Today is a disjointed Father’s Day.

For as long as our family can remember, Father’s Day meant worshiping together. Sitting together. Singing together. Going to lunch together. Enjoying the simple blessing of being in the same place at the same time.

Today, we’ll be in two different places.

I’ll be where I normally am—serving our church family through three services as part of the worship team.

My bride and the rest of the family will be somewhere else entirely, watching our son be commissioned for a summer of Christian camp ministry. A role he’s dreamed about for years. A role he’s prayed for. A role he’s worked toward.

But leave it to my wife to ask the questions everyone else is thinking.

“Who schedules a commissioning service on Father’s Day?”

And then, after looking directly at me:

“They couldn’t find anybody else?”

To be honest, she has a point.

Only a few weeks ago, I spent multiple columns celebrating mothers. I wrote about their influence, their sacrifices, and the irreplaceable role they play in building families and shaping civilization.

Do I believe fathers are any less important?

In fact, Father’s Day lands differently for me altogether.

Mother’s Day fills me with gratitude.

Father’s Day fills me with reflection.

And if I’m being completely honest, it still carries a wound.

Because every father I’ve ever had........

© Townhall