My Dad finished his race two months ago. Because he was ready to meet his God he died with a smile on his face, even though his body had been suffering from the ravages of cancer for some time. He was the most principled, godly man I have ever known. I miss him. A lot.Dad was my closest and most trusted counselor. He was my pastor. His death has left a hole in my life and ministry too big to describe. How many times I've wanted to pick up the phone the past two months and ask his advice, or just talk about what I was going through. Few people have a clue what the battlefield of faithful and authentic pastoral ministry looks like, or its toll on the soldiers and their families who deny themselves to serve. But dad did. He knew because, in addition to serving closely with several other pastors as their counselors through the years (he had such a heart for pastors), he walked with me through the never-ending life-and-death constancy of crises that is shepherding fallen people in a fallen world. Every betrayal, he stood with me (And there have been many.) Every battle, he cheered me on. Every time I stepped into a family to rescue an abused child, or confronted an adulterous husband, or exposed an immoral leader, or stood alone for truth, or began to collapse beneath the burden for God's people... he stood right beside me, prayed hard for me with tears, told me when I was wrong and made me promise not to quit when I was right.I miss my pastor-dad. Dad was a bit of a scrivener. He wrote articles and devotionals and emailed them to a large list of people all over the United States. His purpose in writing was to encourage people and glorify God. And he did it relentlessly.After Dad died, one of the young men who was often touched by Dad's writings asked my family for permission to continue circulating Dad's writings. The other day, I came into my office feeling frustrated, alone and exhausted. One of those times when I was dreaming of being a brick layer again, or better yet, a farmer. One of those times I really wanted to talk to my dad... but couldn't. I think it was the loneliest moment of my life.But then I turned on my Mac, opened my email and there was a message from my dad about discouragement. It was a recycled article, but it was a sweet serendipity and it was exactly what I needed in that moment. God's grace in a hard time.Even after his death, my dad still ministers to me. And not just me, but hundreds more. Currently, I'm not able to write full devotions because my time is consumed with other responsibilities, but throughout the day as I hear God speak to me through prayer or study or some other person, I am often prompted to share the thought with the hundreds of people who are connected to me somehow on the internet. (I use Twitter, which also feeds to my facebook profile and website.) My hope is that somehow, every now and then, God might use me as an instrument of grace to my readers. So that's why I tweet. I tweet that God might be glorified in those brief thirty-second breathers throughout my day. And I hope that at some right moment, one of my words might be exactly the instrument of grace that God uses to remind you of his unending love for you and passion for his own glory.