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“No man fails on purpose.” I’ve heard Patrick Morley often share this truth many times and it’s always resonated with me—for both its simplicity and its depth. The pain contained in its layers has been known by many wives, daughters, sisters, and mothers. But another victim—”patient zero,” if you will, in this epidemic of disappointment—is the man himself, who had big dreams and good goals and a longing to leave a legacy.
I am one of those daughters, and my dad was one of those men.
Childhood - Whirlwind - Fort-building - Birthday - Parties
My childhood was a whirlwind of fort-building, birthday parties, art projects, softball games, and music, and my dad stood at the center of it all. The woman I am today is a direct result of that whirlwind. I grew up to be confident because of my parents’ endless encouragement. I grew up to be strong-willed because of the freedom they gave me to have my own opinions and desires. Friendly because my dad modeled it daily to strangers. And able to love because I never doubted I was loved.
And it wasn’t just the assurance I was unconditionally loved by them, but that I was unconditionally loved by God. When I look back, I don’t remember ever not knowing about Jesus. I vividly recall the car rides on Sunday mornings to the church on the lake downtown. We’d listen to Casey Kasem’s Top 40 with the windows down—the breeze causing my hair to dance around my face.
Kids - Lesson - Church - Children - Church
I would wonder excitedly what the kids’ lesson was going to be in “big church,” after which we’d run off to children’s church, quarters clutched in our hands that my parents had given us for the offering. There, we’d play and learn and end the morning with cookies and red punch—a close second to salvation in my five-year-old mind. Then we’d...
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