Favorite TV Dads, Part 3 of 4: Charles Ingalls

As a little girl, I had a huge crush on Little Joe Cartwright of Bonanza. When I grew older, I was smitten with Charles Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie. Are you sensing a theme here? By the time Highway to Heaven came along, I had my own real-life husband and was too busy chasing three young children to watch television. One summer, however, a friend loaned us a complete set of Little House VHS tapes. The kids and I watched an episode or two every night before bed to unwind after a long hot day of work and play.

Who could wish for a better husband or father than Charles Ingalls? I read the books. It’s not possible that Laura Ingalls Wilder’s real pa was as handsome or as consistently wise and thoughtful as the TV character—in fact, the man’s wanderlust would have driven me crazy. Still, I was not immune to falling in love with the on-screen version, fictional though he was.

The real-life actor, Michael Landon, experienced his share of tragedy in his 54 years with us. His birth name was Eugene Maurice Orowitz. If having a Jewish father and Catholic mother wouldn’t present enough challenges, his mother suffered from mental illness. According to his unofficial biography, Michael Landon: His Triumph and Tragedy, the childhood stress of worrying about his mother and her frequent suicide attempts caused Landon to wet the bed. The stress was compounded by the humiliation of having his mother hang the wet sheets outside his bedroom window in full view of his friends.

His adult life certainly wasn’t without strife, either, despite the colossal success of his show business career. A chain-smoker and heavy drinker, he divorced twice and died much too young of pancreatic cancer in 1991.

The Little House on the Prairie show ran for nine seasons, from 1974 to 1983. Although it had its comedic moments, the show was primarily a drama that succeeded in bringing viewers to tears nearly every episode. Set during the 1870s-90s, it covered many of the same topics the books did, like poverty, blindness, death, and faith—and many that the books did not: adoption, alcoholism, racism, drug addiction, leukemia, child abuse, and rape. Michael Landon not only starred as Pa Ingalls, he wrote, directed, and produced many of the episodes—some of which were remakes of episodes he’d written for Bonanza. In each one, Pa’s character shone. He modeled hard work, humor, contentment, courage, and selfless concern for others. Besides, who can resist a guy who can both play the fiddle and build things out of wood? Or a life where problems are solved within the span of a one-hour episode?

Apart from Michael Landon’s looks and charm, what was it about the character of Charles Ingalls that so appealed to viewers of every age and gender? Could the heartbreaks of Landon’s childhood have helped him tap into something we all long for—a father who is not only humble and down-to-earth but dependable, consistently loving and good-natured, while maintaining integrity and valuing family above all? Whose wife and children can rest secure in his unconditional love? Perhaps deeper still lies the desire to be that sort of person, even though every single one of us falls short. Ironically, at the time of his death, Landon was working on a new series about father/son relationships across three generations. I bet it would have been a hit.

Regardless how much we all long for it, I have a hunch nobody on this planet has ever had or been a dad as perfect as Pa Ingalls. Could it be that the deepest part of our hearts recognizes its need for our heavenly father, our Creator—the only one who can or will deliver?

This Father’s Day, take time to consider your relationship with your earthly father, for better or worse. Then ask God to show you a little of his own character as a loving parent. See what he reveals.

When the Alphabet Starts with "Z"

It’s time for my annual “acrostic” story, but the contest organizers changed the rules this year. Instead of starting with the letter ‘A’ and working through the alphabet, each story had to begin with ‘Z’ and work backwards. They provided the first four required words, and I find it uncanny that, in 2020, that first word was “Zooming.” It was set up long before anyone knew how this year would unfold. I’m proud to announce my entry placed third and pleased to share it here along with my Happy Father’s Day to all.

A Father’s Love

Zooming across the bridge leading from one high rise medical building to another, Kaley Kincaid was glad she’d worn sensible shoes even as she blinked back tears, scanning for signs indicating the clinic pharmacy. Yellow arrows painted on the floor clearly marked the way, but all she could think about was Dr. Chu’s solemn tone when he’d shared the results of three-month-old Tommy’s tests.

“Xeroderma Pigmentosum, or XP, is caused by a genetic mutation,” he’d droned. “While there is no cure, we can treat it and try to minimize the destruction. Vitamin D supplements will be required to replace sun exposure, which Tommy will need to avoid all his life. Ultraviolet rays will cause damage to his skin just like it does to yours and mine. The difference is, while our skin heals through nucleotide excision repair, this damage is not repaired in people with xeroderma pigmentosum. Sunglasses will need to be worn during all daylight hours to protect his eyes from forming cataracts,” he continued. “Retinoid creams may help decrease the risk of skin cancer, but should cancer develop, it will be treated in the same way as it would for anyone else.”

Quartets of doctors, all of them Dr. Chu in his white jacket and stethoscope, began to swirl in front of Kaley’s eyes as she felt herself grow faint and a cold sweat begin to trickle down her back.

“Put your head down between your knees,” the doctor told Kaley with little sympathy as he grabbed his prescription pad and began scratching something on it. “Our pharmacy across the skywalk can supply you with a pair of child-size dark glasses immediately, the kind that tie around the baby’s head. No need to be distraught. Many people with this condition live to an almost normal life expectancy, provided they use extreme caution.”

Life expectancy? Kaley wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, squeeze her eyes shut, and will this awful doctor and his miserable diagnosis away forever. Just when the medical community had finally gotten to the bottom of their baby’s symptoms, just as she and Mark believed hope of a cure was within grasp, just when they were anticipating sharing the good news with everyone, all had come crashing down in two minutes.

“If…if I understand you correctly,” she stammered, “not only will our boy never get to play outdoors but you’re saying his life will be cut short too?”

How could she be having this conversation, and why, oh why, hadn’t she insisted on Mark coming with them to the appointment like he’d offered? Grabbing the handle of Tommy’s baby carrier with one hand and the prescription slip with the other, Kaley stormed out of the doctor’s office and across the glass enclosed bridge to the pharmacy.

Fighting tears while she placed the tiny sunglasses on Tommy’s head, she felt relief at the sound of Mark’s ringtone and the vibration of the phone in her pocket. Even in his shock over her news, Mark managed to speak words that calmed Kaley and filled her with hope—just like he always did.

“Don’t think for one second that we can’t get through this together, Sweetheart, no matter how difficult it becomes. Challenges are part of life just as much as good times, and we signed up to face both—as a team. Best part of it is, now that we have Tommy, we’re a team of three instead of only two.”

A heavy cloak of despair lifted off Kaley’s shoulders and she knew that when she pulled into their driveway, Mark Kincaid—her husband of six months and Tommy’s proud stepfather—would be waiting for them with open arms, eager to form a circle of love and light that no diagnosis, no darkness, no doctors, could ever dissolve.

Elf: A Longing to Belong

First, a bit of trivia that Elf fans may not know. Remember Buddy’s thirteen-second-long belch after guzzling a two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola? The burp was real, but dubbed in by Canadian voice actor Maurice LaMarche (who voiced Brain from Pinky and the Brain, among many other cartoon characters). We should feel so proud.

This 2003 movie stars Will Farrell (who stands six-foot-three) as Buddy, a human raised by Santa’s elves. It always makes me laugh, but be sure you’re in the mood for extreme silliness when you decide to watch it.

Buddy has never been told he’s not an elf, and he grows up feeling inferior. He’s far too large for the elves’ homes and furnishings. He can’t make toys as quickly as they can. Though he feels loved by Papa Elf who adopted him, and accepted by the other elves who are too kind to hurt his feelings, Buddy knows he doesn’t fit in.

When Buddy learns he’s a human whose mother died and that he has a biological father unaware of his existence, he treks from the North Pole to New York City. His mission? To find his father and redeem him from Santa’s naughty list. The people he encounters, including his father, assume he’s completely dysfunctional and in need of serious help. All kinds of crazy scenes play out as Buddy gradually wins over his half-brother, his stepmother, a department store elf he’s quickly falling in love with, and—finally, his father. The group must then save Santa’s sleigh from certain destruction by raising NYC’s level of Christmas cheer. Buddy ends up a hero.

The touching part of this story is the part to which our souls relate: the hunger for belonging. We yearn to understand our roots, find our people, know where we fit. We long for father, and when that longing is met with rejection, it becomes the harshest rejection of all.

Regardless of race, class, nationality, or gender, our relationship with our father is deeply tied to our identity. That need is so strong in us, it can drive people into bad relationships, gangs, and cults. Even those fortunate enough to enjoy a good relationship with their parents understand the need for more. We were designed to be loved perfectly, but no parent or partner can measure up.

Deep inside, we long to know who we truly are. Whose we are. Though we may not admit it, our souls desire a relationship with our Creator. The good news is, our Creator desires one with us even more. Christmas made it possible. We don’t need to make a long trek to him. He sent his son to us. Because of the sacrifice Jesus made, look at what the Bible tells us about who we are in him:

I am a child of God. (John 1:12)

I am a friend of Jesus. (John 15:15)

I will not be condemned by God. (Romans 8:1)

I am accepted by Christ. (Romans 15:7)

I have wisdom, righteousness, and redemption. (1 Corinthians 1:30)

I am a new creature. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

I am set free. (Galatians 5:1)

I am blessed. (Ephesians 1:3)

I am chosen. (Ephesians 1:4)

I am forgiven. (Ephesians 1:7)

I am loved. (Ephesians 2:4-5)

I am provided for. (Philippians 4:19)

That’s only a partial list, but it includes twelve verses for you to look up—one for each of the twelve days of Christmas. Google them if it’s easier. I hope you’ll take some time this Christmas season to remember—or perhaps to discover for the first time—the identity and belonging your Creator offers you because of Jesus.

Merry Christmas!