Following and Trusting : Encountering God Out of the Box

To honour my dad recently on his 80th birthday, I gathered and published memories from family and friends in a memory book.

I tell you… It was a moving experience to read how much impact my dad made in people’s lives.

Here’s a glimpse…
of my own personal memories with him…

…

My Dad!

When I think of dad, the very first thing that comes to mind is his smile— absolutely delighted to see me. 🙂

I remember my Aunt Leola once telling me, I think during my bumpy teenage years when I was still figuring out who I was, that I was: ‘the apple of Dad’s eye’.

That simple comment brought peace to my searching heart.

Having a dad who delights in his daughter is an incredible gift—one that has shaped me more than I’ll ever fully understand.

When you look at old photos—Dad holding me as a baby on the couch, or holding my hand beside the Buffalo Pound swimming hole—you can see it in his eyes. A proud dad, beaming with joy and delight.

His affectionate name for me growing up was “My gal.”

He’d say it so fast that one day, while we were helping a customer in the garage, a woman asked me,

“Why does your dad call you Miguel?”

It took me a moment to realize what she’d heard—and I had to laugh!

Like my brother, I too loved helping Dad in the garage—changing oil, washing and vacuuming cars, or just being near him while he worked.

His heart of kindness and excellence in serving others have shaped us both deeply.

We’ve watched him our whole life—
how he connects with people of every age,
always with warmth, always with genuine care.

One summer at Westbank Bible Camp,
Dad was the camp speaker,
Nik was the program director,
Mom volunteered in the kitchen,
and I was a cabin counsellor, lifeguard and swim instructor.

Our family has always loved God’s creation, His Word,
and serving others—Dad, leading the way by example.

As the camp speaker, Dad stirred within campers the wonder of God’s creation and His Word. Beyond this, Dad also intentionally joined the campers for meals, worked alongside them in chores,
and spent time talking with them outside of chapel.

Those simple, genuine moments opened doors for real conversations and heart connections.

When I later became a camp speaker myself,
I found myself following in his footsteps—engaging beyond the platform or primary assignment, just like Dad.

When Dad coached high school boys’ volleyball,
I remember watching him run drills with the players.
He didn’t just tell them what to do—he did it with them.

That left such an impression on me
that years later, when I coached women’s college volleyball,
I did the same thing.

As a high school teacher, Dad was one of the students’ favourites.
They knew he loved them.
I’ll never forget the day one student,
frustrated and unprepared, barked at him for asking her a question
as we went through the homework with the class.

Everyone was silent.
We could see the hurt on his face.
We all wondered how he would respond.

He quietly stepped out to compose himself,
then returned without saying a harsh word.
He simply moved on to the next question.

That moment changed the student.
She never came unprepared again, and neither did we.

Dad taught us all what grace looks like in real life.

When I was little, I once bought Dad a mouse finger puppet— something I thought we could enjoy together.

He later proudly brought it to school to show his high school students, and somehow it became the thing to do for student birthdays, even singing to them with the puppet on his finger.

I remember dad inviting his Christian Ethics class to even write a short story of the birth of Jesus from the perspective of this mouse in the stable. When I was old enough to be in his class, I remember this assignment distinctly. How fun that the finger puppet I once bought dad would help me see the Christmas story in a whole new way!

What started as one finger puppet, soon became two—
a boy and girl mouse named Okbar (Greek for ‘mouse’) and Okbaress. They became so dearly loved that they even received graduation invitations!
And Mom made them little outfits — a bow tie and a ribbon.

Dad’s joy and playfulness filled his classrooms with laughter.

Dad and I also shared a love of baseball.
I have such sweet memories of playing catch in the backyard,
and longing to be old enough to play Slo-Pitch on a team together.
When the time finally came, I was overjoyed!

When I later got to play elite competitive Women’s Fastball,
he and Mom drove out to BC—cheering from the sidelines.
Dad, of course, had his camera in hand, and joy in his eyes.

And then, there’s canoeing…

I remember from early on, as a family we’d load up the red Plymouth with the blue canoe, along with life jackets and paddles. But, I will never forget the daylong father-daughter canoe adventure from Moose Jaw to Lumsden with cows in the fields, looking at us in wonder. Mom would be waiting for us for hours in the Plymouth, late at night, not knowing when we’d arrive, while mosquitoes buzzed outside along with a policeman tapping on her window to check in on her. (Thank you, Mom!)

But one of my favourite memories of all time
was the first day I got to race cars with my dad.

I was only thirteen and initially went to watch him race on the frozen lake track at Buffalo Pound around pylons, yet the race coordinator asked if I too wanted to drive. When the man said I didn’t need a driver’s license to race, I looked at Dad, wondering what he’d say!

Immediately, his eyes lit up.

“Sure!” he said with the biggest smile.

I was excited!

We found a helmet small enough to fit my head,
and soon I was behind the wheel of our black Chrysler LeBaron GTS Turbo— Dad right beside me, coaching, smiling, and cheering me on.

I can still feel the thrill of that moment.

To my surprise, and thanks to Dad’s wonderful coaching, I won first in the women’s division—and came second overall, right behind him!

We both took home first-place,
but what mattered most to me…
was sharing that victory together.

A few years ago, when we all celebrated mom and dad’s 50th wedding anniversary, one of the fun things we did was go-kart racing. My kart was in front of his and I managed to block him out the entire race, not letting him pass me. When the race was over, he immediately came to me with his hand stretched out to shake mine and gleefully declared, “That was some incredible driving!”

He wasn’t upset, he was thrilled!

I am eternally grateful for Dad’s love and joy—
for the way he encourages and invests in people,
in our family,
and in his community.

Nik and I grew up watching Dad model joyful service and gratitude in everyday moments.

He has rarely, if ever, missed a chance to thank Mom for the food she’s prepared, and rolls up his sleeves afterward to wash the dishes by hand— his simple way of saying, “thank you” yet again.

It’s no surprise that,
in his later years,
he’s been nominated Citizen of the Year multiple times—
shoveling neighbours’ sidewalks,
helping wherever he can,
and spreading kindness as naturally as breathing.

We also grew up, beginning each morning in prayer together and feasting daily on the Word of God before eating breakfast. A common prayer from his mouth would be: “We pray for peace in our hearts, peace in our homes, peace in our country, and peace in Jerusalem.” And after we’d also pray for every relative and missionary we knew, often with their pictures on our fridge, he’d close with… “Thank you, thank you. Amen.”

We saw Dad live out his faith with consistency—
teaching God’s Word, praying for and with others,
and sharing God’s love in everyday settings.

I still remember going with Dad to visit the man at the Battery Depot, to patiently talk with him about Jesus,

or how Dad continues to faithfully meet with a group of men to pray and read the Word—a habit that began when we were just kids, back in the 70’s.

Because of dad’s example,
we have learned to treasure the Word, value God’s creation,
and treasure our conversations with the Lord.

Thank you, Dad,
for who you are—
steady, kind, grateful, joyful, and full of life.
You’ve been a gift to all of us,
and your love continues to ripple outward.

Thanks Dad!

Much love,

Merri Ellen 🙂

PS. If interested, I share more about my dad’s impact on my life that I continually draw from, through some of the most difficult trials, and I share it in a chapter in the book: “God, Show Me More of You”