“My cup runneth over.” — Psalm 23:5
Every Father’s Day, I find myself thinking about all the things my dad did for me over the years.
Like most fathers, he worked hard, provided for his family, fixed things that were broken, and perhaps most importantly, he taught lessons that seemed ordinary at the time, but have proven invaluable over the years.
Yet when I think about the gifts that have endured the longest, my mind doesn’t immediately go to the practical things.
Instead, I think about books.
And music.
And Faith.
Those were the treasures my father placed into my hands.
Not intentionally perhaps. Not through formal lessons or grand speeches. Rather, through a lifetime of example.
The Gift of Books
Some of my earliest memories involve books.
My father loved to read. Books on music, history, and biographies; stories of people and places long gone. There always seemed to be a book nearby.
Of course, as a child, I didn’t fully appreciate what was happening.
Looking back now, I realize he was teaching me that the world was larger than our little corner of Nebraska.
Books allowed us to travel without leaving home.
Through their pages I learned about explorers, immigrants, soldiers, saints, musicians, and ordinary people whose lives shaped history.
Years later, that love of books would lead me into research, graduate school, writing, and ultimately the stories I now tell here on Food For The Way.
It is no coincidence that so many of the reflections on this site arise from old letters, family photographs, forgotten newspaper articles, and dusty archives. The desire to preserve memory began long ago with a father who loved books.
That gift continues to bear fruit.
The Gift of Music
If books opened the world to me, music taught me how to feel it.
My father loved music.
From the great tenor men of jazz wailing at full volume from the downstairs sound system, to Bob Dylan singing Like A Rolling Stone, to Richard Harris’ poetic rendition of A Tramp Shining. to the ever timeless Eddie Janak band playing Picnic In The Woods. Records spinning on a turntable, became not only the soundtrack of family life, but also formed the bedrock of my own personal life.
Music was never merely entertainment.
It was memory.
A song could instantly transport us back to a particular moment, a particular season of life, or a particular person we loved.
Over the years, that gift grew into something larger.
It led me to study music professionally, to perform, teach, and research and write about music and musicians.
More importantly, it taught me that music often speaks where words fail.
I have written before about how songs accompany us through life, whether reflecting on Grandma’s Table, remembering loved ones through Old Pictures Can’t Tell Us, or finding comfort in hymns during difficult seasons. Those reflections all trace their roots back to a father who first taught me to listen.
The Greatest Gift: Faith
As grateful as I am for the books and music my dad shared with me, there is another gift that surpasses them all.
He gave me faith.
Not merely by taking me to church, or by teaching prayers, or making sure I attended religious education classes. He gave me faith by the example of a life lived with God.
Like so many things fathers do, I did not fully appreciate it at the time.
As a child, faith simply seemed woven into the fabric of daily life. Sunday church . Prayer before meals. Conversations about right and wrong. The quiet confidence that God was present even when life became difficult.
Only later did I come to understand what a gift that truly was.
There have been many moments throughout my life when I could have wandered in another direction. Moments of doubt and tremendous suffering, moments when the road ahead seemed too uncertain and even unsurmountable.
Yet through it all, the foundation my father helped build remained.
He pointed me toward Jesus.
Looking back now, I realize that every other gift he gave me ultimately finds its meaning there.
The books taught me to seek truth.
The music taught me to recognize beauty.
Faith taught me where truth and beauty find their source.
In Christ.
When I consider all that my father gave me, all the sacrifices he made, all the lessons he taught both intentionally and unintentionally, I find myself wanting to say something that perhaps I have never said enough.
Dad, I owe my life to you.
Not only the life you helped give me physically.
But the life of faith you nurtured.
The life that carried me through joy and sorrow, the life that sustained me during illness and uncertainty, and most importantly, the life that taught me where to turn when everything else failed.
You pointed me toward Jesus.
And for that, I will be grateful for the rest of my days.
Now, as I try to share that same faith with my daughter, I recognize that I am passing along the greatest inheritance I ever received.
Just as my father pointed me toward Christ, I pray that I might point her toward Him as well.
If that happens, then one more generation will know the blessings that began long before me.
And one more generation will have reason to say, with profound gratitude, my cup runneth over.
A Father’s Gifts Live On
One of the beautiful surprises of getting older is discovering that the gifts our parents gave us rarely stop with us.
They continue, multiply, and eventually become part of someone else’s story.
Today, I see that happening with my daughter.
We sit together and read books, listen to music, and talk about stories.
We laugh at lyrics while discovering new songs and revisiting old ones.
Sometimes I catch myself sharing something with her that my father shared with me years ago.
A favorite song, a beloved book, a story from history, or a lesson learned along the way.
And suddenly I realize that my father is still present in those moments.
Not physically.
But through the gifts he passed down.
Remembering Dad Through My Daughter
There are moments when my daughter becomes excited about a book she has discovered or a song she wants to hear again and again.
In those moments, I find myself smiling.
Not only because I am enjoying the experience with her.
But because I am remembering Dad.
I see traces of him in those shared moments.
The same curiosity, the same wonder, and the same joy that comes from discovering something beautiful and wanting to share it with someone you love.
The older I get, the more I understand that legacy is not measured primarily in money, accomplishments, or possessions.
Legacy is measured in what we pass on.
Faith.
Character.
Stories.
Books.
Music.
Love.
These are the things that endure.
My Cup Runs Over
My Aunt Millie once stood in the homeland of our ancestors, listening to music and dancing with her brother.
Overcome with emotion, she simply said:
“My cup runneth over.”
I think of those words often.
Especially on Father’s Day.
Because that is exactly how I feel.
My cup runs over.
I was given a father who taught me to love books and music, a father whose gifts continue to shape my life decades later.
And now I have the privilege of sharing those same gifts with my daughter.
The books on our shelves, the songs that echo through our home, and the stories we tell and memories we make.
They are all part of a river flowing from one generation to the next.
And somewhere within that river is my father.
Still teaching, still giving, and still present.
For that, I am grateful.
This Father’s Day, as I watch my daughter turn the pages of a book or sing along to a favorite song, I remember Dad.
And like Aunt Millie before me, I can only say:
“My cup runneth over.“
Related Reflections
- Grandma’s Table
- Back at Grandma’s Table
- Old Pictures Can’t Tell Us
- Song Sung Blue
- Small Town Grocers
- Memorial Day and St. Gertrude
