72 My Dad

Today March 24 is my father's birthday. He was born in 1913 and died in 2002. I call this poem "A child's eye view."

My Daddy drove a bright red truck,
he smelled like gasoline.
When I turned up my nose, he’d laugh,
“Smells just like money green.”

My Daddy had a stern deep voice
he used when he was mad.
When I would hear that tone from him
I’d feel both scared and sad.

My Daddy hid a secret huge
he seemed afraid to tell,
So late in life I asked him, “Dad,
are you afraid of Hell?”

“I’ve asked so many times,” he said
“ ‘Jesus, be real to me,’
but I’ve never felt assurance--
salvation I don’t see.”

“Dad, listen to your daughter, it’s
not what you see and feel,
Our faith is in Lord Jesus’ work--
the only thing that’s real.”

“Just thank Him now that long ago
He heard your every plea,
and felt what you’re supposed to feel,
and saw what you can’t see.”

Dad died when he was eighty nine,
I cannot hear his voice.
Today I thank my Father God--
my father heard the choice.

March 24, 1913 - May 18, 2002