Certain words have a way of painting pictures in our hearts.
At the mere mention of one of these unique words specific emotions, images, and opinions are sparked. Our experience, in part, frames the conclusions and definitions we draw from these words. The word "father" is one of these such words.
When you hear...
FATHER. Do you feel warm and tender? Do you feel safe and protected? Does "father" to you represent wisdom and love?
Or when you hear...
FATHER. Do you feel distant and fearful? Do you feel nervous and defensive? Does "father" to you represent abandonment or pain?
When you hear...
FATHER. Maybe you feel something completely different than these two scenarios. Maybe you even feel a combination of both. Perhaps the word doesn't evoke any particular feeling at all, but I want to share with you why the word
FATHER for me is a grace.
A BEAUTIFUL GRACE...
For the first twelve years of my life my earthly father sunk his sorrows in a bottle from bar to bar almost every single night of the week. He's been in more brawls than I would care to know about, most were probably over women. He wasn't able to hold down a job for apparent reasons, and he wrecked more vehicles than I could ever remember. I am quite certain that he cheated death. SEVERAL TIMES. I don't remember him ever being tender with me when I was little, and he certainly didn't make me feel safe or protected. My childhood memories include trekking off to bars and jails to retrieve my father. My childhood memories include watching my father physically hurt my mother, and include my father hurting me. I remember that when he was home, even in the middle of the most beautiful sunshiny day, our house was dark, and the thick heavy drapes were drawn on all the windows. I was instructed- sternly- not to make the tiniest rustle of noise. His skin wreaked of liquor combined with the stench of vomit. Yet the word "father" for me is a grace.
A BEAUTIFUL GRACE...
I think I've always known that a
good father would be nothing at all like my biological father. When he broke away from the bottle once and for all, the only thing that changed was the presence of alcohol. Sadly, all of the other violent behaviors remained. Always hoping for the best in every situation, I still believed that one day I might awaken, and my father would suddenly be changed. He would realize the gift he had in my faithful, beautiful mother. He would realize the gift he had in me. He would be kind and tender, playful and caring. He might even show me how to hit a baseball, or take me on a bike ride. His eyes would sparkle and dance when I walked into the room, and he would be proud of me,
his little girl. I never awoke to such a dream being fulfilled. Even still, the word "father" for me is a grace.
A BEAUTIFUL GRACE...
As a girl I cowered around men close to my father's age. Even as a teenager I feared my friends' fathers. When I was in elementary school, I was ridiculed by other children, because my father was the town drunk in a
very,
very small town. My father used to tell me that no man would ever love me. As a result of him mistreating me, I have always been plagued with deep insecurities. To cope, I looked for love in all the wrong places so I would feel approval, acceptance, and security. I was simply longing for a place to belong. Heaps of brokenness and shame buried me. My father was charming to everyone around us, but in the prison of privacy he threatened to take my life if I ever shared what went on inside our home. I believed him. I was silent. My own father
should have shattered any positive image that I have of
any and
every father. But, the word "father" for me is a grace.
A BEAUTIFUL GRACE...
As I look back on every single one of my formative years, I realize that I have a
REAL FATHER who held and kept me. Maintained and protected me.
Even though He allowed appalling things to happen to me, He did not allow those things to destroy me. Even when I strayed, He did not allow me to stray beyond His grasp. As a grown woman, layers of my own brokenness continue to be peeled away. Each undone layer brings to light pain along with new graces. My
REAL FATHER directed me here, to this particular time and place, through the traffic and devastation of the circumstances of my life. Every hurt, regret, sorrow, mistake, and shame from my earliest memory until this very day, He has used to form and shape me, mold and seal me. He has whispered deep into my soul that
*I* am
*HIS* LITTLE GIRL. It is His eyes that sparkle and dance when I enter the room, because... He. Loves. Me. My
FATHER loves me. He is my grace.
A BEAUTIFUL GRACE...
INDEED...
All is grace...always grace,
