Memorial Day provoked this. God bless our fallen fathers.
Our fathers have gone before us.
They have gone places we’ll never go, hoping we would never have to go there ourselves.
Our fathers have gone the extra mile to insure we have a clear path pointing to peaks they only ever imagined scaling.
Our fathers have gone before us, to work or to war, hoping we would have better options than they.
Wear and tear doesn’t begin to describe the effect their sacrifices have taken on them. But would they mean as much or be remembered as long without their scars?
Do their scars draw out our gratitude?
Some fathers have gone before their time, or at least before we wanted them to.
Death, where is your sting? You’re swallowed up in victory.
The godly dead have their reward, and the legacy of a father lives on in each of us.