Dear Dad,

As a child, I watched you become a gentle man.

I don't know if I ever told you this, but in my earliest memories I can remember times you were frustrated or angry. Not because of anything you did that you shouldn't have done. On the contrary, even as a child I realized you took specific steps to not act out of anger. (Case in point: The long pause between being sent to our room to await a spanking and the time it took for you to slowly walk to the kitchen, open the drawer, withdraw the wooden spoon, and meet us again for a talk, three swats, hugs and prayer!)

For some reason, a clear picture in my mind is of peering from the back seat to the front where Mom was patting your hand while soothingly saying, "Now Jim, Jim" as a means of lowering your blood pressure over a now-forgotten incident in the car. I remember as a child that sometimes we three girls would get on your last nerve while you tried to concentrate on driving! Probably because of my own emotional sensitivity, I tuned into your moods and felt heightened anxiety when I knew you were upset, which is what imprinted this memory.

Another time I knew you were (rightfully) SO very upset and angry was the day you came home from being robbed at knife point downtown. I still recall the tension shimmering off of you as you marched through the gate after having the monthly remittances for the entire missionary team stolen. Later I learned you tried to fight off the assailants because you didn't realize they had a knife, and not one of multiple witnesses tried to assist you. 

One humorous memory I have of your frustration wasn't so funny at the time, as it involved being pulled over by a Chilean policeman when we were attempting as a family to head out of town for vacation. The carabinero was on foot when he waved you over and wrote a ticket (or threatened to, I'm not sure which) for running a light. It may have even been a yellow light, I don't know. What I do know is that if you had not kept going, we'd likely have been rear-ended. But when you tried to explain that, you were authoritatively shut down. It bears noting that in the days of the military dictatorship when the police were considered part of the armed forces, interactions with them could carry an air of tension. However, that did not stop you from asking in frustration, "Do you drive a car?" And after he answered in the negative, you declared: "Se nota!" ("It's obvious!") Much to the astonishment of your wide-eyed daughters!

But, Dad, by the time I was a teenager you were characterized by "strength under control" or meekness as the Bible calls it. You practiced it on me the times I made really foolish choices that deserved a loud rebuke but instead received measured counsel and consequences. I observed it from the outside looking in when as a field team leader or school principal you had to address some really complex issues where others were ready to "drop the hammer" but you somehow balanced discipline with genuine love and kindness.

The example that stands out most clearly is from the year we were joined in Chile by a woman who emotionally wreaked havoc on everyone around her. When one day she addressed you unfairly and publicly in the most disrespectful terms, you held your peace. In fact, when I wanted to speak angrily and critically of her (or anyone else, for that matter) you instead called for grace and respect.

Your example to me spoke louder than any words and has followed me throughout life. I can't claim to have achieved the level of meekness I ought. I have my own collection of "Se nota!" stories. But I also have your counsel in my heart.

Thank you, Dad, for becoming a gentle man. Thank you for blessing me with your gentle love. 

I miss you, and I love you.

Steph