Step Eighty-Six: Given Strength

Dear Readers,

Every once in a while, I manage to convince myself that if I could say the many thoughts that daily cross my mind, if I could speak to my father the inner monologue that seems to rattle about in my brain, if I could make him see, make him understand... then everything would be okay. Sometimes I even manage to convince myself so well I have my phone in hand and all I have to do is press the call button. Surely, if I gave full vent to my anger, pain, and need... if I told him I loved him and wanted him... surely then it would all be alright. Surely then the 19 years of pain and 12 years of tension would all disappear. I fool myself into thinking that things would be different than they have always been. However, my thumb always pauses on the call button, that small green telephone acting as a reality check. That's when the grief and the anger come pouring back in, like an unpleasant dive into my own private ice bath.

I grieve because no matter how old I get, I know I will always want my father. I grieve because I know, no matter how much he may change, my father and I missed some of the most important memories. I grieve because I do love him, whether this is foolish or not. I grieve because it is the only process I have left to me. I cannot continue in the dysfunction for the sake of a game and I cannot continually wait for him to change the man he is. I can only grieve and come to accept the scar tissue.

When I begin to dial my father's number, I know the pain is rising within me. I find the ache is greater on these days. Great enough to almost want the dysfunction in exchange for his love. And when I resolve not to call him, when the tears come breaking through, I find myself retreating. Pulling myself away, seeking some kind of refuge from the pain and this is where everything changes.

Love takes me in. I curl up beneath my blankets, close my tear filled eyes and find myself on my Father's lap. I bury myself in His chest. His arms surround me, comfort me, hold me. I cannot pretend that it is the same as having a physical, tangible, touchable father. It's not but it is a beautiful refuge. It is the one place of sweet release. And as I let the anger, grief, and pain wash over us, He whispers gently in my ear.

I want you, Leela. You are my beautiful daughter. You are my precious child. I am here, I will protect you because I love you. More than I love anything else, I love you.

It still hurts, I still wake up crying and alone, without a father but it gives me strength. Strength to feel my pain, to face my grief, and to survive on the days I'd most like to give up.

May He give you strength, as He is continually giving me, to face the things of this day.

Step Eighty-Five: Hope Offering

Dear Readers,

An excerpt of my thoughts tonight...

In seventh grade, I began volunteering with the youth group to regularly visit an old folks home and paint the nails of the elderly women. I walked away from the three years I spent doing it with laughter, tears, and plenty of stories. Yet there was one lady who shaped my views on age and “growing up” in a tremendous way – Miss Daisy. A southern bell to the core of her, she may have gained a few years but that only served to add some flavor.

My first impression of Miss Daisy was a remarkable one as she cha-cha-ed her way into our room, highly decorated walker or not. If this had not been incredible enough, as she sat down across from me she looked me in the eye and demanded, “What’s the wildest color you have?” Attempting to be mature, I calmly pulled out the popular array of hues in reds and pinks. As I set them before her, I’ll be darned if this sweet 92 year old woman didn’t give me the best stink eye I’ve ever seen. Reaching across me, she pulled from the cart the most obnoxious neon orange, setting it silently before me. As I stared flabbergasted by her request, she started laughing. Unsure of whether I was being mocked or not, I solemnly picked up the color and turned it over in my hand. Was it even legal for someone over the age of 60 to wear nail polish in such bright colors? When she had collected herself, she said, “Close your mouth, child, it’s better than it looks.”

I spent 3 years “painting” Daisy’s nails. Eventually, the youth group stopped going but I remained, often only to visit Daisy. We would sit and talk. She would affectionately call me her “favorite grandchild.” Even as our love grew, her health deteriorated. It did not seem fair, at the time, to love someone so close to death, to love knowing they would soon be gone. At our second to last visit, between great heaving sobs I told her so. In a gentle whisper she murmured, “Hush, child, it’s better than it looks.” I often wonder if Daisy knew these would be the most influential words we would share, I wonder if she understood the hope they gave me. I wonder if, in her wisdom, she knew I would forever carry them with me long after her voice had faded. I wonder if she knew how they would shape the way I view all of life.

It is a beautiful truth that seems to surpass all obstacles, that knows no bounds – things are better than they appear, even in the worst of moments. May you find hope in this.

Step Eighty-Four: Quiet Moments

Dear Readers,

The sweet and comforting aroma of apple cinnamon is filling my apartment as I sit quietly sipping my tea, waiting to switch out batches of muffins. Playing softly in the background is a gentle piano melody. It is as if time has stopped. I know this cannot be as the timer is slowly counting down the minutes until I must move again. So perhaps it is not time at all, but I who have paused.

As this perfect autumn perfume enfolds me, as gentle notes impersonate frolicking golden leaves as they dance their way through an insouciant scale, as the world sleeps – I wait. I'm never really certain what I'm waiting for. I'm just waiting. Waiting with baited breath for the slow end of autumn to pass gently into the icy stillness of winter, for winter's first snowy kiss. Waiting for the steam from my tea to form a perfect spiral. Waiting for all the heart ache to mend. Waiting for tears to subside and laughter to die. Waiting to hear a chorus of angels praising the Almighty. Waiting to hear the gentle rustle of His heavenly robe. Waiting for Him to whisper gently in my ear "I love you". In this perfect stillness, I realize I'm not waiting in these quiet moments – I am waiting for these quiet moments.

It is easy to lose sight in the fast paced world I live in. Easy to lose quiet between the coffee grinder and the evening report. Yet I wonder how much time my soul spends waiting for moments like these when distractions cease and true life begins.

Step Eighty-Three: What makes you beautiful?

Dear Readers,

I'm messed up in relationships. I am. It isn't really an intentional thing... more of a fallen world thing. I'm needy, overly-emotional, overly-sensitive, chronically insecure, in general I'm "too much". Of course, I'll tell you I'm all of this when we become friends. I promise you that I will mess up (because I will), I promise you I'll annoy you (because I will), I promise you I will not be perfect. But I will love you.

For the first time tonight I realized how beautiful this gift is. Being friends with me... it's going to be complicated and confusing. But I love you. This is a fact, a permanent, unchanging fact. I may doubt you love me but I will never ever stop loving you. It's kind of an addiction (a healthy kind). I couldn't stop myself if I wanted to... because the truth is once you've penetrated my heart... I can't get you out of it. I may withdraw, I may ignore, I may even bare my teeth when I've been hurt. (Again – I'm messed up in relationships! ) But my love for you... it isn't going anywhere.

It's amazing how much of ourselves we take for granted. How quick we are to dismiss in ourselves what we love about others. It took hearing from a friend that her love is unchanging before I realized what a precious quality that is. It took admiring it in her before I realized in spite of all my mess I have that quality.

So, what makes you beautiful? How can the Lord show you YOUR beauty today?

Step Eighty-Two: Heavenly Love

Dear Readers,

I hate flying. Not just like a oh-its-uncomfortable-and-super-awkward-because-your-neighbor-is-drooling-on-your-mutual-armrest-so-now-what-do-you-do hate it but like I-am-going-to-keep-my-eyes-squeezed-close-tight-and-hold-onto-my-stuffed-bear-for-the-next-two-hours hate it. Worse yet I have to fly in and out of DENVER. If you haven't flown in out of Denver before you should know that DENVER in airplane lingo is TURBULENCE. This makes flying almost unbearable. Today as I was flying out to Colorado for a sister/friend's wedding wasn't that much different EXCEPT we hit Denver (thus the turbulent moments) as the sun was setting.

After several "oooh" and "ahhhhh"'s from the three year old in front of me, I decided I really did have the courage to peek. I'm pretty glad I did for when I did I received a serenade. A symphony pouring out in heavenly pink and purple hues, surrounded me, blanketing me in a gentle kind of love. As our plane dipped towards the earth and we parted serene clouds, peeking out over navy blue mountain tips. The vibrant colors played out over a perfectly still lake. It was breath-taking, awe-inducing, incredible.

It is impossible, in moments like that, to be afraid. It's impossible to forget the Lord's declaration of love as it decorates the skies! What a beautiful, and needed, reminder of His unconditional affection!

Step Eighty-One: Do You Love Me, Lord?

Dear Readers,

I love hearing that I'm loved. Nothing warms my spirit or lifts my heart more than hearing someone say "I love you". It delights my heart to know that others take pleasure in me and from me. It is an incredible gift, to hear the spoken affirmation of love.

Tonight was one of those moments. Everything inside of me was begging to know "Do you love me? Am I love-able?" And like the fantastic Father that He is, the Lord gave me a few precious moments to be loved by the most incredible woman! How deep the heart of my sister! How great her love is for me! It never ceases to amaze me how much overflow she has! What an example of unconditional love she is! She challenged me to let the Lord love on me each day but I hope that she knows tonight she was that vessel of love.

I find myself in this vulnerable place all the time. I want, more than anything, to know if the Lord loves me. I want so badly for Him to show me what He sees because I just don't see it in myself. And with all the healing I'm doing, I never want to lose this vulnerability. Asking Him "Lord, do you love me?" provides the opportunity for Him to delight in me. It gives Him a chance to bless me through my brothers and sisters in Christ. More importantly, I never want to lose my thirst for His love. May it be my pursuit for life.

May He remind you of His love for you as well!

Sept Eighty: Simple Faith

Dear Readers,

Lately I've been busy. Not a bad busy, actually a very productive and healing busy. I've been hard at work pruning the weeds in my life with the Lord. A very complicated process that I am so grateful to be walking down. One I will continue to walk. However, last night I got a reminder of simple faith and simple joy. God is complicated, He is bigger than we could imagine. He is working in ways we can't even fathom. But God is also simple. He is beautifully simple. This is a fact I continually forget. Yes God is healer of my emotional turmoil. Yes that is an incredible and powerful thing. But God is also Lord of falling leaves. He is simply beautiful. This simplicity is one of the reason's I fell in love with Him.

Last night He reminded me of His simplicity. He reminded me of the joy it is to delight in Him.

Do you need to remember the simplicity of faith?