Today is Father’s Day 2012. A loving voice message from one daugther, and a phone call from another has properly humbled me and made me feel loved. Monica treated me to a lovely cup of coffee from Dunkin Donuts, then a drive by Dad’s gravesite, and on to Briscoe Park for a quiet, contemplative sitting by the water. Ah, the beauty of water falling in the morning sunlight. Breathtaking!

Today, I am struck by the picturesque and insightful words of Psalm 77:19. After an awesome description of how God delivered the Israelites from Egypt, parting the Red Sea with incomparable power and shock-and-awe special effects, Asaph says this:

“Your road led through the sea, your pathway through the mighty waters – a pathway no one knew was there!”

A pathway no one knew was there. In spite of all the complaints about how my life has not turned out the way I wanted it to, and I don’t have the income and security I thought I would have at this age, I have, of late, been reminded that the reality is this: the story of my life is the story of one blessing after another.

The pathway that has been provided for me is one that I did not see coming. My story, my life journey is as much a surprise to me as is the Phoenix rising from it’s own ashes; the spirit enlivening the dead bodies in Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones; the unexpected turn of events when a man who was executed somehow comes back to life. It is not anticipated; it is not predictable; it is not scripted.

I wonder if your story is like mine. I stood at my father’s grave this morning, and I remembered his face, his laugh, his mannerisms. I recalled his service in the war as an engineer gunner on a B24; I heard the sound of his deep voice, and called to mind the way he walked, the way he gestured, and the way he enjoyed a good cup of coffee . . . just like me.

His career is not what matters to me. His standing in the community is not what I reflect upon. His path was indeed one which no one would have guessed. But that path included me.

There is a path. There is a road to my life. It is often not visible until my foot hits the ground, ground which I usually cannot see is even there until I have put my full weight on it. Then it appears, as if out of the depths.