Fatherhood: An End of Life Issue

Father’s Day is a square on the calendar.

On this particular square a dad can expect to receive a card (probably homemade), a tie (maybe homemade), or tools (to make stuff around the home).  But at the very worst a dad will be handed a craft made in Sunday school that has been so rushed the paint is still wet (and all over your new Dockers).

Consider this a Church Children’s Director confession:

Last week I waded through dozens of websites trying to find a meaningful activity/memento for the kids in our church to give to their dads on Father’s Day.  All roads led to Pinterest where there were many terrible ideas, but I did finally come across one that approached the heart of parenting.  It consisted of a dad-sized footprint with a second footprint of the child overlaid.  Attached was a sappy sort of poem that complemented the important picture displayed on the page.  I didn’t love that part of it, so I made one of my own.  Here is my shot at the art form of kid’s craft poetry:


Inflatable Jesus?

Kids love balloons, and let’s be honest, when you were a pip-squeak, you loved them too. 

Remember the fun of having mom or dad blow up a bunch of balloons on a rainy day and spending hours trying to keep them off the floor.  Maybe each color had a point value or maybe you’d just use your feet for a round.  However you played, your little sister was always cheating somehow and there was ever-present that bratty kid who was dead set on popping all the amusement out of life.

As great InflatableJesusas home-spun balloon fun was, nothing could beat helium.  Helium was amazing!  (I mean, it still is…) Here we had an object in our hand that, as children, we could not comprehend.  It floated in mystery beyond our control and yet, we were able to grasp the sting and hold on tight.  This out of control thing was ours, it belonged to us, yet we knew that one careless moment would leave us wishing we had not scratched that itch or swatted that bug or reached for that piece of candy.  How many of us had a grown-up tie the balloon to our wrist?  We wanted assurance that our special possession wouldn’t go anywhere.



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