I  go to bed with dishes in the sink, and I don’t clean the seven litter boxes every day, but I love my children and try to do my best. 

My dad’s home had dog hair all over the carpet, and he didn’t take off his shoes when he came in the house, unless he was hunting and he had mud on them.

But the dirt and the dog hair don’t matter now.

My father wrote me once a week while I lived in Tokyo. This is a poem he wrote me on the back of a letter, dated March 4, 1986

Pamela

Have I told you lately
that I care
about WHERE
your footsteps fall
When you follow
night birds wing
Looking
for heart treasure
Have I told you lately
That I listen
for your footsteps
to return
to my garden
and help me
find a rose
for your ear.

WHF (William Harry Fernuik)
Daddy
March 4/1986

Happy Birthday Daddy,

I love you today.
I loved you yesterday.
And I will love you tomorrow.

I wish I could walk in your garden
with you today.

love Pamela
January 22/ 2014

My father has been dead for 16 years, and still I wonder if he is proud of me. Or, if he would be proud of me.

And I know what really matters. It is not what my father thought, or what he would think if he were alive. What matters is what God thinks of me.

In Psalm 17, David asks:

Keep me as the apple of Your eye;
Hide me under the shadow of Your wings,

And I ask, “God, please keep me as the apple of Your eye, and hide me under the shadow of Your wings.”

And I remember the song I sang as a child.

Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong;
They are weak, but He is strong.

Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
The Bible tells me so.

The song I sang while I followed night birds wing looking for heart treasure.

Happy Birthday Daddy, did I do a good job?

Do you want your parents to approve of what you do? Do you still want their approval even though they are dead?

As I write that, it seems a weird thought. Why do I still feel the need for my father’s approval, when he is not alive to give it? Why does it seem to matter?

God will never leave us nor forsake us. We don’t have to be afraid or discouraged.

The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.
Deuteronomy 31:8

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