One day a father came home tired from his job late in the evening, slumped into his chair and turned on the TV to watch the evening news. His five-year-old son came by and gave him a hug.

The boy sat for a while and watched his father watching TV. Finally he asked, “Daddy, can I ask a question? I was wondering how much money you make an hour?”“Well,” the father said impatiently, “it’s really not important and you’re probably too young to be asking questions like that, but if you need to know, I make $22.00 an hour.”

The boy ran up to his bedroom, and soon ran back with some dollar bills in his hand. “Daddy,” he exclaimed, handing him the dollar bills. “I’ve saved exactly $11.00 since Christmas. Can I buy a half-hour of your time?”            

I re-read this story last week and fittingly enough, for this month I find that my thoughts often turn to memories of my own Dad. April was the month of his birth – April 14^th to be exact. It’s hard to believe that he has been gone for fifteen years and he died much too young at the age of 62. Along with the thoughts of my father I’ve also been reflecting on the way that I “parent” my three children. After all, my Mom and Dad are my barometers – they are the measure by which I measure myself. I had a great Dad. I have a wonderful Mom, and I know my Mom won’t mind if I center for a moment on what I learned from my Dad.

Unlike the father in the story, my dad came home from work each day and threw himself into the lives of my brothers and sisters. Often he would stand in the front yard of our home in Neenah and toss the football to us – or wrestle with a joyful abandon with all five of us climbing over him and clinging to him – or walk around the yard and talk to us about our days, our friends, our concerns, our lives. We never felt that we had to purchase a ‘half an hour’ of time or that he was too preoccupied with important things for our little concerns. His presence always reaffirmed for us that we were important, we were valuable, and most of all, we were loved.           

 I am very much aware that my deepest images of God have come from my parents. There is an old proverb that says: What God is to the world – so parents are to their children. I think most of us would agree that we learn about God from the ones who nurture us. It is because of my parents that my God is a God of presence – One who always has time for me – One who cherishes me and longs to spend time with me in a joyful abandon – One who constantly reminds me that I am important, and valuable, and most of all, loved.

I share this with you this month because I find so many people hurried and frantic this time of year. Perhaps it’s because we’re into the last two months of the school year and so much needs to get done; perhaps it’s because we all want to finish up our work tasks so as to free us up for some summertime leisure; perhaps it’s simply the pace of our world today. My life, like yours is hurried and frantic and it is so easy to misplace our priorities. I stand indicted by the story I shared with you.

There have been many times in the past months that I’ve turned on the television, or read the paper, or busied myself in a task rather than being present to the little children in my house. There have been many times when I am more present to my work than I am to my wife. There have been many moments when I have sat with my family at the dinner table without really listening to them. The story, like the Gospel comes with a challenge for all of us. Whom ever is in our care, whom ever we are called to nurture, whom ever we love – we must always remember that we are image-bearers of God for them. We have to find time for what is truly important in life. We have to embrace this beautiful season of springtime and remember that all of us are called to re-birth every day; to recommit; to renew our loves. God has allowed me to be a Father and husband and hopefully someday Ben and Joey and Rachel will learn from me what I learned from my Dad – that they are important, and valuable, and most of all – loved.