When Fathers Cry

My uncle passed away a little over a week ago.  He was my dad's little brother.  My dad asked me if I would do the memorial service, and I was pleased to do it.  I've actually done quite a few memorial services and funerals for my relatives - it's an amazing opportunity to preach the hope of Jesus to a captive audience of my loved ones!

The thing that was different about this weekend's service, though, was that part way through I lost my composure.  As a pastor/teacher I spend a lot of time in front of people using my finely honed (like a rusty pocketknife) public speaking skills and I've never had a problem "keeping it together."  Oh, sure, I've wept while talking, had to stop and take a breath when emotions were high, but never, never have I been stopped in my tracks by tears. 

The surprise came when I was reading through the things my dad had written for and about his brother.  It was so sweet, and I had almost gotten to the end of it when I glanced out at the faces assembled in the room and I saw my dad crying his eyes out.  And that was that.  I stumbled, teared up, tried to read some more, cracked, stopped, breathed long and low, and finally mustered up enough composure to just simply tell everyone how I didn't realize "how hard this was going to be."

What I saw in my dad in that moment was a tenderness I had rarely seen growing up.  He wasn't a hard man, just distant emotionally (at least from my vantage point).  I think I'm quite a bit like him. He's been an amazing grandpa: the best, really. And as we've both grown older I've learned a lot about my dad.  I've discovered what a huge heart he really has, and a sensitive one at that.  I've learned he's actually a very decent writer (don't tell anyone!).  I've learned that he loves people A LOT.  When I saw him crying strong, manly tears for his brother, I felt his sorrow and it crushed me.  I also learned, in that brief instant, more about being a man than he could ever tell me in words.