I respect most of the fathers I know for many different reasons. 

Some are excellent providers for their families.  They work long hours and often travel to gain financial freedoms that allow them to expose their children to wonderful experiences. 

Some are positive examples for their children because of their high moral standards.  They regularly exhibit the characters they hope to see their children display in the future. 

Some do a fabulous job of demonstrating the value of hard work.  They proudly take care of their homes, their yards, their bodies. 

Some have a teaching spirit, and strive to pass along important knowledge and skills.  They give up precious hours of time to help three year olds learn to kick a soccer ball down a field without tripping over it.

And some fathers have abs like Matthew McConaughy, so good for them.  They’re doing their part to keep their wives happy.  (I really do know a dad like that.  I almost ran off the road one day because as I was driving down the street, he happened to be running down the same street with his shirt off.  Hyperventilating while driving is dangerous my friends.) 

I admire such fathers a great deal.  They love their families and they’re doing the things they must do in order to be the best husbands and fathers they can be. 

My husband is sufficient in all those areas himself.  Well . . . maybe not the part about the abs, but the other things. 

He works hard to be successful in his career and provide for our family.  His actions show he is an honest and decent human being.  He treats all people, including his wife, with enormous respect and unconditional love.  He has even coached tee-ball and basketball teams for kids who could barely catch a ball, much less field a grounder and throw it to a first baseman digging in the dirt for worms.

I’m incredibly fortunate my husband is willing to make the effort and sacrifices necessary to be a good father.  Still, it’s not what he does each day to help our family that inspires me.

It’s his attitude. 

My husband has the ability to remain completely present in his role as a daddy.  He enjoys every moment he spends with our children.  He neglects his own needs to be with them, and the crazy part is, he doesn’t do it because he feels he has to.  He doesn’t do it so he can proclaim he’s making every effort in his power to succeed as a father.  He devotes his entire heart and soul to our family because there is nothing in the world he would rather do. 

Fatherhood never seems to be synonymous with duty to my husband.  When he is playing with our kids, he doesn’t think about the other things he could or should be doing.  He remains invested in the act of each particular moment.  He isn’t worried about what to make for dinner.  He isn’t thinking about a meeting he has the following day.  He isn’t wondering whether he remembered to close the garage door.  He is smiling and laughing and having the time of his life.  He places all his energy and enthusiasm into the enjoyment of his children, without letting life creep in to steal his focus.

I want so desperately to be able to live in the now the way my husband does.  Many days, when I’m engaged with my children, I’m not relishing in it as I should.   I'm physically there.  I'm listening to my children and speaking to them.  I'm answering questions and helping with homework and chatting about plans for the weekend.  But I'm not fully present.  Part of me is worrying about the emails I need to answer.  Another part is making a mental grocery list.  I'm thinking about the past or the future or anything but how precious the gift is that I'm receiving at that very moment . . . to be among the two people I love more than life itself. 

Some nights, when my son asks me to lie in bed with him for “just one more minute,” I decide the five minutes I’ve already spent with him is enough.  I tell him I have work to do downstairs.  I leave my precious boy, all snuggled up in his jammies under the warm covers, and I go downstairs so I can transfer wet clothes from the washing machine to the dryer.  

The tears fall in regret and all I can think is, God . . . forgive me. 

I love my children. I love them with that relentless love only a parent can understand.  I see stars in their eyes and perfection in their bones and magic in their futures.  Sometimes, it's as though the only emotion I can feel is the incredible love I have for my children.  It consumes every other thought or feeling I've ever known and becomes my sole intent for living.  When my children are away from me, I feel as though I can’t function, because my body is no longer mine, but a willing puppet dancing to the songs playing in their hearts.  Sometimes, I look at Charlie and Libby, and everything in the world is just as it's supposed to be.  There is nothing except amazement and joy and gratitude, and my soul swells to the point that I can actually feel it throbbing with passion.

There is only one other person who understands the depth of love I feel for my children.  He understands it because he feels it too.  Because he knows the immeasurable pain that comes when one of them is hurting.  Because when they are filled with happiness, so is he.  Because he can't look at their baby pictures without crying.  Because their giggles are the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.  Becasue they are growing too fast and his heart aches as he feels time slipping away. 

Yes, there is only one other person who understands how much I love my children.  He is my husband.  He is their father.  He is the greatest daddy I've ever met. 

And night after night, he will lie in bed with our son until he falls asleep.  No matter how long it takes.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!