Dad was a pastor, which made me “the preacher’s kid.”  Every now and then well-meaning church people said stupid things to me, as if I had to be perfect or superior or something they expected.

Dad said to me once, “Son, when people say things like that, they don’t mean any harm.  But it isn’t fair.  You can ignore it.”

Dad had very high standards for Christian living.  But he was wise enough to know that a ten-year-old follows Christ in a way different from a forty-year-old.  He was realistic and compassionate.  He made allowances for me to be a Christian kid.

My dad is the primary earthly reason I love the church.  He showed me how church life does not need to be oppressive.