A Father’S Love: The Generational Bridge That Changes Hearts Forever

By Nikki Lejeune and Mike Lejeune

Journey with Mike & Nikki as they open doors to show the importance of how a fathers love profoundly impacts his children. Youll be swept through a maze of emotion as you laugh and cry through their exploitsfrom the delivery room to datingand experience with them the power of simple letters or creating unforgettable, life-altering moments. Captured in well-crafted stories are life lessons to challenge us to cherish the times that touch our hearts and chisel our character, and to stop and reflect on whether we, as either parent or child, have set the bar high enough for the role we want to play in the lives of the people we treasure.

Mike and Nikki have reflected and savored their love in A Fathers Love. Their journey is shared with us to encourage and at times challenge us on our own path. Enjoy the stroll and be inspired.

Gregg Matte pastor of Houstons First Baptist Church and author of Unstoppable Gospel

What a beautiful and heartfelt journey Nikki and Mike have shared with all of us who are fathers (and sons) wanting so desperately to do the best job we canand hoping everyone survives our bumbles and stumbles and best intentions. Grab your favorite beverage and enjoy the readits worth every moment.

Verne Harnish, author of Scaling Up, Mastering the Rockefeller Habits, and columnist for Fortune magazine

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512731606

Nikki Lejeune

Mike & Nikki live in Houston, Texas, where Mike is president of Simple Leadership, serving as a professional speaker on leadership development and igniting employee performance. He is a past president of the National Speakers Association and the author of the blog and podcast series Simpleleadership.net. When Mike isn’t on stage, coaching professionals, or leading a Bible study, you can find him in the kitchen perfecting his crawfish etouffee recipe or spending time with his wife, Tommie. Nikki is a student at Texas A&M University, where she is pursuing a career in veterinary medicine. She is a youth leader and active in the community theater (deserving the name “Drama Queen”). If Nikki isn’t studying radiology or pathology, she is usually singing Disney songs or two-stepping with friends.

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Copyright © 2016 Nikki & Mike Lejeune.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission. NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® and NIV® are registered trademarks of Biblica, Inc. Use of either trademark for the offering of goods or services requires the prior written consent of Biblica US, Inc.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-3161-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3162-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3160-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902485

WestBow Press rev. date: 03/30/2016

Contents

Introduction from Mike: Dad’s Last Message

Introduction from Nikki: We Are a Team

A Father’s Fear (Mike)

And God Breathed Life (Mike)

Small, Daddy, Small (Mike)

Playing in the Ditch (Mike)

Saving Santa (Mike)

Nikki’s Moon (Nikki)

Date Nights (Nikki)

Drum Concerts with Dad (Nikki)

The Unbreakable Bond of … Golf Taylor and Tyler (Mike)

My Best Golf Game Ever, or Do You Still Squeal? (Mike)

Girl Scout Cookies (Mike)

Two Views of the Great Snowmobiling Adventure (Nikki)

I’m Smiling, Daddy! I’m Smiling (Mike)

Break the Rules (Nikki)

Cruising with Dad (Nikki)

The Money Talk (Nikki)

Giving up the Right to Be Right (Nikki)

Setting a Standard (Nikki)

New Year’s Counting Coins (Nikki)

Letter to Be Used in the Wilderness (Nikki)

Am I Losing Minutes of Love? (Mike)

A Special Dad: Running with Francis (Mike)

How Prayer Dries Tears (Mike)

Hurt Runs Deep (Nikki)

Papa Joe, the Real Mr. Lejeune (Mike)

Houston Victorian (Mike)

He Knows Who I Am! (Mike)

Letting Go of the Past (Mike)

Mission Ready (Nikki)

Final Thoughts: Ode to Papa Joe (Mike, with Nikki’s Help)

Fatherly Advice

Life Lessons Learned from Their Fathers and Husbands

Acknowledgments and Thank You to Our Dream Makers

He will restore the hearts of the fathers to their children and the hearts of the children to their fathers.

—Malachi 4:6

Introduction from Mike: Dad’s Last Message

At breakfast one morning with my wife, Tommie, and a friend, Erin, I was telling another one of my favorite experiences with my daughter, Nikki. As we wiped the tears from our eyes from laughing at the ignorance most fathers experience when raising their children, and daughters in particular, Erin looked across the table and suggested, Your stories would make a great book.

For years I’ve been like a great many people who want to write a book, I but have struggled with the same chronic illness afflicting most would-be writers. The disease commonly referred to as butt in chair syndrome. The avoidance of sitting down to write is more profound than staring at a blank screen frozen with writer’s block.

Until now.

Just after his eighty-second birthday, my father, Joe, finally lost his battle with lung cancer. He fought as he did with everything he attempted in life: with a drive and zest that impacted everyone he came into contact with. When I asked my mom how he was doing with his chemo treatments, she would shake her head as she explained, He’s selling okra from his garden to all the other patients.

After getting a call from my brother that it was time to put Dad in the hospital, I drove back home to help care for him. What I didn’t realize was he was about to give me one of the greatest gifts in my life. Dad had lost his voice and was unable to speak much more than an occasional whisper. In the late hours of another night vigil, I heard him rustling under his covers. I bent over him, thinking his unrest was caused by the dryness in his mouth. As I bent over to use a straw to drip water onto his tongue, he pushed my hand away and reached for the back of my head. Pulling my face close to his, my father gently kissed my cheek, then with the back of his hand, he stroked my face like I had seen him do so often to his great grandson, Findley. The monitors and IV equipment were the only lights in the room, covering us with a soft glow.

As Dad slowly caressed my face, his blue eyes focused on me with such intensity that tears flowed down my cheek. In those precious moments, there it was, the enormity of the love he had for me ever since I drew my first breath, captured in his eyes. No words were spoken, yet the message was clear and purposeful. His final and lasting gift: a father’s love.

A few nights ago, I woke up thinking of his expression, but not from grief of the loss of his presence in my life. Instead, I was thinking of Nikki, who was about to graduate from college and head off to pursue her dream at vet school. I lay in bed wondering, What does Nikki see when she looks into my eyes?

From the first moment the doctor put Nikki into my shaking hands in the delivery room, she stole my heart. I desperately wanted my first words to her to be meaningful and important. Yet I was overcome with confusion of what to say to her, a malady that she has had to suffer through in most of the key moments of her life. While I wanted to say something important like Neil Armstrong’s first words on the moon—One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind—I felt more like Elmer Fudd, a stuttering cartoon character on Bugs Bunny. Slowly the words spilled from my lips: How can anyone not believe there is a God? Not bad for first words spoken from my heart to hers.

So this book is written for Nikki and me to share stories of our journey together, for us to share our experiences so that you may see how our love has impacted our lives. More importantly, I am writing it so that Nikki and I can relive precious moments that have helped to chisel us into who God created us to be.

Hopefully as you read of our times together, it will provide you with laughter, tears, and maybe healing. For me, I also hope that it provides an opportunity for Nikki to look into my heart and see the depth of her father’s love.

—Mike Lejeune

Aka Daddy Man (That’s one of the main names Nikki and I have used to refer to me. Others include Pops, Papa Jack—after the Stephen F Austin mascot—the lumberjack, Obi Won—as we both love Star Wars—and my favorite: Dad.)

Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest inheritance.

—Ruth E. Renkel

Introduction from Nikki: We Are a Team

We spent the Easter of 2013 with Dad’s family. Shortly before we made the drive to Louisiana, we were informed that my grandfather’s cancer had progressed. Originally diagnosed with lung cancer, my grandfather’s most recent lung scans had returned with no cancer to measure. Two weeks before Easter, slurred words and shaky balance revealed the cancer had progressed to his brain. Steroid shots and antibiotics had treated these new symptoms, so we were looking forward to enjoying another fun-filled Easter holiday with Papa Joe in Cajun country.

Like all Lejeune family events, the meal for the weekend was, of course, gumbo. My Papa Joe’s gumbo is the best I’ve ever tasted, and we all took it as a good sign that he was feeling well enough to make it. His medications were making him weary, so I was enlisted to help, running back and forth for ingredients so my Papa Joe didn’t have to wear himself out. We puttered around the tiny kitchen in my memaw’s house, cutting, peeling, boiling, and munching away, preparing the family feast. Papa Joe finished dicing vegetables at the sink and rose from his stool to stir the gumbo as I boiled rice. We stood there side by side, breathing in the smell of seafood, and spoke very little.

Suddenly he cleared his throat and said, You know, we’re not going to get a chance to dance at your wedding. I felt my stomach drop as he uttered the thing I feared most when I’d found out only days earlier that his cancer had spread. We hadn’t spoken of his cancer since arriving, so I was confused as to why he brought it up. I took a deep breath and simply asked, Why is that? He stirred the gumbo pot and said in his deep, firm voice, Well, I keep getting cancer, and you keep dumping boyfriends.

I couldn’t help but laugh and slapped him on the arm. You sassy old man! I said jokingly, and then I filled in the rest of the family on the joke. No matter what the circumstances, Lejeunes always come through with humor.

Several weeks later, I received a call at school that Papa Joe was in the hospital. He’d had a bad fall and they felt it best to admit him into the hospital. Dad was calling to let me know he had been in and out of consciousness and that his breathing had become very labored. He put Uncle Wendell on the phone to better explain the situation so I could determine whether or not I needed to make the drive from school to see him. Things sounded grim and I knew I needed to be with my family.

I made the drive from east Texas where I was attending college and arrived at the hospital to see my aunt Phyllis, my memaw, and my stepmom, Tommie. Dad prepared me to see Papa Joe, telling me he looked very different and not to be scared. I walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, holding Papa Joe’s giant hand in my little ones. He seemed to be gasping for air and his skin was pale, but his hands still felt warm and strong in mine. Tears streamed down my face as I listened to the monitors and the oxygen machine and said a prayer to God. Looking at my grandfather, I realized his body was failing, but he was fighting to hang on. It was hard to see my Papa Joe like that: bound by an ailing body when his spirit was so strong, joyful, and just plain stubborn. That evening as we left to go to Memaw’s to get some rest, I kissed him on the forehead and whispered, It’s okay, Papa Joe. You can let go.

Dad drove us to the house and we were getting everyone situated to sleep when his phone rang. It was Uncle Wendell calling, and when Dad hung up the phone, he said, We have to go back. Memaw asked why, but I already knew. He’s gone, he said. Dad’s gone.

As Dad comforted his mother, I walked to my room to put my shoes on. I sat on the edge of my bed and let the tears come, elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. Dad’s footsteps down the hallway sounded in the room and his weight shifted on the bed as he sat. All it took was Come here, sweetie, and my tears turned to sobs. I needed my daddy, and I threw my arms around his neck, clinging to him and letting his shirt dry my tears. We sat there like that, both of us mourning together, and suddenly I felt the tide change. Dad was leaning on my shoulder, this time my shirt drying his tears. The weight of his head told me he needed me as much as I needed him.

In that moment, I realized I was not a little kid anymore. I had now reached a stage where we were a team. That night, we sat there, both of us holding each other up, comforting and sharing our love for one another. As I write this, the tears returning, I am transported back to that night and vividly recall the words my father and I said to each other and the feel of his head on my shoulder. That memory will stay with me, because it’s the