My dad went with me when I shopped for my first prom dress. Etched in my heart for all time is the love I felt from him when I emerged from the dressing room in that burgundy gown and he stood there with his hands on his hips and a radiant "She's the apple of my eye" look on his face. The photographer at my wedding a few years later caught him looking at me in the same incredibly loving way.

What made those moments memorable for me wasn't just that Dad thought I looked beautiful, but that he cherished me as an individual. It was typical of Dad to take an interest every day in the doings of each of his four very different offspring. He loved us equally and unconditionally. And he delighted in our individuality.

I was quite the tomboy as a little girl. Being more interested in playing ball (like my older brother, Bob) than in playing with dolls, I would often borrow my brother's shorts and shirts in favor of the pretty dresses little girls wore in those days. Sometimes I even tucked my hair up in one of Bob's caps so people would think I was a boy. Dad would play along, calling me "Willy the Kid."

When Daddy came home in the evenings, he would take me up on his knee and ask about my day. First off, depending on how I was dressed, he would ask, "Where is Barbara today, Willy?" or "Where is Willy today, Barbara?" His amateur-award-winning photographs of Barbara (in a pretty dress) and Willy (with a telltale curl hanging below the visor of "his" cap) now hang side by side on the wall in our family room.

There are countless other instances of my dad's attentiveness that stand out in my memory—that made me feel valued as an individual when I was growing up. The way he held and admired a bowl I rather crudely crafted out of papier-mache. His patience with and appreciation of my piano playing. The interest he took in getting to know the boys I dated. The way his love for me was never in question, even when I needed correcting.

The year following my dad's passing (over 40 years ago), my husband and I built a house. We did all the indoor finish work ourselves. I was alone when I put the last coat of varnish on our custom-built birch kitchen cabinets. But as I stood back and admired the cabinets, I felt that my dad's love was as present with me as if he were standing beside me with his hands on his hips, admiring them with me.

Now my dad, whose name was Harvey, wasn't a religious man. In fact, Mom taught our dog, Zipper, to play dead whenever she would ask him, "What would Harvey rather do than go to church?" Nevertheless, Dad's unconditional love and his attentiveness to and appreciation of my individuality have served to make God's love more tangible to me.

When I think of Dad, I think of how Jesus might have felt when he heard God's words "You are my dearly-beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased!" (Mark 1:11, J.B. Phillips). Each and every person is God's dearly loved son or daughter. There's a wonderful security in knowing that God loves you. It fosters a self-worth that makes it natural to be good and accomplish all that He enables you to do. ". . . conscious worth satisfies the hungry heart, and nothing else can" (Mary Baker Eddy, Message to The Mother Church for 1902, p. 17).

Dad's parenting reflected the love of God for His children. To me, that's the best parenting. Thanks, Dad!