A Father’s Day Blessing

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To quote the late evangelist Billy Graham, “A good father is one of the most unsung, unpraised, unnoticed, and yet one of the most valuable assets in our society.”

When I first wrote these words several years ago, my father, Albert “Hack” McMullen, was still with us. Today, Father’s Day feels different. Daddy is no longer sitting in his favorite chair telling one of his preacher jokes or laughing before he can even finish the punchline. He is no longer reading the Christmas story to our family gathered around the living room or bowing his head to pray over a holiday meal.

But if there is one thing I have learned since his passing, it is that a life lived for God never truly leaves those who loved him.

If I were asked to describe my father, I would say he was a man who put God first in everything he did, loved my mother faithfully for more than 70 years, and showed his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren what unconditional love looks like.

Daddy grew up in southeastern Lauderdale County, one of five children raised during the difficult years of the Great Depression. Life was not always easy, but those early years helped shape the humble, hardworking man he would become.

He married my mother, Janell Wilkinson, while they were both still students at Vimville. Both excelled in basketball, and Daddy never tired of telling the story of how Mama had the prettiest legs in school. One of his favorite memories was seeing her name in The Meridian Star as a top scorer. Since they were already married, the paper listed her as “Janell McMullen” instead of her maiden name, Wilkinson. Daddy was always so proud of that clipping and loved telling the story for years afterward.

Not long after their marriage, Daddy surrendered to the ministry and was ordained at Carmel Baptist Church under the leadership of Bro. Tom Miller. His calling would shape the rest of his life.

While pastoring churches and raising a family, he pursued his education at Clarke College, Mississippi College and eventually New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, where he earned his Doctor of Divinity degree. Those years were not always easy financially. Daddy often told us about arriving home to find bags of groceries left anonymously on the porch when there was little food in the house. Through every hardship, he never doubted that God would provide.

As a preacher’s kid, I knew church was not optional. If the doors were open, we were there. Sundays, Wednesday nights, Vacation Bible School, revivals, church fellowships — it was simply our way of life. We had family devotions, bedtime prayers and a father who lived what he preached.

Looking back now, I realize what a gift that was.

Long before people talked about sharing household responsibilities, Daddy quietly took care of whatever needed to be done. While Mama worked, he washed clothes, cooked meals, shelled peas and butterbeans, and cared for our family without complaint. During my high school years, he served as headmaster at House Academy, where he also taught history, coached girls basketball and drove the bus to games. Students loved him because he genuinely loved them.

One summer, he saved quarters in an old sock all year long so our family could take a vacation to the mountains. To this day, it remains one of my favorite childhood memories.

After semi-retiring, Daddy and Mama moved into the home that had once belonged to my grandparents. That house became more than a home; it became a refuge. It was where family gathered for holidays, birthdays, ballgames and ordinary afternoons. It was the place many of us turned to when life became difficult.

After my divorce, I lived there for six months. I often say it was the place where I went to heal. Every morning before I left for work, Daddy would walk outside and wipe the dew from my windshield. It was such a small act, yet it said everything about the kind of man he was.

Over the years, our family gathered countless times around his table. We listened as he read the Christmas story. We bowed our heads as he prayed. We laughed at preacher jokes we had heard dozens of times before. Usually, what made them funny wasn’t the joke itself — it was Daddy laughing at his own joke before he ever reached the ending.

Even as he grew older and faced the challenges of Alzheimer’s disease, Daddy remained remarkably himself. The disease may have touched his body, but it never seemed to touch his heart. He never forgot his family. He never forgot the stories of the past. If you met him, you likely would never have known he carried that burden.

One thing that always made me smile was how proud Daddy was of my work as a reporter. During my years at The Meridian Star, he faithfully read the newspaper every day, not because he was interested in every headline, but because he wanted to read whatever I had written. He never missed an opportunity to tell someone, “That’s my daughter.” And if I happened to write a story about him, that was even better. Looking back now, I realize what a gift it was to have a father who believed in me so completely.

What people noticed instead was his kindness.

I never heard him curse. I never heard him speak badly about anyone. I never heard him raise his voice in anger. He was humble, compassionate and generous beyond measure. Whether helping someone move furniture, lending his truck, buying an appliance, finding a car for a family member or helping someone through a difficult season, Daddy was always willing to help.

Most importantly, he helped lead us to Jesus.

He baptized each of his four children. He baptized grandchildren. He performed our weddings. He prayed for us faithfully. Through every season of life, he pointed us toward Christ.

Today, Father’s Day gatherings are not the same. There is an empty chair where Daddy once sat. There are moments when someone starts to tell a story and we all wish he were there to add his version. There are holidays when we still expect to hear his voice reading Scripture or offering the blessing before a meal.

We miss him more than words can express.

People often say time heals all wounds, but I have found that the loss of someone like my dad is not something you get over — it is something you get through. When a person has been part of every chapter of your life, their absence never completely leaves you. You simply learn to carry it. Our hearts still ache, and family gatherings will never quite be the same.Yet even in our grief, we find comfort.

We know where Daddy is.

The man who spent his life preaching about Heaven is now there. The man who taught us to trust God’s promises is now seeing those promises fulfilled. He is reunited with family and friends who went before him, and most importantly, he is in the presence of the Savior he faithfully served for so many years.

His earthly journey is complete, but the legacy he left behind lives on in every life he touched.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.

Thank you for showing us what faith looks like, what love looks like, and what it means to keep your eyes on Jesus no matter what chapter of life you are facing.

Until we see you again.

Your daughter,

Cheryl Ann