Just as there is a day for mothers, so the humans have a day on which they celebrate their fathers. This one, I note, is less vibrant, less alive in the minds of the general public. I feel that this is a shame, for to be a father, a true father, is one of the greatest things a man can do. Such men should be honored.
I did my best to encourage my charges to recognize the work and love that their fathers have given them. Myrtle met her father for lunch: barbecue ribs and a mess of green beans, something of a tradition for the two of them. Then they talked about their passions: basketball for him, dancing for her. Finally, in recognition of the growing closeness between Myrtle and her brother, she and her father called Darron, and they talked for some time, sharing memories and laughter and beginning to heal the deep wound in their spirits.
Jonathan spoke to his father and his mother both, or rather, they spoke to Jonathan; though he initiated the call, he did not participate much in the conversation. Nor did his father, now that I think of it—it seems both men bow to the whims of Jonathan’s very active mother. Perhaps if I were to meet his father, I would be able to understand Jonathan a bit better. Something to consider for the future.
Pamela spent a good hour talking to her stepfather, mostly because their conversation was continually interrupted by her brothers. Neither William nor Pamela minded at all.
As for Morgan, she was busy most of the day, having volunteered for a missions program at her church. After worship she had lunch with the members of the committee, and afterwards she went home and did quite a bit of research for the project. She had not even remembered that it was Father’s Day until the phone rang and she saw her father’s name on the screen.
She picked it up immediately, shame and guilt running through her aura. “Dad! Hey! Happy Father’s Day. Sorry, I’m the worst.”
“Not the worst,” Samuel laughed. “I just figured if I hadn’t heard from you, you were probably busy, but I thought I’d check. What have you been doing?”
She told him about the project, and then they talked for a while, exchanging news. Throughout the conversation, however, I could tell that Morgan was nervous—she paced throughout the apartment and spent a good bit of time looking out the windows.
Samuel could tell, too. “Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked her. “You sound kind of tense.”
She opened her mouth to reassure him, but her eyes fell on the empty kitchen, where usually on a Sunday night Brooke would be working on dinner. Instead, tonight, Brooke is out to dinner with the members of her team, planning for her trip. All of this flashed through Morgan’s head in an instant, and she burst into tears.
It took a great deal of support and assurance from both myself and Samuel to get the whole story out of her. “—and I’m happy for her, I am, but I’m so scared. I’m scared that we’re going to fall apart—we haven’t been separated for this long since college! And—and what if she realizes that she doesn’t love me anymore—”
“That is impossible,” Samuel said firmly.
“You’re supposed to say that,” Morgan said, throwing herself down on the couch.
“I might be a little biased,” Samuel admitted, “but even if I weren’t your father I would be able to see how much Brooke loves you. I’m not blind or stupid, honey. She’s not going to forget about you.”
Morgan’s hand clenched around one of the cushions, and before I could stop her she burst out, “Why do you care? You don’t even want her to love me! You should be happy, shouldn’t you, you and Mom!” And she collapsed into wails again.
In the silence on the other end of the line, I could feel Samuel’s abject shock. The idea that he could ever be happy about something that brought such pain to his daughter—I could almost see the twisting of his aura at the horror of that thought.
“Morgan,” he said, and his voice was shaking, “Morgan, I do want her to love you. I want everyone and everything on this planet to love you.”
Morgan sniffed and curled her body around the cushion. “I don’t need everyone,” she said. “Just her. She makes me so happy, Daddy, and I can’t stand the thought of losing her.”
Through the line and across the distance, Samuel sighed a long, slow sigh, and in it I could hear the surrender. “You will not lose her,” he said. “Brooke loves you better than anyone could, Morgan. She loves you the way I’ve hoped someone would ever since you were a little girl.” He paused, and then spoke again, his voice breaking. “She loves you better than me, even. Because she lets you be yourself, instead of trying to make you follow her rules.”
Morgan sat up, astonished. “Daddy.”
Samuel cleared his throat. “You two will be fine. You’ll survive the time apart, and you’ll be the stronger for it. And who knows? Maybe for your birthday your mother and I will get you some plane tickets.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Morgan said, pressing her hand against her mouth. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
The call ended with the usual attempts to steer away from emotions, which used to frustrate me, but I have come to realize that such things fool no one. They satisfy pride, perhaps, but Morgan knew well what her father meant, and he knew, too. He offered her full acceptance today, the acceptance that he and her mother have withheld for so long in the name of faith. In the face of his daughter’s pain, he recognized their condemnation for what it was, and he gave it up to offer her comfort and reassurance. Because a father, a true father, will do whatever is necessary to see his children happy.
We angels know this well, of course, but it is good to see that some of the humans know it, too. I wish a very joyful Father’s Day to you all.