The note ... not a payment ...

©Even though it’s been almost two years, I tell you, it’s still hard to believe I moved. I mean I spent the better part of 17 years at that first house and from time to time, I toyed with moving, but never saw it happening – until it did. These last few weeks we’ve become so much better acquainted and with each passing day, I learn to love it more than the day before. Yes, this downtime has allowed me to connect with this house, but it’s also given me the chance to reflect on the unexpected blessing I received many years ago …

The one that allowed me to walk into … my first house.

***

I had just turned 30 and I decided I was done renting; that’s right, I was ready to become a homeowner. With that, I selected a realtor – who just so happened to be a good friend, and this new chapter of life began unfolding. Weekend after weekend we searched and searched, from sunup to sundown, until we finally found the right one.

We made an offer, the builder accepted and the countdown to homeownership began. Each night instead of going to home to my apartment, I’d drive over to that house, stand in the front yard and make plans. I’ll do this over here, put this type of plant there, this picture in that room … on and on.  

Everything was going just as planned then out of nowhere, the builder called with news no applicant wants to hear. Seems the bank, the one that previously marveled at my credit rating, income, and debt ratio now had concerns. He said the only way I could get financing, was if I paid off my truck … the same truck that had over four years left on the note.

Frustrated, I called my father to vent as he always had a way of making things better. I told him the story about five or six different ways, maybe more and each time he patiently listened … five or six different ways. – maybe more After the last version, I paused, leaving an opening for him to finally speak.

“You done”, he asked. “Yeah, I’m done Daddy, thanks for listening” was my reply.

“Well, what time can you pick me up.” Confused I asked, “Pick you up from where Daddy? What’s going on?” Without hesitating he said, “I got to get up there and pay that truck off for you man. So, what time can you come by and get me?” I backed the conversation up thinking maybe he misunderstood the situation.

“Daddy … they’re not asking me to make a monthly payment, they’re asking me to pay the entire loan off.” No sooner than I was done talking, did he start. “I heard you now what time you coming down here man?”

I stalled and that’s when he stopped asking … and started telling. “Be at my house tomorrow at 9 and let’s get this business handled.” End of conversation. I showed up just like I was told and there he was. Yeah man, there he was standing in what I affectionately called … his Daddy Uniform -- a baseball cap, buttoned down shirt tucked into starched jeans with his glasses in the front shirt pocket, a rolled-up newspaper in the back jean pocket, topped off by a slightly worn pair of running shoes. “Let’s boogie” he yelled, and with that we began our three-hour trip back to Dallas.

He paid the truck off and we were back in Killeen by 6 that evening. I thanked him a million times and before leaving I thanked him again with a hug. As we broke our embrace, he grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me square in the eyes, popped me upside the head with his newspaper and softly whispered, “I’ve been wanting to bless you!”

***

Here’s the thing. I didn’t call looking to get my truck paid off. Even in my wildest dreams that dream never would’ve crossed my mind. I just needed to talk. Fact is, I had already spoken to my apartment complex about signing another lease and cancelling the home purchase altogether. But when I talked to my father, things changed.

Even with all the turmoil swirling around, I felt a certain calmness on that call. These last few days I’ve come to realize that feeling came from simply being in his presence, being in the presence of my father. I smile (and I know he’s smiling too!) as I remember trying to convince him it was more than he could handle … only to have him remind me of who I was dealing with. And as long as I live, I’ll never forget the sincerity in his eyes when he said he had been wanting to bless me.

He’s often the most neglected member of the family, but during this time when we’re all focused on one another, don’t forget to love on and talk to your father. A phone call, a cup of coffee, a conversation on the porch, working in the yard or any way you choose. Make it a point to talk to and when this storm passes, continue talking to your father.

Because when you do … things change.