Thanking God for My Father

I went to visit my father yesterday since he was flying to Helsinki, Finland, later in the day and would not be around for Father’s Day. As I think of my father, I am deeply thankful for a father who was never afraid to weep for his children, especially me, when I was a wayward youth.

I am thankful for a father who personally sacrificed for his children and decided not to go back to his homeland in Iraq because he rightly felt that we would have a better life in the West. What a providence that! I would have been of age to have fought in the Yom Kippur War, which Iraq was involved in. What I was spared from!

I am deeply thankful for a man who raised us in the West and gave us western values. One of my birth names is Azad (the A. in my signature is for Anthony, an uncle, not for Azad). It means “freedom.” It well depicts what my father felt when he came to England where I was born. It probably is not politically correct to say this, but I am so thankful to God for such a providence that I was raised in the West and that he led such a father to make critical decisions that have affected my life. I probably should start using that A. again—even if it means having three initials!

Heavenly Father, thank you for this man, who was the first man in my life.