He told me on the phone that he had saved a piece for me. I asked what he meant exactly, and he explained that he had omitted a section when he tiled the main living space in the house - “right inside the entry way.”
My dad was calling me from Iowa while I was living in Switzerland. It had been a few weeks since I had heard from him, and being 17-years old and living seven time-zones away from my family, it was really nice to hear his voice. He sounded tired but happy. “Tired” because he was burning the candle at both ends working a full-time job, and then coming home to work yet another one. “Happy” because the “other one” consisted of him building a home for himself, my mom, and my two younger brothers who were still living at home.
“When you get home I’ll have you do a mosaic for the entryway,” my dad informed me over the phone. “It’ll be fun.” I could almost see his hazel eyes twinkle at the thought of doing something so creative together.
I flew home months later and my dad had - in fact - saved a space in the front entryway for me. The section looked so strange sitting there all alone - a stark contrast of bare cement foundation up against the dark, tiled floor.
It’s my belief that creatives need an outlet in order to stay emotionally (and mentally) healthy. My father’s outlet was wood or anything wood-related, and as a result, I grew up around wood and tools and watching my dad always building something. He was always trying new things - stretching the limits and testing his capacity of talent and skill. What he would call “playing around…you know, nothing fancy or extravagant” would leave the average Joe drop his jaw in amazement.
The truth was my dad could have done his homework by asking the right questions and buying the right materials to do the mosaic himself, but that wasn’t what he wanted. My dad was requesting my creative thumbprint left on the front entryway floor of his home.
He purposely left that space bare because he wanted me to do a mosaic. The only thing was…I had never done anything like that before.
That space sat empty for some time. My bedroom was upstairs and in order to get to it, I had to walk right on top of the rug that was hiding the truth that the floor was unfinished. Weeks rolled into months, and like unwanted background music that continues to play, the undone project began to bother me.
My time back in the States was coming to a close. I was about to move abroad again, and not wanting to leave my dad hanging on the project, I brought it up one day…
“Pappy, I know that you want me to do the mosaic in the entryway,” I began. “But I’m nervous,” I confessed to him. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
My dad listened to my words but heard my heart. He answered my insecurity by saying, “Well, I’ve never built a house before, but look at what can be done!” Those happy-tired hazel eyes twinkled as he looked around the main living space - proving his point.
The house that was now home had transformed from a mice ridden, un-level, old farmhouse into my parents’ dream house. He had stripped it down to the bare studs, ripping out all of the old lath and plaster to get there. And then starting from a shell of a house, he built it back up - starting in the basement on the foundation and changing the floor plan as he went.
Not having any knowledge or experience for the project, I was feeling very much “in over my head.” However, my dad was offering me two powerful things - first of all, his confidence in me and secondly, himself. Where my limitations would leave me hanging, his skill would pick me up and carry me the rest of the way. I realized that I was not alone in my “never done anything like that before.”
That seemed like it was enough, so I nodded my head at the project.
Since my dad was giving me the lead on the mosaic, I had a big decision to make. The mosaic would be a first impression (as well as a lasting one) in their entryway; and since he wasn’t planning on doing the flooring a second time, I felt the full weight of my choice. After careful thought, I felt that it was only appropriate for it to be a tree - a nod to the wood that he had built his home and so much of his livelihood from.
We went to Menards later that week and walked to the tile section. Looking at the different sizes, textures, and colors, I started making my selection. I laid out the different tile on the aisle floor to visually get an idea of how many tile we would need - and see if they would all “play nice” together. We made our selection and then walked to the register to pay.
That week we cut and broke and arranged hundreds of small tile pieces into something beautiful. We laid it out once and then set it permanently in the space with mortar and grout.
When our sponge had wiped up the last bit of residual grout, we stood up to examine our work. Admiring the tree that seemed to stand tall in the grass that swayed in the wind, a sense of “proud” swept over my heart. I realized that with my dad’s confidence and assistance, I had just done something that I had never done before. And it felt great.
Twenty years ago my dad gave me a space in his home to showcase my own creative, and I smile every time I’m greeted by the mosaic inside the front door. It has survived two decades of wear and tear, laughter and tears. And even though I’ve since moved out of the house, have been married for over 15 years, and have four children of my own, it feels like it was only yesterday when my dad was calling me in Switzerland, telling me that “it will be fun.”
As I reflect on the memory, I realize that my dad did exactly what good dads are supposed to do. They see something in us that we don’t yet see in ourselves, and then they call it out. They give us a shot and a space and feature us for everyone else to see. Their confidence in us champions us when insecurities flare and self-doubt raises its voice. They believe in us when we have yet to learn the power of believing in ourselves. They become our loudest cheerleader and our number-one fan. They accompany us along the way, and when the work is done, they step back to admire our accomplishments and express how proud they are.
Good dads do all of those things, but nothing can beat the heartbeat of our Heavenly Father…
He sees things inside of us that we can’t see ourselves. And the reason He sees them so clearly is because He’s the One who so intricately put them there. “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Ephesians 2:10).
Scriptures says,
For You formed my inmost being;You knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise You,
for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Marvelous are Your works,
and I know this very well.
My frame was not hidden from You
when I was made in secret,
when I was woven together
in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all my days were written in Your book
and ordained for me
before one of them came to be.
Psalm 139:13-16
The Father delights in seeing us use the very giftings and passions that He wove into our hearts in the secret place. And when our insecurities flare and we feel like the “weakest" and the “least,” He instills confidence in us by calling us a “mighty warrior” (see Judges 6:12). His Spirit reassures us that His grace is sufficient and His strength is enough (see 2 Corinthians 12:9). And on top of it all, He promises to never leave us (see Deuteronomy 31:6). Simply put, He is faithful and we can trust Him.
It turns out that one can do amazing things - the “never done before” kind of things when someone sees it in them, calls it out of them, and walks with them along the way.