When I was 3, my dad made a recording on a cassette tape of me and my sisters talking about ourselves, singing songs, etc. Towards the end, he asked if any of us had anything else we'd like to say. I yelled, "I do! I do!". It got quiet and I said very seriously, "I know...I love...my father." (Although in my 3 year-old voice, father sounded more like "faw-dor".) Everyone laughed and I said, "Hey, that's not a funny word!." Their laughter did not weaken my conviction, however, and I again said, "I know I love my father."
Well, 21 years later, one of the things I still know for sure is that I love my father. He is such an amazing example to me in so many ways. He has always taken such great care of all of us and has recently followed suit by giving everything he has to help one of my little sisters recover from an illness. His testimony of the gospel is unshakeable and has been ever since two missionaries knocked on his door when he was 18. I was so lucky to have him as my seminary teacher my senior year. He taught Book of Mormon to an all-girl class and none of us will ever forget what an incredible teacher he was. Years earlier when he first started teaching seminary, he would spend hours each night preparing lessons, making sure that they were just perfect. By the time he was my teacher, he had his lessons down to a science, or an art really. I grew up getting the best family home evening lessons from him, and even more appreciated, getting the best advice with any problem I could come up with. But what I appreciate most now, from a more grown-up perspective, is how he love's my mom. He is so sweet and gentle with her and love's her more than life itself. My mom's a little fragile now with her pacemaker and head pain (although she would never let you know it) and it means so much to me that she'll always have my dad. No one looks out for her and protects her like he does. I love you, Dad!
