My Right Guard

Posted by on Aug 1, 2018 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts | 2 comments

My Right Guard

I was blessed this year to be able to visit Daddy for Father’s Day. I don’t take for granted any opportunity to spend time with him, especially since he suffered those two nasty strokes a few years ago. We are travelling the roads more often these days, but being with him on Father’s Day, that was special.

That morning I stood beside the bed helping Mom get Daddy ready for his day. Mostly I stood around and watched because Mom is so good at caring for him, but I tried to be proactive and figure out what came next. I’m telling you, caring for someone at home is much different than hospitals. In hospitals we don’t have clothes. We have hospital gowns, and in case you haven’t been around one lately, I’ll let you in on a secret. They are open in the back. Real clothes are much harder to deal with.

Anyway, I stood there and watched as Mom grabbed the deodorant. As the aerosol floated through the air, the scent brought a flood of nostalgia to me. (Did you know that smell is the most nostalgic of all of the senses? It’s true.)

Anyway, before even seeing the can, the words “Right Guard” flew into my mind. I glanced over to where Mom was placing the can back on the dresser and sure enough, it was Right Guard. I grinned.

Then, as frequently happens my mind took the idea and ran with it. I realized that not only has Daddy used Right Guard for as long as I can remember, he has always been my Right Guard, from the moment I was born.

Let me share how.

First, he was Right on Guard when I was little to make sure I was safe. He would hold my hand when we crossed the street. When my parents traveled by train from California to Nebraska with two preschoolers, they each took one of us to be in charge of. They were on it.

Daddy had rules about where we could ride our bikes . . . to keep us safe. He paid attention to what we said when we came home from school and if something sounded wrong, he marched right in there to talk to the teacher.

I always felt safe when Daddy was there. When I was little he told me that they had stopped the Korean War when he was in basic training because they heard he was coming. Of course he was kidding, but I believed him.

When we were old enough to drive, he was Right on Guard to make sure we knew how to change a tire; change the oil; never, never, never pick up a hitchhiker; and don’t get in a hurry  to turn into traffic. If you wait you will always have an opportunity to go when it is safe.

Not only was he Right on Guard, but he was a Right Guard. His rules had reasons. His policies were based on common sense and Bible principles. Many of them he had learned from his parents and he passed them on to us. And he didn’t expect us to follow rules that he wouldn’t follow. (Unless of course, the rules were there because we were young and immature.)

Finally, he was the Right Guard for me. God knew just what I needed in a Daddy. He put me in the family he did so I could get the support that would help me grow into the person God wanted me to be. He planned it all.

And now that Daddy can’t guard us like he did, we guard him. Oh, he is still “on the job” more often than not. If he knows one of us is gone from home, he will watch and listen and ask about us until we are safely home in our spots. That’s just part of his “guarding.” But, the truth is, he can’t guard us anymore, except in the best way of all.

Daddy prays. There in his recliner, unable to verbalize his thoughts well, he prays. And, that is the best kind of guarding he could possibly do.

2 Comments

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  1. Lynn Gentry

    I’m going to cry now. This is a pretty accurate description of my Dad, too. Even in Parkinson-ridden bodies, Dads are still Dads, Christ-like and loving to the end.

    • admin

      Lynn, I didn’t get to see your dad in action with Parkinsons (Daddy has it too and my sister, Cheryl,) but I can imagine. He was a gentle man of God like my Daddy. They love God and his Word and stood fast on the principles of the Bible. Hugs.

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