Remembering My Father

Today is Father's Day. During Sacrament Meeting, Bishop Richardson told us to think about our own father's today and to call them (if we can) and let them know how much we love and appreciate them. My father passed away 8 years and two day ago, so I can't call him, but I can ponder on the type of father that he was to me and my siblings. He is someone I really admire and I miss him (and my Mom) every day. 

A couple of weeks before my Dad's passing in 2007, I had an overwhelming impression that I needed to write a poem about him and have it read to him before he left us. He was living at my sister Janice's house so she could take care of him. I have no idea why I felt impressed to write a poem. I am not a poet! I don't even enjoy reading poetry, let alone writing it. I don't know the proper rules and methods of poem writing either, but this was something I felt compelled to do. Sitting down with pencil and paper, I quickly churned out the following poem. Jane surprised me by printing it on the back of the program at Dad's funeral:

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My Father's Hands

By Joan Burton Stott

I think of my father's hands

Strong, sturdy, comforting, worn

Hands of a hardworking man

Providing for a family of nine

Hands used for multiple tasks

Warm hands and a warm heart

Strong hands, always working

Must feed the children

Hands planting and harvesting gardens

Food grown to sustain a growing family

Hands feeding cattle, fishing, and hunting deer

Strong hands and a warm heart

Sturdy hands, always capable

Must spend time with the children

Hands for tickling and hugging

For lifting and tossing children up high

For playing catch and pushing swings

Sturdy hands and a warm heart

Comforting hands, always gentle

Must be a patriarch to the children

Hands for cradling and nurturing

For blessing and baptizing

Hands for correction and discipline

Comforting hands and a warm heart

Worn hands, getting older

Now aged, wrinkled, and shaking

Hands worn by time and hard labor

No more pushing mowers or pulling taffy

Done milking cows, cleaning barns, and pulling weeds

Worn retired hands, but still a warm heart

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This poem pretty much sums up my father. He was a very hard worker and taught all of his children the value of work. At one point, he worked two to three jobs in order to meet the needs of a growing family. He was amazing. He worked hard, but played hard as well. He was very much a hands-on dad. He would spend time with each of us...especially if it had anything to do with sports. We were all actively involved with sports and he was always there to support us. 

Dad was a loving, caring, and faithful man who took his role as husband and father seriously. He was the patriarch of our home in every sense of the word. He presided over family home evenings, gave father's blessings, and with oil specifically consecrated to bless the sick, he used his priesthood power to anoint us and to heal us. 

I remember one such blessing of healing well. My little brother, Phil, about 6 years old at the time, had swallowed a foxtail weed and it got stuck in his throat. It wouldn't go down and it couldn't be removed through his mouth. Exercising his faith, my dad gave Phil a priesthood blessing. While he was giving the blessing, he decided kind of as an afterthought that he should also ask that the plantar warts on Phil's feet go away. No harm in asking, right? When Phil woke up the next morning, the weed was gone. I remember thinking how amazing that was and that God really does answer prayers and can perform miracles. An even bigger miracle, I felt, was that all of Phil's warts had disappeared within a week of the blessing. Warts are very difficult to get rid of. They don't just go away on their own accord. I knew a miracle had occurred within our family. Possibly, this great miracle was given to our family to solidify our testimonies that God lives, that He loves us, that He watches over us, that He cares about us, and that He can, indeed, perform miracles in our lives. I will never forget that experience. It had, and continues to have, a profound affect on me.

Some day I will be able to see both of my parents again. I look forward to that day. They were both great examples to me of faith and dedication to the Lord who spread love in their wake. I love you Mom & Dad. I couldn't have asked for better parents!