My Daddy

(My dad and I by my dad's truck at his work.)


On Sunday, the primary did a cute little program in sacrament meeting. I sat there all by myself and watch my little girl sing about familys. When her part came up, she was a rockstar!! I couldn't have been prouder of her if she was winning an oscar. Somewhere in the middle of it, I started to cry. I know, big surprise! I cry all the time. But the real big surprise was what I was crying about.

Usually something like this, all the "familys can be together forever" talk, it makes me think of my mom. I usually sit there and feel sorry for myself. I think of all that I want and can't seem to have. But this time, my thoughts went strait to my dad. I was crying, not out of self-pity, but out of gratfulness. I guess that whole letter my mom wrote me was actually a good thing. It let me start to let go of the whole idea of her. The fact that I thought of my dad at that moment is prof that I am starting to heal.

I love my dad. I have always been a Daddy's girl. I remember many times as a child, sitting in the garage with him as he would work on different projects. His grease stained and calloused hands would move with the persion of a surgon as he brought a dying engine in a truck back to life. Or they would flow like an artist as he would creat a book shelf or a dinning room table out of a mere hunk of wood. Those same powerful hands would become gentle as he turned the pages of the scriptures or layed them on my head to give a blessing. Those leather thick hands would wipe away tears or lovingly enfold me as I cryed. He could pick me up and throw me in the air as if I weighed nothing, and then tuck me into my covers at night with such tenderness. He has always been there for me and I suspect he always will be.

He is my one constant in my life. Where others have come and gone, he has always been there in the background cheering me on. He is a quit man. Anyone who knows him can testify to that fact. He isn't very complicated either. He works hard and loves completly. He was devistated when my mom demanded a divorce. Up untill the end, he always thought that they would end up back together. Even now, he never says an unkind thing about my mom. I asked him once about it, because my mom hasn't been as kind to him. He told me that he wanted the best for her, that he would always care for her. He told me that she is the mother of his children, and because of that, no matter what she has said or done, he couldn't hate her. My dad doesn't say much, but what he does say is always wise.

I first felt the peace of the gospel by listening to it through his strong voice. It was at his knee that I not only bounced on a wild horse, but I also learned right from wronge. And so I cryed. I may not have a "functional" family, but really who does. What I do have is a Daddy that has been there always and will be there always. I came crying to him recently (yes, I still go crying to my dad, as I did as a child). After I did my crying, I told him that I was sorry for bugging him. He told me then that he loved me, that I was "his little girl, his Lauren." That made me feel very blessed. I love you Daddy, thanks for your constant support and unconditonal love.


(My dad and I at my open house when Chad and I got married.)

(Lauren and my Dad at the zoo. I looked for a while for a picture of my dad with Evan. I know we have some, but anyway. He is such a good Grandpa. Lauren and Evan just adore him.)