See what [an incredible] quality of love the Father has given (shown, bestowed on) us, that we should [be permitted to] be named and called and counted the children of God! And so we are! I John 3:1 AMP

A couple of Sundays ago while sitting in church, I glanced across the aisle and saw a little girl sitting on her daddy’s lap. Her eyes caught and lingered with mine as the worship continued, but I nearly gasped aloud at how that scene jolted my heart and made me remember that I had never sat on my—or a—daddy’s lap.

When I was four, my biological father took me (along with my younger sister) away from our mother and dropped us at the home of his parents, then left the country. I have no memory of him showing affection to me. Throughout my life I have never felt as though it bothered me much, but every once in a while I am brought up short by the intensity of how affected I am by something like that scene. In the foster homes, I have no memory of cuddling up, and after being adopted at age 10, I was too old for that. As younger brothers and sisters were adopted, I remember wishing at times that it were I on my parents’ laps instead of the little ones.

After our adoption, people commented that my sister and I looked more like our adoptive parents then their biological daughters did! Having never been around our mother and given the fact that our father was also adopted, we had no one to turn to and see that we looked like. I later met my biological parents as an adult and did find physical characteristics that were the same.

Yet during my life as I have longed to have that relationship with my Heavenly "Daddy," where I could simply climb onto His lap, snuggle up, and rest my head on His shoulder. Once during a night of extreme loneliness I told Him, "God, You don’t hug so good." It was very nervy of me, talking to the Creator of Heaven and Earth like that, but I was being honest. Because you and I are His children, we can be that honest with our Heavenly Father.

This month we celebrate our fathers. My biological father was certainly no one I wanted to celebrate. But God lovingly removed me from that situation and placed me into one where He continued to work out His purpose for my life. My adopted dad has and is continuing to leave a legacy in my life that I share with my children and my grandchildren too. My dad hugs me, and he has taught me so many things. Some I have taught my children, and some I cherish privately in my heart.

Dad has always worked so hard; he was a timber faller for 40 years here in the Pacific Northwest. He would be up so terribly early and worked rain, snow or sun. In the summers the days were especially long as he rose early to go to work and then, because of the heat, had to stay even longer hours for "fire watch" to assure no sparks started a forest fire. Dad would cut and haul all the firewood to keep our home warm, mend fences, haul hay, make sure cows got milked along with supporting nine children. Dad and Mom were best friends, and I learned a great deal from seeing how he loved Mom every day.

My earliest memories were hearing the sound of wood being shoved into the woodstove in the early mornings to warm the house. When I would sleepily walk out to the kitchen, there he and Mom sat at the counter with their Bibles open. My dad would teach Bible studies, and he carefully worked on preparing the lessons, whether for groups meeting at our house or for Sunday School classes.

My dad has the greatest sense of humor! You know, loggers get up early and so sometimes if people lingered too long at our house after a Bible study, he would go in the bedroom, roll up his pant legs, put on his bathrobe, and walk out winding up his alarm clock! One time at church when we used to sit in old pews that were pretty close together, my dad pretended to sneeze. Then he leaned forward and pretended to wipe off the person in front of him, all the while saying, "Gosh, I am so sorry." With nine kids, my dad had to have a good sense of humor!

There are things that my dad has taught me that I have taught my children. If I was headed out to an activity that I really didn’t want to go to, my dad would always say, "Go and have a good time." Because we live in Oregon and the weather is always changing, my dad would say, "Always take a sweater!" It didn’t matter if it was 90° outside, he would say that. And of course the famous one, "Always be where you’re supposed to be and you’ll never be in trouble." Many other things he taught me not just his words but by his actions: Faithfulness to God, sharing what he had with others, and caring for my grandparents who lived next door.

Of course, through the years I have repeated his sayings to my own children. So much so that one day I was driving my daughter back to school from an appointment. She was not happy about a school activity and I said to her, "You know what your Grandpa always says." Irritated she replied, "I know, Mom, I have a jacket with me." Laughing so hard I nearly couldn’t speak I said, "No, not that one. He says, ‘Go and have a good time!’"

My dad took me into his family, gave me his name, adopted me and called me his own. He took on a lot when he took on a kid with the transitory background that I had come from, and the pain I caused him did not make him give up on me or turn away from me. I am so grateful. He has shown me a glimpse of our Heavenly Father and helped me understand God in so many ways. He taught me about giving, about faith, about doing things "in secret" to honor the Father, and about loving no matter what.

I will never look like my earthly dad in my features or build, nor have his temperament, wisdom, or walk with God. But I hope that I can honor him by leaving a part of his legacy with my children and grandchildren. Most of all, I hope that my earthly dad will be honored when even if people say, "She doesn’t look like her dad," they will remember that I had "My Father’s Eyes."

For just like the song that Amy Grant sings…"She’s got her father’s eyes, Her father’s eyes, Eyes that find the good in things, When good is not around, Eyes that find the source of help, When help just can’t be found. Eyes full of compassion, Seeing every pain, Knowing what you’re going through, And feeling it the same. Just like my father’s eyes…"

That’s my prayer, Dad.

Desirée LM Pheister is a newlywed, mother, and grandmother. In addition to her writing, her art includes needlework and music. She works as an administrative assistant at a medical research facility. You may reach her at: marrion8955@yahoo.com