“A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.” Psalm 68:5

While cleaning up the other day, I discovered a box of photos. Among the photos, I found one of me at seventeen taken at my high school prom. Certainly, I was the definition of “cool,” wearing my gray tuxedo and tennis shoes; sporting a mullet that would have made Billy Ray Cyrus jealous. It is not unusual to find an old photograph, but this one stood out. It was old, faded, and crumpled. I looked on the back where “Love James,” was written. This photo had once belonged to Luke.

My father left the night I was conceived. When I was born, “Unknown” was typed on my birth certificate where my father’s name should have been. My grandfather stepped in and helped to raise me. But after my grandmother died, some government bureaucrat decided that my grandfather was incapable of raising me on his own. So, I went into the foster care system.

Someone once said, “You don’t miss something you never had.” That’s a lie. An unloved child will spend his or her life trying to fill that ache inside with the wrong things. The rise in poverty, crime, dropouts, teen pregnancy, addictions, and suicide can be traced in a large part to fatherless kids. I desperately missed having a father until Luke came into my life.

Luke was one of my high school teachers. Luke and his wife, Joan, had no children of their own. They took me in, and Luke became like a father to me.

I went to college, enlisted in the army, and eventually married and started a family. Because of the busyness of life, I didn’t call or visit Luke very often. When I finally got around to making time for him, he was already dying from cancer. During one of our last visits, I noticed his wallet was open on a table beside his hospital bed. My crumpled photograph was visible above his driver’s license. Luke had carried it for over twenty-five years.

As I looked at the photograph, I felt love for the man, who, without my knowledge, spent years loving me. I imagine him showing the picture to his friends and saying, “This is my son. He’s in the army.” Or “This is my son. He just finished his doctorate.” Or “This is my son. I am so proud of the man that he has become.” Luke loved me even when I was too busy to love him.

Webster’s dictionary states that a “father” is “a man who has begotten a child.” In other words, he is the sperm donor – Mr. “Unknown” on my birth certificate. Webster’s also defines “to father” as “to accept responsibility for.” Thank God, for men like Luke, who accept responsibility for children, and love the fatherless.

The point is: Any man can father a child, but it takes a real man to be a dad. If you had a dad who loved you, take the time to let him know how much you love him. It would mean more than a necktie this Father’s Day.

If you never had a dad, remember that God is a Father to the fatherless. Luke’s crumpled photo reminded me of another Father’s love. A Father, who is always there. A Father, who is watching your life as it unfolds on this planet. A Father, who loves you.

Give your life to Him and celebrate “Father’s Day” every day, forevermore.

James Collins is a pastor, writer, and columnist. Follow him on Twitter @collins_point, Facebook James Collins “The Point Is,” or at the website thepointis.net.

A visiting pastor attended a men’s breakfast in the middle of a rural farming area. The group had asked an older farmer, decked out in bib overalls, to say grace for the morning breakfast.

 “Lord, I hate buttermilk,” the farmer began. The visiting pastor opened one eye to glance at the farmer and wonder where this was going. The farmer loudly proclaimed, “Lord, I hate lard.” Now the pastor was growing concerned. Without missing a beat, the farmer continued, “And Lord, you know I don’t much care for raw white flour.” The pastor once again opened an

eye to glance around the room and saw that he wasn’t the only one to feel uncomfortable.

 Then the farmer added, “But Lord, when you mix them all together and bake them, I do love warm fresh biscuits. So, Lord, when things come up that we don’t like, when life gets hard, when we don’t understand what you’re saying to us, help us to just relax and wait until you are done mixing. It will probably be even better than biscuits. Amen.”

I have to wonder if God isn’t doing a little blending in America. A country that started off so strong has taken a turn that (hopefully) is teaching us much, mainly that God remains in charge. He is fully capable of making warm, fresh biscuits out of some pretty unpalatable ingredients, and yes, some of us require a little more kneading than others.) So, if we agree that this blending is our answer, then 2 Chronicles 7:14 KJV gives us instructions on our goal: If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear.

To do that, we need to make Ps. 139:23-24 our daily/hourly prayer. Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my concerns. See if there is any offensive way in me; lead me in the way everlasting.

Examining our own hearts is pointless, no doubt because we will find a way to justify our evil actions/attitudes. After all, we haven’t killed anyone. We didn’t loot those stores or throw iced water at the police officers. We merely sat in our comfy living rooms and watched on television as the wickedness of someone else’s heart played out. But that’s not what God calls us to do. He wants us to lay our ugly hearts at His throne and ask Him to reveal any wickedness in us (even though it is so much more our nature to find the wickedness in others).

Get that? Any wickedness. Any times when we have remained silent and not spoken out against bigotry and violence. Any times we have secretly celebrated payback between our race and theirs. Any times we have allowed others’ prejudiced behavior to affect ours. Any times we have not asked God to help us examine our hearts, to call our wickedness into account and to change our ways.

Last night I watched Just Mercy, the true story of Harvard law school graduate Bryan Stevenson’s defense of wrongly condemned Walter McMillian who was sentenced to die for the murder of an 18-year-old girl. Stevenson quickly learned that in the South, he, a black man, was himself a target, simply because of the color of his skin.

Refusing to return hate for hate, he founded the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama. He and his staff have won reversals or release from prison for over 135 wrongly condemned death row prisoners and won relief for hundreds of others wrongly convicted or unfairly sentenced. Black and white. Blending at its finest.

If God is stirring something in your heart like He is mine, then we need to agree to be part of the blending process. Granted, we’ve come a long way, but until we determine what we can do to make a difference, we will have a long way to go.