THE Whistle

by Dan Whitaker
Salt Lake City, Utah
11/2010

I was a small boy when my dad decided to take me and my brothers to a Scottish Festival. I didn't know what that meant, but soon learned. I've always been in love with the drone and wail of bagpipes and I could hear them before I saw them as we parked the car. The sound raised goose bumps.

It was a cool, misty morning and there was a very large crowd milling about, visiting booths that sold items. There were bands marching to and fro, playing the wonderful music, drums beating and people were so happy. I saw huge men walking around in brightly colored kilts, complete with animal skins across their shoulders, tall fur hats and large knives in their socks of all places. I loved it.

But the crowds were pushing this way and that. At first I didn't notice that I was separated from my father. I was enjoying myself and the sights and sounds. But I was soon bumped and pushed and began to worry. I realized I couldn't see my father anywhere and I was lost, even in the crowd. I feared that maybe he had left me or that someone else might try to take me with them.

Tear arose in my eyes and I moved to a chain link fence. I held tight to the steel with my eyes closed, worried sick about what was going to happen. That's when I heard it.... My dad always had a very distinct whistle; one all his kids knew. It meant "get to work!" or "come here right now!" or "quiet down this instant!" We knew exactly what it meant every time we heard it. He never abused its power.

But there it was, the whistle; his whistle for sure, heard above all the din and noise. My head whipped around toward the sound. All I could see were legs and people and movement. But I knew his call and I let go of the fence and started in that direction. Within several paces I began to fear again. But, as clear as a bell, there it was again; his whistle, off to my right, and I knew what this version meant. It meant: "Where are you, my son? Come to me!"

I turned and pushed through the crowd toward the beckoning call. As before, I still couldn't see him, but I had heard him call and I knew he sought me too. For the third time, the whistle sounded, this time very close. Within four steps I saw him, looking frantically for me. I rushed to him and hugged his legs as tight as I could. I was safe and his love folded down upon me and the world was right.

My dad's gone now, but I still hear that whistle, much like the call my Heavenly Father sends out to me. Two fathers who want me to come to them, away from the throng. That whistle means safety and love, warmth and joy. I hear it, I walk toward it. I will join them.