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NOTES  FROM  THE  VALLEY - June 16, 2000

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil for you are with me."  Psalm 23.
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TOPIC:  FATHER'S  DAY  -  THOUGHTS  ABOUT DAD

Those of you who have been receiving "Notes" for awhile know how deeply I
love my Dad and how much I have missed him since he was the victim of a
drunk driver 33 years ago.  After all these years, there's still this spot
in my heart that hurts and wishes he were here.  Particularly on Father's
Day.  Cathy is the same way.  We know our Dad's are probably together right
now, sitting on a wide front porch somewhere in God's heaven, overlooking a
sparkling lake or gently flowing river and talking about the two of us.   My
Dad's fussing about how easily I get angry.  Cathy's Dad is wondering why
she still worries so much.  Shaking their heads at our foolishness.  Wishing
we'd remember the lessons they taught us.  Longing to be with us as much as
we long to be with them.

I know that not everyone has special feelings about their Dads.  I've also
seen the terrible images of Dads being portrayed in the media these days.
Abusive, insensitive, slovenly, crude, arrogant, ignorant, irresponsible and
intolerant are just a few of the more popular generalizations in vogue.  Al
Bundy used be an absurd joke.  Now he's the equivalent of a Father's Day
poster child.  Is it any wonder that young men today, like our sons Jack and
Chris, worry if they have what it takes to be good Fathers.  How did Fathers
get such a bad reputation?  I've got my opinions.  I'm sure everyone does.
But I don't want that to be the focus of this edition.  Instead, I'd like to
share some thoughts about what made our Dads so special to us and some
stories about other special Dads too.  In doing so, I hope to honor our Dads
and give some encouragement and guidance to those new Dads who are worried
about how they'll do.  Guys - if you've got the heart to worry about how
you'll do, you've got the heart it takes to be a good Dad.

My Dad's name is Jack and Cathy's Dad is Roland.   Cathy thinks her Dad was
handsome.  I think my Dad looked really impressive in his uniform.  But
that's not why we love them.  Neither of our Dad's were rich.  They worked
hard for everything they got and everything they got was used to provide for
the needs of their families.  And they provided for us really well.  But
that's not why we love them.  That hard work took time and so there was less
time to spend with us.  My Dad in particular was gone a lot (ask any
military brat and they'll give you the same story).  Neither of our Dad's
were famous.  And both experienced the heartbreak of a failed marriage.  So,
if wasn't good looks, fame, fortune or perfection that made our Dads
special, what was it?

Although the majority of what I'll share here focuses on my Dad, please
understand that what I remember and miss most about him I also found in
Cathy's Dad during the short, but memorable time I shared with him.  They
are two of a kind.  And these are the things that I remember most about
them:

Dad was a strong and confident man, yet gentle and quiet.  Some might think
these fairly odd traits for a senior officer in the U. S. Navy.  But Dad
just didn't believe in bullying people.  And to him, yelling and strong
armed tactics were the tools of a bully.  It used to amaze me when I'd see
him in uniform at work and watch how others responded to his directions as a
Commanding Officer.   I was so proud of him as a child.  Proud of the way
his men talked about him with such loyalty.  The same loyalty I felt for him
as my Dad.  I learned later why his men felt so strongly about him.  When I
was 17, I enlisted in the Navy so my Dad could swear me in at the
commissioning of his new command.  I was briefly assigned to that command
before my four year college deferment to get my commission as an officer.
So, for a short period of time, he was my Commanding Officer.  And I learned
from the guys I served with that my Dad never yelled or threatened his men.
He didn't command respect, he earned it.  And he never took credit unless it
was due.  He led by the strength of his character, never by the strength of
his arm or voice.  He was that way as a Commanding Officer and as a Dad.

Dad was a demanding man, yet fair and forgiving.  He expected a great deal
out of us by current day standards.  All of us had chores when we were
young, jobs when we got older, and some form of extracurricular involvement
at school (sports or clubs). He believed each of us had physical and mental
gifts God gave us and we needed to find out what they were and use them.  If
we tried something new and succeeded, he was our biggest cheer leader.  If
we failed, he would be the first there to pick us up and express his pride
in our attempt.  He believed that the only real form of failure was not
trying at all.  That's the standard he lived and taught us to live by his
example.

Dad was a busy man, yet freely giving of his time and support when we needed
him.  No, he wasn't home much.  Particularly during the Korean War.  And he
literally disappeared late one night and was gone for a full eleven months
during the Cuban Missile Crisis/Blockade.  But when he was home, oh how I
enjoyed being with him.  He loved the swings in our backyard and would push
us or swing along side while we talked.  And we made a great team on the
seesaw, despite our size differences.

Later, whenever he wasn't out to sea, he'd come to the football games or
track meets I was in to cheer me on.  That's the only time I ever heard my
Dad yell and he was so loud I could hear him above the crowd.  I acted
embarrassed, but I wasn't.  I loved every encouraging word.  Once, during a
track meet, my knee had become weakened from the hard impacts of doing the
Triple Jump.  I also competed as the first runner of the mile relay team.
As I finished my run and was stretching to hand the baton off to my team
mate, the knee gave out and I went down hard.  My friends and coaches pulled
me off the track, but the first hand there to lift me to my feet was my Dad.
And after the games, whether we won or lost, my Dad would invite the whole
team (and their dates) over to the house for sodas and popcorn to celebrate
our competitive effort.  All these years later, I still run into classmates
who remember those house parties.  Mom in the livingroom with the girls and
Dad in the backyard surrounded by the guys.  Talking and sharing.  Dad had a
great laugh.  It infected us all.  Well over a hundred people each time, but
never a complaint from a neighbor or a single outbreak of trouble.

And Dad was, above all else a loving man.  And he loved unconditionally.  No
matter how long he was gone, no matter how hard times were, no matter how
much trouble I had gotten into while he was away, there was never any doubt
that this man loved me and would put his life on the line for me no matter
what the threat or circumstance.  And loving me that much also meant that he
would be tough on me when I needed to learn an important lesson.  In our
house, punishment was always immediate and fit the crime.  And it was always
delivered in the same manner.  No yelling.  No threats.  Just a quiet
expression of his disappoint at our behavior, an explanation of the price we
would have to pay for what we had done, and then he'd give us a, hug and
say, "because we love you."  How do you get mad at that?  And Dad was a man
of integrity.  Dad never lied to Mom or to us about anything.  And the
toughest punishments we ever faced came if we ever crossed that line between
the truth and a lie.

This is probably way too long.  But it is a blessing for me to write about
my Dad and through him to acknowledge Cathy's Dad who was so much like him.
But I've got to emphasize that it wasn't what our Dads did for us that made
them special.  It was the motivation behind everything they did.  And that
motivation was love.  Love that gives without expecting in return.  Love
that doesn't set conditions before it will be given.  Love that would die
for another without hesitation.  And all of us, regardless of our
circumstances or condition, have a Father who loves us just like that and
more.  Each time I start remembering the wonderful things our Dads did for
us, I'm reminded of the scripture that says, "If you, then, though you are
evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your
Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"  (Matthew 7:11 NIV)

Please take a moment to reflect on those words this Father's Day.  There is
a Father who waits for us with more love than we can imagine and more
blessings that we are capable of receiving.  He is our heavenly Father.  Our
Abba Father - which literally means "Daddy."  And His love and blessings are
poised and ready to be poured out upon us in an overtaking flood if we will
just come to Him as His children and ASK!!!

I am as always - your brother and His grateful son,

Steve Hall



"WHEN  GOD  CREATED  FATHERS"
(Author Erma Bombeck)

When the good Lord was creating Fathers ... He started with a tall frame.

An angel nearby said, "What kind of Father is that?  If you're going to make
children so close to the ground, why have you put the Fathers up so high?
He won't be able to shoot a marble without kneeling, play pretend drinking
tea, tuck a child in bed without bending, or even kiss a child without a lot
of stooping."

God smiled and said, "Yes, but if I make him child-size, who would children
have to look up to?"

And when God made a Father's hands, they were large.

The angel shook her head sadly and said, "Do you know what you are doing?
Large hands are clumsy. They can't manage diaper pins, small buttons, rubber
bands on pony tails, or even remove splinters caused by baseball bats."

Again God smiled and said, "I know, but they're large enough to hold
everything a small boy empties from his pockets, all his daughter's paper
dolls, jump rope, yet small enough to cup a child's face in his hands."

Then God molded long slim legs and broad shoulders.

The angel nearly had a heart attack. "Do you realize you just made a Father
without a lap? How is he going to pull a child close to him without the kid
falling between his legs?"

God smiled and said, "A Mother needs a lap. A Father needs strong shoulders
to pull a wagon, to balance a child on a bicycle, or to hold a sleepy head
on the way home from the circus."

When God was in the middle of creating two of the largest feet anyone had
ever seen, the angel giggled and could not contain herself any longer.
"That's not fair. Do you honestly think those large boats are going to get
out of bed early in the morning when the baby cries? Or walk through a
birthday party without crushing one or two of the guests?"

Again God smiled and said, "It will work, you'll see. It will support a
small child who wants to ride a horse to Banbury Cross, or scare mice away
from a summer cabin, or walk in shoes that will be a challenge to fill."

God worked throughout the night, giving the Father few words, but a firm
authoritative voice; eyes that could see everything, yet remain calm and
tolerant.

Finally, almost as an after-thought, He added tears. Then he turned to the
angel and said, "Now are you satisfied that he can love as much as a Mother
can?"

The angel said nothing more.



THE  HAPPINESS  OF  BEING  FOUND!
(Author - James W. Moore, "Yes, Lord I Have Sinned, But I Have Some
Excellent Excuses")

When I was seven, I got lost at Ringling Brothers' Circus. More than twenty
thousand people were there that night.  My older brother Bob, who was nine,
had taken me by the hand down one of the exit ramps from the arena to the
crowded concession stand to get some cotton candy.  There were no neat
lines.  People were pushing and pressing toward the counter, trying to get
the vendor's attention.  Since my brother was taller, the cotton-candy man
saw him and served him first; Bob then stepped to the side to wait for me.

At least, he meant to wait for me. But just then loud laughter came from the
arena, followed by thunderous applause and fireworks.  The ringmaster's
voice exploded over the public address system, introducing the clowns, the
main act we wanted to see.  My brother didn't mean to leave me, but the
excitement was just too much for him, and he ran back up the ramp to catch a
glimpse of the clowns.  He meant to wait for me there, but a policeman told
him he couldn't stand there and asked to see his ticket stub. When Bob
fished into his pocket, he came up with two ticket stubs-his and mine, so
the policeman promptly escorted him to his seat.

By this time, I had my cotton candy, and I looked toward the spot where my
brother had been standing only moments before.  But now he was gone, and I
felt sick deep down in the pit of my stomach. I was scared to death!  I was
all alone in that huge crowd! I didn't know which ramp to go up; I didn't
know which section our seats were in.  All the ramps and entrances looked
the same.  I couldn't find my ticket stub, and to top it off, I had lost my
appetite for cotton candy.  Terrified now, I went up the wrong ramp, and
when I entered the huge auditorium, I turned the wrong way!  Nothing looked
familiar.  I wondered if I would ever see my family again.  I started to
run, trying (not too successfully) to fight back the tears.  Panic-stricken,
I looked frantically for a familiar sign or a friendly face, but all eyes
were riveted on the clowns in the center of the arena. Everyone was laughing
loudly at the antics of the clowns.  They weren't funny to me at that
moment. I remember thinking, "How can they laugh at a time like this? How
can they laugh when I feel so lost?"

Just then I felt a touch on my shoulder.  I turned around, to be gathered up
into strong loving arms.  It was my dad.  My father had come after me and
had found me.  It was a good thing he did, because I was running as fast as
my tired, scared legs would carry me-in the wrong direction.  He held me,
calmed me down, reassured me, then took me downstairs and bought me a Coke,
a hot dog, a Yo-Yo, a lizard, a little stuffed bear, and a candy apple.  I
learned a valuable lesson that day: Being lost is terrible, but being found
is wonderful!



CATCH  OF  A  LIFETIME
(Received from Casey via HeartStrings)

He was 11 years old and went fishing every chance he got from a dock at his
family's cabin on an island in the middle of a New Hampshire lake.  On the
day before the bass season opened, he and his Father were fishing early in
the evening, catching some fish and perch with worms. Then he tied on a
small silver lure and practiced casting. The lure struck the water and
caused colored ripples in the sunset, thin silver ripples as the moon rose
over the lake.  When his pole doubled over, he knew something huge was on
the other end. His Father watched with admiration as the boy skillfully
worked the fish along side the dock.  Finally, he very gingerly lifted the
exhausted fish from the water. It was the largest one he had ever seen, but
it was a bass.

The boy and his Father looked at the handsome fish, gills playing back and
forth in the moonlight. The Father lit a match and looked at his watch.  It
was 10 p.m. - two hours before the season opened. He looked at the fish,
then at the boy.  "You'll have to put it back, Son," he said.

"Dad!" cried the boy.

"There will be another fish," said his father.

"Not as big as this one," cried the boy.

He looked around the lake. No other fishermen or boats were around in the
moonlight. He looked again at his Father.  Even though no one had seen them,
nor could anyone ever know what time he caught the fish, the boy could tell
by the clarity of his Father's voice that the decision was not negotiable.
He slowly worked the hook out of the lip of the huge bass and lowered it
into the black water.  The creature swished it's powerful body and
disappeared.  The boy suspected that never again would he see such a great
fish.

That was 34 years ago.  Today, the boy is a successful architect in New York
City.  His Father's cabin is still there on the island in the middle of the
lake.  He takes his own son and daughters fishing from the same dock.  He
was right.  He has never again caught such a magnificent fish as the one he
landed that night long ago.  But he does see that same fish - again and
again - every time he comes up against a question of ethics.  For, as his
Father taught him, ethics are simple matters of right and wrong.  It is only
the practice of ethics that is difficult.

Do we do right when no one is looking?  Do we refuse to cut corners to get
the design in on time?  Or refuse to trade stocks based on information that
we aren't supposed to have?  We would if we were taught to put the fish back
when we were young.  For we would have learned the truth.  The decision to
do right lives fresh and fragrant in our memory. It is a story we will
proudly tell our friends and our grandchildren.  Not about how we had a
chance to beat the system and took it, but about how we did the right thing
and were forever strengthened.




FINISHING  THE  RACE
(Author - Craig Brian Larson, "Strong to the Finish")

It was Monday night, August 3, at the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona, Spain. At
the track and field stadium, the gun sounded for the 400-meter semifinals.
About 100 meters into the race, Britain's Derek Redmond crumpled to the
track with a torn right hamstring.

Medical attendants rushed out to assist him, but as they approached Redmond,
he waved them all aside, struggled to his feet, and crawled and hopped in a
desperate effort to finish the race.

Four years earlier he had also qualified for the 1988 Olympics in Seoul,
Korea. Ninety seconds before his heat he had to pull out of the Olympics
because of Achilles tendon problems. Following that injury, he had five
surgeries. Yet somehow he had qualified again for this 1992 Olympics, and
he'd just suffered a career-ending injury.  But he said to himself, "I'm not
quitting. I'm going to finish this race." He works his way, hopping,
crawling at times down the lane.

Up in the stands, a big guy wearing a T-shirt, tennis shoes, and a Nike cap
that said "Just Do It" across the front barreled out of the stands, hurled
aside a security guard, ran to Derek Redmond's side, and embraced him. He
was Jim Redmond, Derek's father.  Jim was one of these sports dads who
changes his whole life for the sake of his athlete child. He changed jobs.
He moved to find the best training for his son.  Now, arm around his son's
waist, Derek's arm around his dad's thick shoulders and neck, they continue
down the track.

Mom and sister were watching this race back home on television. His sister,
who was pregnant, went into false labor. Mom is weeping. There, at the
stadium, the crowd is standing, cheering. Derek and his daddy work their way
around the track until, finally, arm in arm, they cross the finish line.

If that's the way an earthly father responds to his son who is determined to
finish the race no matter what the price, how much more does God, our
heavenly Father, run to the side of his son or daughter who says, "I'm
finishing. I don't care how much it hurts. I don't care if I'm hanging on a
cross. I'm finishing."



YOUR  FATHER  KNOWS  THE  WAY
(James S. Hewett, Illustrations Unlimited)

When I was a small boy growing up in Pennsylvania we would often visit my
grandparents who lived nine miles away. One night a thick fog settled over
the hilly countryside before we started home. I remember being terrified,
and asking if we shouldn't be going even slower than we were. Mother said
gently, "Don't worry. Your father knows the way."

You see, Dad had walked that road when there was no gasoline during the war.
He had ridden that blacktop on his bicycle to court Mother. And for years he
had made those weekly trips back to visit his own parents.

How often when I can't see the road of life, and have felt that familiar
panic rising in my heart I have heard the echo of my mother's voice: "Don't
worry. Your Father knows the way."



PHONE  HOME
(Author - Dennis Miller, Leadership)

Out of parental concern and a desire to teach our young son responsibility,
we require him to phone home when he arrives at his friend's house a few
blocks away. He began to forget, however as he grew more confident in his
ability to get there without disaster befalling him. The first time he
forgot, I called to be sure he had arrived. We told him the next time it
happened, he would have to come home.


A few days later, however, the telephone again lay silent, and I knew if he
was going to learn he would have to be punished. But I did not want to
punish him! I went to the telephone, regretting that his great time would
have to be spoiled by his lack of contact with his father. As I dialed, I
prayed for wisdom. "Treat him like I treat you," the Lord seemed to say.
With that, as the telephone rang one time, I hung up. A few seconds later
the phone rang, and it was my son.

"I'm here, Dad!"
"What took you so long to call?" I asked.
"We started playing and I forgot. But Dad, I heard the phone ring once and I
remembered."
"I'm glad you remembered," I said. "Have fun."

How often do we think of God as One who waits to punish us when we step out
of line? I wonder how often he rings just once, hoping we will phone home.



LET'S  GO  HOME
(Author Joni Eareckson Tada, "Heaven, Our Real Home")

At the end of a five-day retreat for families affected by disabilities, a
microphone was passed around so all the participants could share a couple of
sentences about how meaningful, how fun the week had been. Little
freckle-faced, red-haired Jeff raised his hand. We were so excited to see
what Jeff would say, because Jeff had won the hearts of us all at family
retreat. Jeff has Downs syndrome. He took the microphone, put it right up to
his mouth, and said, "Let's go home."

Later, his mother told me, "Jeff really missed his dad back home. His dad
couldn't come to family retreat because he had to work." Even though Jeff
had a great time, a fun-filled week, he was ready to go home because he
missed his daddy.

This world is pleasant enough. But would we really want it to go on forever
as a family retreat? I don't think so. I'm with Jeff. I miss my Daddy, my
Abba Father. My heart is longing to go home. Don't miss the chance down here
on earth to begin investing in eternity so that heaven can be your heart's
home.
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Copyright © 1998-2000 by Stephen J. Hall  -   Weekly letters of
encouragement to Christians written by Stephen J. Hall unless otherwise
indicated.  Notes from the Valley and Humor from the Valley are never
intended to offend anyone.  They're meant only to brighten your day and
encourage you along the way.  Most of "notes" and "humor" are a collection
of items provided to me by subscribers and friends.  Credit is given to both
the contributor and to the true author, where known.  If you are blessed by
them, please feel free to make copies and pass them along to others.  If you
have something you'd like to contribute to a future edition or would like to
ask us a question or make a comment, please contact us at:

sossteve@...
________________________________________________

Your love, God, is my song, and I'll sing it!  I'm forever telling everyone
how faithful you are.  I'll never quit telling the story of your love - how
you built the cosmos and guaranteed everything in it.  Your love has always
been our lives foundation, your fidelity has been the roof over our world.
(Psalm 89:1-3 The Message)