In a world where so many lives are being torn apart by divorces and heartaches, comes a story of a father and a daughter, and a promise that was kept.
My father was not a sentimental man. I don't remember him ever "ooohhing" or "ahhing" over something I made as a child. I knew that my dad loved me, but getting all mushy-eyed was not his thing. I learned that he showed me love in other ways.
There was one particular time in my life when this became real to me. I always believed that my parents had a good marriage, but just before I turned sixteen, my belief was sorely tested. My father, who used to share in the chores, gradually started becoming despondent. From the time he came home from the factory to bedtime, he hardly spoke a word. The strain on their relationship was evident. I was not prepared for the day Mom sat my siblings and me down and told us Dad had decided to leave. I was going to become a product of a divorced family. I kept telling myself it wasn't going to happen, and I went totally numb when I knew he was really leaving.
The night before he left, I stayed up, prayed, cried, and wrote a long letter. I told him how much I loved and would miss him, that I was praying for him, and that, no matter what, Jesus and I loved him. I told him I would always be his Krissie...his Noodles. I stuck in a picture of me with a saying: "Anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a daddy."
Early the next morning, as my dad left, I sneaked out to the car and slipped my letter into one of his bags.
Two weeks went by with hardly a word. Then, one afternoon, I came home to find my mom waiting. She had been crying. She told me Dad had been there, they had talked for a long time, and decided their marriage was worth saving.
Mom then asked, "Kristi, Dad told me you wrote him a letter. Can I ask what you wrote?"
I found it hard to share. I mumbled a few words and shrugged.
Mom said, "Dad said when he read your letter, it made him cry. It meant a lot to him. After he read it, he called to ask if he could come over to talk. Whatever you said really made a difference."
A few days later my dad was back, this time to stay. We never talked about the letter. I guess I always figured it was a secret between us.
My parents went on to be married for thirty-six years before my dad's early death at fifty-three. In the last sixteen years, we witnessed a truly "great" marriage. Their love grew stronger every day, and my heart swelled with pride.
When they received the news that his heart was deteriorating rapidly, they faced it hand in hand.
After Dad's death, we had to go through his things. I opted to run errands to avoid it.
When I returned, my brother said, "Kristi, Mom said to give this to you. She said you would know what it meant."
In his outstretched hand was my picture from that day so long ago. My unsentimental dad, who almost never outwardly showed his love, had kept it. I sat down and the tears began to flow. Mom told me Dad kept both the picture and the letter his whole life.
I have a "Dad box" in my home. I pull that picture out every once in a while and remember. I remember a promise made between a young man and his bride, and the unspoken promise between a father and his daughter.