Step Eighty-Nine: Father Lessons

Dear Readers,

This Christmas I've been thinking a lot about fathers. I could probably write a whole book on the shortcomings of my biological father. These flaws have been at the forefront of my mind lately. In part I'm finally mourning and expressing anger towards my father. This is good. If this is where you are, please don't hear me saying otherwise! The mourning process is so incredibly necessary. It is natural to mourn when we have been wounded or disappointed. Yet, I found myself letting those same hurts taking over my holiday. I found myself watching, waiting for that familiar old note of disaster to strike. It was as if, in my crusade to "win back" my holidays from my old wounds I was watching this holiday slip through my fingers. That fact hit me tonight as my mentor family and I went off to see Christmas lights. I could write many blogs on my biological father's inadequacy but tonight I want to tell you about my dad and how he is helping me to re-create Christmas.

Having grown up in Colorado with snow and freezing temperatures, having practically lived my winters out in gloves and beanies, this 75º California weather just doesn't seem Christmas-y enough. So in an effort to put myself into "the spirit" I decided to wear my winter beanie anyways. Their two young boys (A and E) decided to wear their hats as well. We had made hot cocoa and we were all loading into the car when my dad walked out. He was wearing one of A's larger beanies. It is this ridiculous (and cute) lime green hat with two frog eyes on top. Without having told any of the family my reasoning, they had all jumped into my hat idea. As I watched my dad climb into the car, I realized that is what dad's are for.

Dad's wait in the car for over an hour so we can see the best Christmas lights in town. They go shopping with you even though they know you could have gone alone. They give you advice about boy's and dating and school. They get you things simply because you want them. They watch girly movies and, yes, they take a ridiculous number of pictures. They're willing to set boundaries to protect you. They are uncompromising in your inclusion in family events, even if it bothers others. Most of all, they take care of you. I have an excellent dad.

Do you know what is even more beautiful than re-creating Christmas? Getting a new look at the heart of God. These are some of the lessons my dad has taught me about the Lord:

• He cares. Whether you're discussing the love story within Zombieland, talking potential future grad school options, or telling Him about your crush, He cares. Deeply. He wants to know the details. When you talk, He gives you this playful smile, encouraging you to continue. He enjoys hearing what you have to say. (I wonder if truly believing this would change our prayer lives?!)
• He is interactive. Whether it's eating a good meal together or pushing hot wheels down a dare devil's loop-de-loop track, He's there, passing the salt or elevating the final launch pad for optimum awesome-ness. He wants to be involved even if it means letting you pick the rom-com as the night's movie choice.
• He enjoys you. This is a new one for me. I never realized before that dad's actually enjoy their time with their kids. That they relish it, delight in it, seek out more of it. It is an incredible lesson. To think the Lord enjoys me the same way my dad enjoys ice cream runs... that the Lord sees me as His companion even in those simple ways... it brings a whole new light.
• His love is unconditional. It does not stop. Not when you wear the least sensible shoes nor when you make devastating mistakes. It does not pause at the scars on your wrists, nor does it linger on your past abuse. It is constant. Persistant. Even when you are shutting down and shutting out. It is a safety net which allows you to dive into the darkest parts of your heart because you know it will walk with you, ready with open arms any time you need them.

I am grateful for my dad. I am thankful for the lessons he is teaching me through fatherhood. Mostly, I love that he is mine. Thanks Dad! :) You know who you are!

Step Eighty-Eight: Awakening

Dear Readers,

Sometimes I feel as if the Lord awakens us to life. Songs we heard a hundred times, sights we'd seen a thousand times, but then He moves and it is as if our eyes and ears are experiencing those once familiar sensations anew. It astounds me. How sweet and tender He is, how beautiful He is making me. :)

"If I Never Knew You" - Mel Gibson + Judy Kuhn

Step Eighty-Seven: A Poem For You

Dear Readers,

A poem for you...

If there were word I could say

to somehow unfold your pain,

whispered lyrics, whose purest notes

piece nights darkest tremors.

Words of beauty, vibrancy, and grace,

words infused with life.

I’d plant them in your heart,

let wild orchids grow,

blooming through your worst memories.

I’d let silken petals

enfold and embrace you.

I’d let their softened hue

ease the sharp blade of sorrow

let their touch comfort and warm you.

If such words existed, if any balm to aching hearts I had

I’d give them all to you,

my sweet friend.

Yet, no such balm I’ve found

and no such words I know.

I can offer only this –

I love you.

I love you

when your fears are many

when you heart despairs.

I love you

when you see but anguish and disgust

when you don’t feel worthy of being touched.

I love you

when you smile and

when you cry

I love you.

I love you

when you’re sure you cannot go on

I will be your courage, strength, and heart.

I love you

for who you are

not for what you’ve done nor what you’ve seen.

And my love is with you,

in the quiet of your heart.

I never leave you.

My love for you is patient,

my love for you is kind,

my love does not boast

nor is it proud.

My love for you is not rude

nor self-seeking.

My love for you cannot be angered,

it knows no wrongs.

My love for you is truth,

I never give up and I never lose faith,

I am always hopeful.

My love for you endures.

My love for you was spoken from that cross.

So in case you haven’t heard me lately,

I love you, dearly,

My beautiful daughter

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?