This is a story about me and my daddy.
My daddy told me that when I was a baby, he would pack me up with my bottles, etc. and take me on his milk truck run. So, I really am the milkman’s baby.
My parents were very young, and divorced when I was around 5 years old. I believe they did the best they could, and I am sure it was tough in the early 1960s.
The circumstances of life and at times many miles kept us apart for so very long, but in my heart, he was always my daddy. The times we did get to spend together were precious to me, as were his stories.
For 10 days before my daddy moved to heaven in February, I was blessed to stay with him and his wife. He was in hospice care in the house he built, with his bed in front of the fireplace. He was at peace, surrounded by what was familiar, and by people who loved him deeply. I am grateful to have been able to help care for him.
In those 10 days I am so glad I got to know those who were very close to him. They feel like extended family.
One of the things that really touched me was hearing that he told everyone the milkman’s baby story. It means so much to know that even though we were rarely together, we both often thought of each other. My daddy loved me just as I loved him.
I prayed for my daddy for years, especially after I was introduced to the Holy Spirit in my early teens. I wanted him to know my Jesus, and to go to heaven. Well, during those 10 days, I met his pastor and I know I will see my daddy again in heaven.
Sometimes I am sad we didn’t get to be together more, but I am so very happy he is in my future, my forever in heaven future.
If you have been praying for someone for a long time, keep praying, keep believing, because oh how the Father loves them. Oh how he loves you, and oh how he loves to save those who are lost. Trust Him, He is a good, good Father. He is faithful.
A Grateful Grace-full Life 