My father, Richard, love stories. In the evening, he would relax on the front porch and call out to neighbors, inviting them to join him and tell a story. Their stories contained many memories—memories that are now recorded on cemetery markers and baptismal records and in ancestral tales of things long past. Stories were also told about the first fall of snow, the red and golden leaves of autumn, and great ships that sailed the stately St. Clair River.
Stories activate memories of my ancestral roots, of the days when my family ventured forth to Canada from Ireland and France. As I reflect with family and friends on our story, I am grateful again today that all our journeys are reminders of who we are and the destiny we are called to fulfill. On this father’s day, I listen carefully with the ear of my heart and give great thanks for the ancestral grace that flows through our hearts and minds on this memory day.