This may be one of the most personal blogs I have ever written.

I was stunned by Pat Robertson’s recent proclamation that  a man is free to divorce his wife if she has Alzheimer’s disease, on the pretense that “She is not there.”  I am compelled to respond because if I remain silent, I do a disservice to my family and my father.

You see, my dad went to heaven after suffering from Alzheimer’s for over five years.  In the end he recognized no one, and could carry on no meaningful conversation.  His every need had to be taken care of by others.   He spent much time staring blankly into space.

Yesterday my daughter Traci dropped a heavy block of wood on her foot and broke a toe.  The pain was agonizing but there a was a deeper disappointment that drove her to tears.  She had trained and raised support to run a half-marathon to benefit “Coopers Troopers” an organization dedicated to helping the families and siblings of children who have faced life threatening disease.   As she sat on the couch sobbing with her face in her hands, she heard tiny voice of her three year old son, Tyler.  “You want me to pray for you?”

Today as I drank my morning coffee, I was reminded that it is Fathers Day. The tears came suddenly as sweet memories of my dad flooded my soul.   I decided to re-post a blog I did six months ago.  I would be very honored if you would read it.  Then, if your dad is still living, say the words, “I love you.” If he is nearby, hug him. If he doesn’t like to be hugged, do it anyway.  Someday you will long to do so.  And if you are a Dad, say the words a hundred times to family and friends today,  magical words, words we were created to hear.  I love you!  I love you!  I love you!

This one is for you Dad! Can’t wait to see you again.

Sometimes I ask myself why I leave my family every week to endure the hassle of travel. Occasionally I get weary and wonder why would I eat junk food and sleep in lonely hotel rooms in order to stand on a stage and deliver the one gift God has given me.  Then I meet a girl like Kallai, and I vow that I will do this until God takes my breath away.

I am on a bus headed for a Compassion project in Fortaleza, Brazil. Marco, a handsome, tanned man with wispy white hair has just boarded the bus.  Marco has labored on the behalf of poor children in Brazil for 27 years. He talks so fast the interpreter can barely keep up.

In broken English and with a face creased with lines from a thousand smiles he asks, “What could be better than excellence?”