Michael Anthony O'Connor

Father’s day is around the corner, so I will start with this; My Dad is amazing. It’s true -- He is faster, stronger, more handsome and entirely more capable than any other on the planet…or at least, that is my opinion on the matter.:)  He has shown me the meaning of manhood, what it is to support a woman from start to finish, in sickness and in health, and how forgiving the follies of others should be like breathing air – consistent, necessitated, and more frequent than you expect on hills. He taught me to always trust in God's ability to speak to me, over my ability to hear Him, and is the kind of man you feel the presence of God around, reminding you of His love with only the sound of his voice across the phone. Pondering my “trials” as a child (as we all have them), I can say with confidence that I never once felt betrayal from my Dad. I never felt his contempt on my face or carried it in my heart. I never thought for one moment that he would stand me up, miss a game or concert, and never wished in vain for his arms to hold me. The ferocity of his love and the gentleness with which he was able to convey that is a rare amalgamation. In high school my choices in dating were well below par, and on a particular night at the age of 17, I arrived home from a date far beyond my appointed curfew. I feared my Mom’s reaction the most as the all-too-familiar shadow of her form would be waiting for me at the top of the staircase, unable to sleep and sick with worry. Finding my Dad awake in his room at the foot of their bed however, was a new scene; entirely unanticipated. I made excuses, denied accusations of unreliability, and threw out the repeated allegation that they were indeed “simply trying to destroy my life”.  My Dad, who’s calm demeanor has always made him a comfort to be around, suddenly and firmly launched a fist into the pillow beside me. I don’t believe I had ever seen my Dad’s fist clenched until that moment. He said “Shannon, until you have children, you will never know the pain of a parent watching their child head down the same road and into the same mistakes you have made. Your Mom and I would ‘destroy' ourselves a thousand times over before watching you do it to yourself.” I can't thank you enough Dad, for being willing to say what was difficult yet honest -- for refusing to "sin in your anger", but rather, communicating righteously, with stern conviction, and out of a deep love.
I think of Proverbs 27 as I look back on this moment, “Better is open rebuke than hidden love.”

My wedding day is obviously something I’ll never forget. This is not only due to the man exceeding my dreams at the end of the isle, the tapestry, floral arrangements, loving community of friends and family, but also because of my Dad. As nerves ricocheted off of my heart, streaming through my bones and touching every part of me previously held together, my Dad’s arm at the entrance to the sanctuary kept their steady hold. I remember breathlessly whispering, “I might fall over”. Without hesitation he replied “I won’t let you fall.” And though I’ve heard a similar line in countless movies scenes – promises of un-ending love and support from men to women, I think for one to truly believe such a promise is extraordinary. I believed him then and still do today.

Though he isn’t a man of rapid and fluctuating emotion (nothing of course in comparison to my Mom and I) there is one, solitary moment in which I witnessed his tears. About two years into marriage, Josh and I encountered a slew of unanticipated trials.  Anger, addictions, and a severe distrust surfaced between us, nearly destroying not only our marriage but the relationships we had with our first love.  At its height, I spent weeks writhing in the agony of heartache and bracing myself against an army of hopelessness, beating down the door of my soul. Time away from work and school to be with family in Salem was a retreat I found necessary in order to gain my bearings and feel a sense of security once more. After taking similar time away for himself, Josh made a trip down to where I was. Head on the steering wheel and hands unsteady, I waited until he drew up the strength to pull away and walk inside my parent’s home.  My Mom was waiting on the stairs just as she had so many nights when I was a young girl; my Dad of course, in the next room as we entered together.  The grace of God in positioning His confidence and humility in Josh that morning is something I will admire deeply in my husband until the day I die. In brief and choked-back sentences he re-iterated the vows we had made years earlier, repented of those which were broken, and directed his plea for forgiveness specifically toward my Dad – the man who had “handed me over” to him on the basis of these promises-kept. But before Josh could finish the speech he had prepared, my Dad’s tears broke into the room; the same fist I had seen long ago, pressed now to his forehead, straining to contain a flood of tears. He suddenly stood from his seat across the room and ran at my still-shaking husband.  Taking him into his arms, Josh beseeched his forgiveness over and over again. My Dad's repeated cry in response has set its seal on my heart forever; “I forgive you….I forgive you….I forgive you...”. These fractured words between them were all that could be heard amidst their sobs as the very heart of Christ radiated from every corner of the room. As the weeping continued, my Mom and I (for perhaps the first time) sat in silence, stunned and unable to gather ourselves in response. A song from “Cinderella”, one I had heard a thousand times as a little girl played back in my heart, “So this is love…”.

My Dad has been a father to the fatherless, a fearless and gentle commander, and a lover of the unlovable. His unwavering commitment to the Lord and ambition to not only know the depths of that love, but communicate it to others has been an inspiration to me. He has taught patient endurance to a family with a stark inclination for the opposite. On the way home today, Josh and I  verbally wrestled with the ever-approaching titles of “Mother”/"Father" we were both to receive, and all that its meaning would demand. Josh closed our discussion by saying, “If I can be anything at all like your Dad, I will die a very successful man.”

Happy Father’s Day to my incredible Dad. 

May we raise up more men in this generation like you.