A Real Father
February 20, 2008 | stories
I love it when visitors to this blog send me their stories. I’m a collector of stories. Some people collect Precious Moments or antiques, but I am always on the lookout for a story of relevant faith. I work with teens, and a growing number of girls struggle with father issues, as do women of all ages. I never knew my biological father, though I met him once or twice, so I get that. But I’m grateful for a heavenly Father, one I can sense, feel, trust, and know. That’s the heart of today’s story–from a reader who discovered what a Father could be. . .
I am a child of divorce. My mother married an abusive man, then left him when I was four. I never saw him again.
Mom remarried when I was six to the man I would call Dad, who adopted my brother and me. I barely remember the first father, and the second I idolized. He wanted me, adopted me, gave me his name.
But my adopted father was an attentive, angry, and intelligent man. His mood swings were intense, unsettling, and confusing. I never knew which personality I’d get on any given day, but it was normal for us.
I got into trouble and was told that I was stubborn, rebellious, and scatter-brained. I had to do a lot of repenting, and I was never sorry or repentant enough. But I still loved my father unconditionally.
When I was 16, my father lost his business to the IRS. He was depressed and angry. Home was filled with drama and emotion. I was in a beauty pageant and he refused to come. He sat in the back when I graduated from high school, then left after the ceremony. When I left for college, he refused to say goodbye or look at me. I was torn, still idolizing him, but dealing with the pain. I thought I was the one who was crazy and bad.
I’d been a believer since the age of 8. We worshiped as a family and studied Scripture together. I attended a Christian university. I’d spent most of my life believing that if I could just put a positive spin on everything, I’d be doing what Jesus wanted. I could hide from reality. I could hide from my broken family past, the abuse at the hands of two dads, and the pain. Jesus would just fix it all if I could convince Him that there was nothing to fix. My Dad would be the model father if I kept pretending he was.
And if I kept taking the blame for everything. If I would only stop being stubborn, start realizing what kind of bad daughter I really was. By the time I reached my senior year of college I think I bordered on my own brand of crazy.
I also began to see things as they really were. And that’s when I really began to rebel.
When it was time to graduate college, my dad told me that I would move home, get a job, marry a man in my small home town and live there forever. I informed him that I was moving to the east coast and planned to work a second summer for a Christian day camp, stay there, learn to drive and get a life.
Three days before graduation, my father had car trouble and he and my mom both stayed home. It broke my heart. And it was the last straw. I was done with him.
Fast forward. I was a girl in love on the brink of marriage. I decided to finally talk to Dad about the issues between us. He flared up and wrote me off. For the next 12 years I was a woman-child, married, still running from reality, running from the pain.
Until God, a very patient Father, finally took my by the shoulder and woke me up, showing me the story He’s been writing with my life.
When he did that, the anger bubbled over - all the emotions I had kept inside, pretending that life is good and sweet, peaking in hostility towards those I love the most.
My husband, who saw me running from him and God, is part of what God used to shake me awake.
My mother-in-law, a target of my rage, became a focal point, the overflow for all the pain, highlighting the blackness in my heart, the ugliness which I’d ignored and denied my entire life.
It all came out, putrid and ugly colors of the canvas of my life. But God is gracious. In saying this, I know that I risk spinning my past again, but He truly has been gracious and patient.
He sent good friends to speak words of life over me. They helped me to see life as it is.
I’m still on that journey. I think that I always will be.
My daddy died in Hurricane Katrina nearly three years ago and we never reconciled, though I tried for over a decade. I sent letters and messages through family members in hopes of repairing the breach in our family wall.
I was hopeful, yes, for reconciliation, but I also realized that I had to let it all go. I had done all that God asked and required of me.
God showed me how much He loves me. Loved me. All the way through. He chose me. He became my Father.
I struggled to accept, even to ask for, love from my husband, much less God.
But God stepped in and showed me that He had chosen me from the foundation of the world. He told me that He kept me in the palm of His hand, and that NO ONE could snatch me from His hand. Not even I could make that choice now that I was His. He would NEVER leave me or forsake me.
I still am on that journey. I still desire to be close to my husband, to let him in, to trust him. I still struggle to be close to God. But I know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I have a Father who loves me, who will never let me go or push me away. I am His child.
F.A.C. is a wife and mother of three, is enrolled in seminary and is planning a series of children’s books.
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I hear this story from KSBJ. It’s really good story. How much our FATHER loves us, more than our earthly father. I believe it!
February 24th, 2008 at 9:47 pm