Summary: A father’s life should be considered and honored.

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INTRO.- ILL.- Susan from St. Louis said, "I was preparing breakfast on Father’s Day morning when I told my 3-year-old to go and wish his daddy a "Happy Father’s Day." I repeated the phrase several times and we practiced it together so he would remember. By the time he made his way into the living room he had already forgotten what to say but improvised with, ‘Happy … Happy … Happy Man’s Day, Daddy!’"

Eph. 6:2 "Honor your father and your mother, which is the first commandment with a promise."

We are commanded by our Heavenly Father to honor our earthly fathers and mothers. Not only are we commanded to do this, we should want to do this.

My father, Leo Shepherd, was not a perfect father, but he was a good father who loved me, provided for me, protected me, and tried to guide me as best he could.

FATHERS, WE BLESS YOU! We ask God to bless you!

ILL.- MY FATHER’S HANDS by Carrie Bobb

We often hear parents say how proud they are of their children, but I am one daughter who is proud of her dad. My father is an orthopedic hand surgeon. But it wasn’t until I grew up that I began to realize what he really did for a living; as a kid, all I knew was that Dad left in the morning to go to work as every grown-up had to.

To me he was cool because he taught me how to ride my bike and he would put a Band-Aid on my skinned knee when I fell. Dad barbecued the best hamburgers and cheered the loudest at my volleyball games. He also helped me study for biology tests and brought home donuts on Sunday mornings. He’d even get up early just to wash my car before I woke up. Sometimes before school, I’d peek through the crack of his office door and find him buried in his Bible. Every time I see the coffee rings on his desk blotter, I picture him during his early morning devotions.

Mom says that as people get older they become more of who they truly are. That’s true for my dad. And now that I am older, I have a deeper appreciation not only for what he does but for the man he is. His depth of character and gentle heart have only grown stronger through the years.

When I went away to college, our relationship became more of what it already was. I sent postcards to his office, and he flew out on weekends to watch me play volleyball. I so enjoyed getting his e-mails with motivational quotes at the bottom that I saved them. It’s funny: You can live with a person all your life and begin to see who that person truly is only when you move a thousand miles away.

Dad has let me make mistakes in life, but he has loved me regardless of my bumps and bruises. In his own subtle way, he has guided me in my relationship with God, encouraging me to develop faith as something that is mine, not something merely given me by my parents.

It seems almost ironic to me that he is an orthopedic hand surgeon. The steady hands that held the back of my bicycle seat and washed my car are the same hands that fix other people’s hands. People’s lives are different — they can again play the piano and paint and build sandcastles and take pictures — all because of my dad. God uses my father’s hands to create miracles.

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