Yesterday I spent some time with one of our Juniors in High School. He calls me "pops" or "Dad." At first it started as a joke because we are completely different races, and I'm barely old enough to be his biological father. He is like a spiritual son to me though, and yesterday I began to see the deeper truth to the nickname he calls me. The name Pop has significance to him and to me.
My Pop is an influential man, who commands the attention of a room. He has friends all over the globe, yet he took the time to describe to me the finest things in life when I was younger. He patiently taught me about the things that most people skip over or deem unimportant. For instance, he painted fascinating word pictures about baseball and its history that kept my attention despite my seven years of age. He discipled me. I would tag along to an important meeting with an associate or an old acquaintance. He taught me how to shoot a basketball. He made sure that I knew I was his first priority. His example guides me as a husband, father, pastor, and some day I hope, a grandfather. A Pop.
Get well soon, Pop. I love you very much.