faux pas papa

he saunters in
his shirt half stuffed 
in the back of his
age old khakis.
he makes himself rather comfortable,
propping his feet on the 
coffee table 
to my horror.
we are here for an organized meeting.
heavy with information and 
exposing empty pockets 
high functioning begging if you will
 [at least that's how it feels]
and here's my dad, 
carelessly casting his soggy paper plate
[from a more than socially aware amount 
of apple pie eaten]
on the neat and tidy brochures
that explain our purpose in the first place. 
there is talk of numbers and buildings
and all that God is doing 
and where do little me and him fit 
into all of this..
our esteemed and honored guest,
the Englishman pastor
continues to speak eloquently 
as he always does,
when i watch him, 
with the rolled up khakis,
dig inside his pockets 
and out spills into his palm a small fortune of 
york peppermint patties
[which again, 
to my horror],
had been spotted at the table in the kitchen 
of our hosts.
why the need to hoard, dad?
you can always grab more 
once you have finished some..
i am somewhat embarrassed by him,
to my own shame,
and i worry what others are thinking of him me.
There is more talk,
honest and forthright, 
and then to end the evening, 
a call to prayer. 
all is quiet and weighty, 
we are all churning in our minds 
all that we have heard,
how do we even pray?
and my father, 
is the first to raise his voice in prayer,
he is soft spoken and very sincere.
he lifts us up, 
along with our englishman pastor,
and i am then humbled at my shame for him
only moments before 
which has now transformed
to heart bursting pride 
and thankfulness.
he is sincere and his voice shakes 
with raw emotion,
but his faith is strong and sure.
much more than i could have said
about mine in that moment.
so. 
though my father may not be 
the tidiest looking of the bunch,
or be super aware of how to conduct himself 
in social circles,
one thing he does know 
is who God is 
and who He promises Himself to be. 
A Provider. 
An Arm that is not too short.
a Taker of burdens. 
oh me of little faith.
may I learn from my dad, 
who our heavenly Father is, 
and not be 
put to shame.