We at Love Inspired were Inspired by our Fathers

When it came to us kids, my dad, Herb Chelikowsky,  was a man ahead of the times. In an era when school award events, plays, etc. were presented during day because most mothers were at home and could easily come, Dad would also come whenever he could manage it. He worked a rotating shift-work schedule, so he was often able to come with Mom. Many times, he was the only father there. And he truly enjoyed the programs because he loved kids. He was a Boy Scout leader and Little League Football coach. I'm sure he would have volunteered to help with my Girl Scout troops, if they would have let him.

Jean C. Gordon 

My father often had a bunch of giggling girls in our station wagon.  He'd be driving us to Skateland.  Soon, he'd bring the whole vehicle to a stop.  My friends would say, "What are you doing, Mr. Tracy?"  He'd point to a sign on the side of the road.  He'd say, "That sign says Stop Ahead.  So…" and at this point, he'd look around before continuing, "...I'm looking for a head to stop."  
Albert Tracy always wanted to make my friends - and especially me - smile :)
Pamela  Tracy

Albert Tracy and Pamela

Bill Jacobs, on Diamond, 1970
Louise's Dad

One thing I remember about my father is that he learned how to ride a horse after he turned 65. He'd retired from the newspaper business and bought a photography studio in Colorado, where many of his pictures would be shot among cowboys doing their work, of tourists on guided camping trips, and in the rodeo arena. So why not learn to ride a horse? He even bought a horse of his own and took long rides that made my sweet mother a little nervous. I've always admired his never-say-die courage. I miss you, Dad. 
Louise M. Gouge
 

One of my favorite things about my father is his laugh. It's big and boisterous when he really gets going. So, Daddy, I'm thinking of you this Father's Day, hoping you're having lots of love and laughter!
Missy Tippens

I don’t think my dad ever said a bad word, nor did he talk bad about anyone. In fact, when he was in a group and someone started talking bad about a someone, he’d always bring up something good about that person. He was a trucker and my love of reading and writing came from him. He read my first story, which was about a trucker, for accuracy, and said I got it right—giving me the encouragement I needed to keep at it. I miss you daddy.                                                                                               Janet Lee Barton

My dad was a hard worker. He was a farmer so his day usually started before sunrise and ended at sunset. But dad was also a man who loved playing a board game call Wahoo with his family. In the evenings, after super and baths my family, dad, mom, my little brother and myself would play Wahoo. I can still see his smiling face and eyes dancing with merriment as we played. I miss you daddy but am so happy that I will see you again in Heaven.                                                                                   Rhonda Gibson

My father is amazing in his devotion to family and most of all our mother. One day I remember looking out from the second story window and seeing that dad was mowing my mom's name-Lisa- in great big block letters in the grass as he cut the lawn! Now that's a memory that I'll cherish always! 
Dana Mentink

My dad loved people and people loved him. He never knew a stranger. He worked as a salesman for years. He could sell anything because he related to people. Folks used to come into the store where he worked and ask for him because they’d heard about his effervescent personality. He was such a good salesman that he won a gold-plated derby and a cash prize for being the top sales person in his department. Even though he wasn’t a tall man, he was bigger than life to me. One of my favorite memories from my childhood is standing on his toes while he danced me around the room. He died when I was only twenty-four, so I’ve lived more than half my life without him. I still miss him, but I know I will see him in heaven one day.

 Merrillee Whren

  My father was a farmer. He worked hard for very few rewards. He'd sit on the front porch and stare out at the fields across from our house, his blue eyes vivid and as wide open as the sky. I often wondered when I saw him doing that if he was dreaming of things he'd never be able to attain. He raised seven children on a small salary. We lived off the land--vegetables, meat, chickens and eggs, whatever nature could supply. I didn't realize we were poor until the other children at school pointed it out. It took me a long time to appreciate all the sacrifices my father made for us. Now when I think about him, I can see him in that old rocking chair on the porch, his face as weathered and craggy as the plowed ground that sustained him. He's in heaven now. Probably farming the land up there. :)

 Lenora :)

My dad was the youngest of ten children, and probably because of that, he was a big tease. He loved making people laugh. He also had a servant's heart and
literally gave a man his suit coat once when the man complimented him on it. When he was in the navy, he sent his paychecks home to his elderly parents, who were 45 and 47 when he was born. He loved to buy us treats and cook meals for family and friends. He played the trumpet for over sixty years, including a time when he played on street corners with the Salvation Army. What we put on his gravestone sums him up pretty well: ornery, kindhearted, joyful servant. Dad's in heaven now, but that doesn't stop me from wishing him a happy Father's Day.
Vickie McDonough

Vickie's Dad

Lessons from Dad

Christine Johnson here today. As Father’s Day approaches, my thoughts turn to my Dad. I’m blessed that he is still around and able to give me advice. He has always been a great role model with his strong work ethic, honesty and willingness to try what others would dismiss as too difficult. For instance, he began racing vintage cars when he was in his 70s. That’s him buckling into his race car.

Lately my Heavenly Father has been showing me that I have been limiting things unnecessarily. I thought a tight writing deadline could never be met. He showed me that with Him all things are possible. (paraphrased from Matthew 19:26) I didn’t think I could step into a helicopter even though my husband desperately wanted to go on the tour. God nudged me to do it. What a wonderful experience. My jaw literally dropped wide at the beauty of His creation from above. 

Some of the many lessons learned:

-          Don’t listen to naysayers (including that voice in my head)

-          Take a chance

-          Step out in faith

-          Love those God places in your life

-          Greet each day with a smile

I am blessed to have such great fatherly examples. What has the father figure in your life taught you?

In July’s Groom by Design, the first book in The Dressmaker’s Daughters series, three sisters are worried about their father’s failing health and the family’s floundering dress shop. They decide to take matters into their own hands by propelling one of them into marriage with a well-to-do gentleman who can rescue the family business and get their father the life-saving treatment he needs. First up is Ruth, the oldest and shyest sister, who for some reason has drawn the attention of the handsome—and clearly well-off—new man in town.

Christine Johnson

Groom by Design – LIH, July 2014

Suitor by Design – LIH, October 2014

http://christineelizabethjohnson.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ChristineJohnsonAuthor

Twitter handle: ChristineJWrite

Honoring Dad:

Hi Friends, Carrie Turansky here, wishing you a belated happy Father’s Day. For some of you I’m sure it was a fun, family day, celebrating with the dads and granddads in your life. But for others it may have been a bittersweet day as you look back and wish for a better relationship with your father. None of us had a perfect father. Our dads are human and no matter how much they loved us, they still made mistakes, just like we do. I hope you will extend grace and forgiveness toward your dad, and then focus on those special memories that highlight his love and unique place in your life.

I’m blessed with many happy memories of my father, Bob Swain. Dad was born in 1920 in a small town in Oregon and grew up during the Great Depression. His parents taught him how to be thrifty and work hard. He got his first job at age 12, cleaning classrooms at his elementary school. He went on to graduate from high school and join the Army, fighting in the Pacific during WW2. From those years he learned to appreciate his friends, family and life back home. After the war he married my mother and took on the role of husband, father, and faithful provider for our family. My dad always made me feel safe and loved. I know I had a special place in his heart, and I enjoyed being his little girl.

No matter what your relationship was like with your dad, you can enjoy a deep and satisfying relationship with your Heavenly Father. He loves you deeply, and He invites you to be part of his forever family. He is always available to you—only a prayer away. His commitment to watch over you and care for you never changes. What a blessing to have a Father like that!

Here’s a cake I made for my husband, Scott, in honor of Father’s Day and his birthday which was also this week. It’s an angel food cake, sliced horizontally, filled with white chocolate pudding and sliced strawberries and blueberries. It was delicious and enjoyed by all.

How did you spend Father's Day? Can you share a special memory you have of your father? 

Memories of Dad

Well, technical difficulties (and I think bad weather) have really messed with my Internet, and apparently, Blogger as well. So I don't have the photo I wanted to post. Imagine a sweet picture of a man, dancing with his little girl, who's standing on his feet.

Okay, so now that you have that visual, I'm going to try to give the abbreviated version of the post I spent all evening writing (sob).

I'm excited that my family is coming to visit this Sunday, so I'll get to spend Father's Day with my dad. They live 7 hours away, so this is a rare treat.

In my post, I shared some beautiful memories from my childhood (and here's the shortened version)...

1. My dad rescuing me off the jungle gym, running out in his sock feet after my sister hollered for him to help. I think I enjoyed that attention a little too much, because I remember repeating it several times. :)

2. My dad teaching me to ride a bike without training wheels. And me, at first, furious at him for letting go!

3. When I got older, we hung out in the neighborhood at night. And if I didn't watch, I would step (barefooted) on slugs. Ugh! But once again, as I screamed in horror, my dad would run out, pick me up, and carry me to the tub to wash the goo from between my toes while I bawled my eyes out, thoroughly grossed out. :)

4. As mentioned above, I remember vividly dancing with my dad, standing on his feet as he waltzed me around the family room.

So many great memories. Not all good, of course, like any family. But I have so much to be thankful for this Father's Day.

Would you like to share any special memories of one of the special men in your life?

Missy

A Tribute to my Dad

This is my dad and me. My cousin sent me the picture a few years ago. It was one I'd never seen. It's one I now look at daily. See, my dad died five years ago. Exactly nine months before my son was born. The title of this blog entry is what I titled what I wrote for his burial. See, Daddy outlived all his close friends. All of them. The preacher who resided at the burial wasn't a preacher but a friend who preached when there was a need. So, when he was done with the generic stuff I spoke. Here's what I said back in May of 2004:

"They said on the news that 1000 World War II vets die each day. I sighed in relief and thought, 'not my dad.' Then, last Sunday, the phone rang, and I realized how erroneous that sigh of relief was. My dad was 83, and he was a WWII vet. Last Sunday when I walked into his hospital room to say 'Goodbye' he was already gone. Not my dad. No, please. But it was my dad. He had gone to a better place where I like to imagine the words from Matthew 25:21 being softly stated... Well done my good and faithful servant. And the best thing about those words is the fact that my dad will be able to hear them clearly for the first time in years.

Albert (He was named after an uncle) Hammonds (After the doctor who delivered him) Tracy (We've never successfully figured out the history of the Tracy name) was born in Lafayette, Georgia, in 1920. He was an oldest son. Six brothers and sisters followed. They lived in a time and era where very few families owned cars. Dad talked about falling out of the back of a wagon. He told about his grandmother sitting on the front porch and not even blinking as she took up a nearby rifle to shot a rabid dog. One of his favaorite stories had to do with playing baseball. The neighborhood boys didn't own gloves, or even a bat, but they made due with hands and a ball and a good-sized stick. Then, the uncle of one of the boys breezed into town and when he saw what the boys were playing with, he went into town and bought each one of them a glove. The nephew got a bat. Dad says the uncle was Pretty Boy Floyd. My Aunt Bernice always looked sideways at him when he told this story. He always looked sideways back. I like his story, so I believe it.

When I was a little girl I didn't realize his name was Albert. I thought it was Dick. Even this past week, his current wife's (Noralee) son asked me who was labeled Dick in all the military photos. Dad said he used to deliver newspapers, and there was an old lady in the neighborhood who couldn't remember his name so she called him Dick because she could remember Dick Tracy. He was so excited when he went into the army. Finally, he'd shed the Dick nickname and be Albert. He said he no more had exited the bus when someone shouted out, "Hey, Dick!" and so he wound up being Dick in the army, too.

He met my mother when she was only sixteen. He was quite a bit older, in his twenties, and in the army. His job as military police was escorting Japanese prisoners, via train, from the East to the West. He often had a layover in Omaha. One day, he and some buddies were on a bus in downtown Omaha, way back in the forties, and he looked out the bus's window and saw my mom and her girlfriend walking. He made his friends exit the bus and they followed the girls to the movie theator. Such a romantic beginning. They were married 48 years.

He died on Mother's Day. At first, that really hurt me because how will I ever face Mother's Day, but the truth is I've had a hard time with Mother's Day since my mom, Rosemary, died. She was a great mother and thought I was a perfect angel, but that's a mother's job. I don't think Dad thought I was a perfect angel - he was a bit more realistic, but, then, he'd been in two wars. Two: Korea and World War II.

He took a lot of pride in the fact that he'd served his country. He must have seen some horrible things because he didn't like to talk about it much. His favorite stories were about being a cook in the army. He'd cook for me and my mother even. I guess in the army, pepper was the seasoning of choice. He had little songs having to do with biscuits and coffee in the army. Those were his good memories, but he had some bad. When I was little, he used to walk out of the church whenever they sang Precious Memories. I found out that he was sitting on a log with a buddy, and the buddy was singing that song, and the next thing Daddy knew the buddy was gone - like my dad is now gone.

I was on an airplane when my dad left this world. I didn't make it to his side to say goodbye. I'll always feel a bit guilty about that. Just like I've always felt a little guilty about being an only child. You see, my dad should have fathered 12 kids. He loved kids. He carried candy in his pockets for them. He'd offer to take strange kids home because he needed a dishwasher. My friends loved coming to our house. My parents were the drive-to-skateland-movies-Peony Park kind of parents. Sometimes on the ride, he'd stop the car and my friends would say, 'What are you doing, Mr. Tracy?' Dad would say, 'Did you see that sign?' They'd all look and ask, 'What sign?' 'That one,' he'd point. 'It says Stop Ahead so I'm looking for a head to stop.' Like most kids, I didn't appreciate my dad's humor until I got older.

Albert also loved his church. If you go by the North Omaha Church of Christ, you'll see a brown, shingled sign that announces all the services times and important information. My dad made that. I can remember cleaning the North Omaha church. I was so young I didn't have to help - or maybe they simply didn't make me. I'd crawl under the pews and count the gum stuck there. One time I threw a ball and it landed in the baptistry. Dad just put on the waders and fetched it. We were at the church every Wednesday night and two times on Sunday. There was never a debate. We attended church.

The only books my dad owned were the Bible and Bible companions.

This week, he went to be with his Lord. I truly hope to see him someday. And I know he's waiting to reacquaint with those who loved him.

Thank you for coming.