When I Think Of My Father
It is akin to the guilt
the survivor feels at being
the one who
somehow someway
endured the accident that thieved
the lives of so many others.
That’s how it sometimes
feels when I think of my father.
Why can I give testimony
of this man’s unbroken worship
when so many others are
wrecked again and again
by the men who gave them
their legal names?
I have no answers. I simply limp
along a witness pulled
somehow someway
from the flames
by a flawed good man.
This is not only my story.
This is my song.
This is among God’s greatest gifts, is it not? A good father. Thank you – this is also my song.
I am a daughter of a good good man. It has enabled me in my darkest times to believe in a good good GOD. Thank you John
I love this man, thank you.
What a gorgeous song it is! I know he is proud to call you his.