Posted on: November 15th, 2012 by Laurie Coombs 2 Comments

I was a daddy’s girl at heart. When I was a little girl, I thought my family was perfect and my dad hung the moon, himself. There are so many memories.

I remember when I was little, my brother, sister, and I would each vie for our turn to be lifted into the air by Dad. “My turn! My turn!” we’d yell.

Dad would lay on his back, arms bent and hands flat on the ground. “Hop on!” He’d say with a smile. When it was my turn, there was always a feeling of nervous excitement as I stepped on his hands. “Strong belly,” he’d say, “balance!” as he slowly hoisted me up in the air. He’d take me as high as he could, before I’d lose my balance and fall the short distance to the ground.

I remember learning to snow ski in the Sierra Nevadas. My skies in the shape of a triangle between those of Dad’s as we slid down the mountain. My dad wasn’t one to go slow, yet I always felt safe, in his loving arms.

I remember hiking, stopping along the way to pick some of the most beautiful wild flowers you have ever seen. Dad, wielding his camera, snapping photos of the beauty that surrounded us. When my sister or I tired, we would be hoisted upon my dad’s shoulders and would be gladly taken to the end of the trail which would always be one of the most beautiful secluded mountain lakes you could imagine.

I remember deer hunting, our family camping for a week each year in the sage, building forts, coloring in my strawberry shortcake coloring book, hiking, and scouting out deer. Standing next to Dad, I would watch him skin the deer, as it hung from a tree in camp. When I got old enough, I finally asked, “Can I try?” and Dad smiled, handed me his buck knife and showed me where to cut as he pulled back the skin.

I got older, graduated from high school, and began college. I’d call Dad periodically and say, “Hey, wanna come take me out to dinner?” And he would. One night, however, I asked if he would be interested in coming over to dinner at my house. It was a college house, and I wasn’t much of a cook, but that didn’t deter me. He agreed, and we had dinner––just the two of us. I can’t remember what I made for the main course, but I do remember the salad. Dad loved salad, and I wanted to make it just right. I tried, really, I did, but it turned out to be a soppy watery mess of a dressing. But still, Dad looked me in the eye and told me he loved it.

I miss my dad. I miss him more than I can even begin to express. But I know one thing––he’s in paradise. He’s before the throne worshipping Jesus. He’s free from sin and the trials this life holds, and for that I am thankful.

{There are blessings even in our losses.}