Daddy

a post by Scott

**not sure why the font is messing up! Sorry!**

Standing in an international airport in Africa and being white you sort of stand out. My family and I were waiting on a group of teens and some good friends that were coming to Uganda to serve for a couple of weeks. There were 25 of them with over 40 pieces luggage and visas to get so they were the last ones to come through gate. While waiting, we noticed a group of other people that did not look like they were born in Uganda (read white). My wife recognized one of the girls from her facebook stalking (we’ll call her Peggy Sue) as a young lady that was serving in Jinja, Uganda. We greeted them and she said she was waiting for her parents who were coming to visit for a few weeks.

Peggy Sue, is one of a dozen single women that we have met that are serving in Uganda, taking the “what you do to the least of these you do unto Me” verse literally. She has seen death come to the young and old from sicknesses that are easily curable. We spoke only for a few minutes, recognizing her anticipation at seeing her parents. People filed through the glass doors that separated the just-landed from already-heres. The word I heard next has brought me to tears several times in the weeks since I heard it, “DADDY!” This young lady that has the poise of royalty and confidence of a soldier ran to her dad with the eyes of a two year old, leaping into his arms and being held off the ground in a hug that they both had longed for.

We’ve been in Uganda for six months and if there are a billion things to learn about the culture in Uganda, I know three. Our work here is not glamorous. I work at a school with 108 students, some with HIV/AIDS. All are poor families that live on the equivalent of a dollar or two a day. When I say “families” I mean mostly mothers, or aunties, or grandmothers - there are very few dads. One of my “jobs” at school is assisting a couple of the baby classes (3 and 4 year olds) with P.E. Let me tell you, it;s as easy as gathering balloons in a hurricane - they are everywhere! Once gathered and after whatever exercise is done, out of habit I pick the kids up over my head (dropping only a small percentage of them) give them a hug, tell them good job, swing them around...stuff like that.

A few weeks ago my mom and dad sent us a couple of care packages and in one of them was a football. It has become known as the “American football” because, of course, a football in the rest of the world, including Uganda, is soccer. A couple a times a week Benji and I go up to a field near our house with some of the local boys and we have teach them to play. Now the first thing I do is convince them it’s not rugby. Then I teach them how to hold it and how to throw. It’s a slow process, but no one cares as long as we are playing. While we play men pass by and watch. A couple of them stop and ask me what sport we are playing. I tell them and invite them to play with us but they always refuse. One of the older boys told me that the men don’t “play” with the children. Some of the men that stopped were the dads of some of the boys that were playing and yet they refused to join. Culturally there is a distance between the men and the children.

I skyped with a good friend earlier tonight who also serves on the missions board at our home church. He reminded me of something I said a few weeks before we left. I told him “I know I’m not seminary trained, I’m no preacher. I’m not a doctor, I won’t be a medical missionary. I’m a dad, I can be a dad to them.” I had forgotten I said this to him.

The men I admire most are not men of great success in business, not athletes, not politicians, blah blah blah. My heroes are dads. As men when we meet each other the first question we are usually asked is, “So, what do you do?” as in, “what line of work are you in?” Why? Because that usually defines who we are. As for me, I always hated what I did. I worked for an automotive engine remanufacturer and sold rebuilt car engines. It provided a good living for us, but it wasn’t as cool as saying a cop, architect, kick boxer, or a male stripper. So years ago I started responding with “Me? I’m a dad.” And that defined me.

I love being a dad. The highlight of my day was rounding the corner and seeing my kids standing on our subdivision sign waiting for me. “Daddy’s home!” was their cry. You could always tell our house...it was the one with a half dozen bikes in the yard, a skateboard ramp in the driveway, works of chalk art on the sidewalk. Oh how I miss those days.

When our Lord was praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, with the weight of all humanity on His shoulders...knowing what torture awaited Him. He, being fully man and fully God, asking the Father, “Let this cup pass before me. But not my will but Yours be done.” Feeling more stress than anyone has every felt - so much so that He sweat blood, anguishing what awaited Him. He had the vocabulary of all languages of all of the world at his disposal - He could have used any words to cry out to His Father. But He cried out, “Abba” Abba Father which simply means daddy. Daddy, I don’t want to do this, but I know it’s not what I want, but I will do Your will.

Daddy.

There are times since coming here that I have struggled with feeling very inadequate. I’m not a preacher, I’m not a doctor, I’m not an engineer, I’m not a social worker, I’m not an economist, I’m not a great many things - but I’m a dad. And as I see the kids at school and kids in my village, I understand why God has me here. They need someone to show them what a dad is, what a dad does. Being a dad, that I am.

That morning at the airport, before I heard Peggy Sue cry out “daddy,” I saw her dad. I saw a man drop everything and run to his little girl.

As I write this I am thinking of the ones who called me daddy first. The ones who taught me how to be a dad. Kate and Josh. You had a front row seat to see all of my failures as I stumbled through learning what I was doing and trying to hide the fact that I was clueless. I was jealous of Peggy Sue’s dad that morning because I would give anything to hug you both. I am so proud of you both and love you very much. I am proud to be your dad.