My Birthday Wish List June 28, 2008

Some of you have read the story of my 12th birthday present.  If not, you can find it under ‘A Farewell to Shame’ category.  The story title is ‘12′.  You should know that ‘A Farewell to Shame’ is my story and I posted it in the order I wrote it which means it’s backwards.  So if you want the whole story start at the bottom and read your way to the top.  As always I welcome your comments and feedback.  I wrote it a couple of years ago and decided to post it here a little at a time.  I have a few more thoughts in that series left to post.  I’ll recap the story ‘12′ now and explain how the story has developed in the last few weeks.  God has swooped into this dark place in my heart bringing rescue.  This chapter in my life’s story has left me in stunned disbelief — overwhelmed with God’s love, wisdom, and gentleness toward me. 

In September of 1978 I was turning 12 years old. When my birthday rolled around my mom gave me a blank piece of paper and told me to go into my room and make a birthday wish list. She told me to list everything I wanted and wished for, even a little. She told me to take as much time as I needed and make it as long as I wanted. But when I brought the list back to her she pushed it away without looking at it and told me to go back to my room and go through the list and convince myself that I didn’t really want any of those things. She said to think about the bad characteristics of every item until I truly didn’t want it any more. She said that when I was done I would have her birthday gift to me: contentment, the secret to happiness.

Even though I knew my mom was very unpredictable I didn’t see that coming. I obeyed her and unwished every single desire I had completely and fully. Looking back it seems to me that on that day I with my own free will took a great big knife and carved my heart out piece by piece until it was all gone. This seemingly minor event has had it’s deadly hooks in me ever since.

I finally took this memory to God and asked Him to fix it so that I could do more than just survive it, but really heal from it. I asked Him to redeem it. After some listening I ‘heard’ the answer: make another list. OK, I thought but I want to take my time. Take as much time as you need and make it as long as you want. So I took a blank piece of paper and started filling it with wishes. I’ve grown so much in the last couple of years. I’ve learned to desire. I’ve learned to ask. I’ve learned to pray. So it didn’t seem hard to start a good list. All my usual requests flowed out, prayers for my daughters to be safe and happy, prayers to grow in my marriage, prayers for my church, money to go on a trip, you get the idea. Slowly it dawned on me that I was making the wrong list.  My assignment was not to make wishes for me now, but to make a list for the little girl in 1978 who was turning twelve.  My job was to become willing to wish good things for her. 

Ouch.  It’s hard to describe the walls of defense that flew up in my heart in response to God’s request.  To wish good things for her was beyond my meager ability.  Any fleeting thought or passing flirtation with desire was quickly squelched by an iron fist of presumed rationality.   But I have learned to trust God’s gentle whispers — His respectful shepherding of my heart and healing.  With tremendous effort I was able to come up with three wishes (1 to 3 on my list below).  

Wishes 1 to 3 were absolutely the best I could do.  So swallowing my pride, I turned to my friends for help.  And through their eyes and their hearts for me, for the girl I once was, I came to a realization.  I wish I had good friends when I was 12.  One by one the wishes came, hopes for the precious gift of time and shared adventure with friends of the heart.  Here it is, my restored 12 year old birthday wish list, as Tamarshope said so well my ‘Talitha Koum’.

1) I wish I had food that tasted good and had enough of it — including the right to eat junk food, fast food, and candy sometimes.

 

2) I wish I had clean, good clothes that fit. I guess if I could pick what I wore I would have gone preppy. ‘Izod’ shirts, sweaters, straight leg jeans, and Nike tennis shoes with a bright red swoosh.

 

3) I wish I had a warm winter coat. Maybe a colorful ski jacket.

 

4) R., I wish we could have celebrated our birthdays together by making beaded leather necklaces with our names spelled out on them. Then I wish we could have spent the rest of the afternoon outside by a river in the woods with a rope swing that goes out over the water and taken turns swinging out and jumping off.

 

5) D., I wish we could spend an afternoon together playing beautiful music. I have always wanted to play piano well too so I wish we could have played an amazing piano duet together in front of our friends and family. I wish we had a gifted and kind teacher who believed in us.

 

6) W.,, I wish we could spend a day at Disney together. I wish I could have asked you to ride Space Mountain with me and to talk to me through the ride — especially the first part — so I wouldn’t be afraid.

 

7) B.,, I wish we could have gone to a NYC ballet together and that you could have explained everything you know and love about ballet. Then I wish we could have met the dancers and talked and laughed with them.

 

8.) P.,, I wish we had a pair of brand new yellow Suzuki dirtbikes. I wish I could have spent an afternoon with you in a big open field making a track with banks and turns and ramps. I wish you would use your encouraging spirit to talk me through the finer points of riding and jumping until we could fly around it like real riders.

 

9) K.,, I wish we could spend the afternoon together planning the ultimate 12 year old birthday party — our birthday party. I would value your excellent taste when it comes to party favors, decorations, guest list, food, and entertainment. I would gratefully accept your gift of the stunning pink dress and purse and I would ask you to accept my gift to you in return, a matching peacock blue dress with matching shoes and a matching purse filled with monogrammed embroidered hankies, hair ribbons, a journal and of course a beautiful real silver fountain pen inlaid with aquamarine gems that writes in peacock blue ink.

 

10) I wish I could have spent an afternoon on a trail ride with S. and F. It seems right that the three of us are in on this one wish. I wish we could ride somewhere out West and share a sunset together.

 

11) I wish I could spend an afternoon alone with E. in the beautiful garden, playing croquet, running through the flowers, all the things you described. I’d like to sing ‘church songs’ with you (I’ll harmonize) and see all your drawings. But mostly I’d just like to get to talk heart to heart so I could get to know you for the beautiful young woman you are.

 

12) (Wished for me by H.) My heart’s deep desire when we are twelve is to go for a walk in the woods with you.  I want to splash through streams and dry in the dappley forest sun.  I want to find a hidden spot where Lady’s Slippers grow.  I want to leap from huge rock to huge rock.  I want to hear a mighty crash in the trees and grab your hand and meet your eyes with terror-citement and wonder if we are in danger.  I want to continue forward and come face to face with a big, surprised white-tail buck, who gazes thoughtfully at us for a moment before crashing off again into the underbrush.  I want to discover the entrance to a cave and crawl in. I want to quickly realize that the light disappears within a few steps, but feel a big space open in front of us.  I want to stand there with you, in the twilit transition, being pulled forward into the inky unknown and backward into the safe sunlight.  I want you to convince me to shuffle carefully in much further than feels safe to me.  I want to coax you back to the entrance with a fervent promise to come back tomorrow with flashlights.  I want to stumble into an ancient, overgrown apple orchard.  I want to find a couple of lumpy, deformed, little apples and find them to be shockingly delicious.  I want us to notice a dark clump high in the trees and realize it is a porcupine.  I want to discuss the pros and cons of climbing the tree for a closer look.  I want to see something fascinating that we can’t explain or understand.  

 

13) I wish I could spend an afternoon with 12 year old G. playing new records and then going to see Grease. It seems strange that this wish would make me nervous, but my mom had me convinced that if I listened to rock and roll and watched ‘worldly’ movies that I’d end up pregnant or strung out on drugs. Embarrassing, but true and it made me afraid all the time of the other humans in the world and how they might ‘influence’ me. My mom’s ’safe’ influence on the other hand was bad for my heart. G., I trust you. My 12 year old self is ready to try something a little ‘grown up’ now.

 

14) I wish I could spend an afternoon roller skating with L. — each of us wearing a brand new pair of birthday skates. I wish we could top off the afternoon by eating home made ice cream so cold our brains would freeze.

 

15) I wish I could spend a 12-year old afternoon with M. talking about books. I’d give her my favorite set in English – probably A Wrinkle in Time, The Wind in the Door, and A Swiftly Tilting Planet. I wish she’d give me a set of beginner books in Japanese and spend a few hours helping me understand the basics of how to read them. 

 

16)  I wish I could share my secrets and dreams with M. as her pen pal.  We would look forward to each letter and share promises of eternal friendship and make solemn plans to meet face to face.

 

17)  I wish I could spend time with C. writing, practicing, blocking, making costumes for and performing in a homemade play with her and her younger brothers and sisters that we could perform for all our friends.

 

18.) I’ve been saving this one. I wish I was Tamarshope’s sister.

 

19) Of all the people I know, I wish I could spend a 12-year old afternoon outside with 12-year old C. working on my jump-shot. I wish with his coaching that I got really good and that in the evening after it got cooler but but before it got really dark we could drink a tall glass of pink lemonade left over from the birthday party and then play 2 on 2 against a team of friendly rivals and beat them fair and well.

 

20) I wish I could spend a 12-year old afternoon with my 12-year old (meant-to-be-husband-one-day) M. playing on my brand new Pong game which he would have given me for my 12-year-old birthday. I wish we would laugh and share our separate future-dreams while playing and that our hands would ‘accidentally’ brush up against each other when we both reached for the reset button. I wish that while we were lying on our bellies on the living-room carpet looking up at the ‘big TV’ with dust swimming in the sunbeam shining through the big picture window that he would reach over and leave a gentle 12-year old kiss on my cheek. My first kiss.

 

 

The Promise…. June 24, 2008

I came across this poem and thought it appropriate to put here….how many of us as victims of abuse have tried to ignore the effects of abuse and in doing so not really lived-but only survived….It is my prayer that each one who visits this site will find someone to share their hearts with, someone willing to come alongside, to hold your hand, to listen to your heart and truly hear you, someone to trust….may you not suffer in silence….  ultimately my prayer is that you would come to believe and trust in  our Living God….He can heal you of your pain….He can take your wounded heart and not simply put a bandage on it but heal it completely…and then give it back to you, whole and made new….not so that you are numb to the abuse, but so that you can learn to live, to embrace life, to love-yourself and others….and in doing so the pain of the abuse will slowly fade into the background, no longer a controlling force in your life, or something to be hidden or fought….but rather these healed wounds will become a source of encouragement and healing for others…..my scars remind me of the grace of God…He spared me and I am thankful. Rather than letting these scars destroy me, they remind me of where I came from and the message I have now….they remind me of the tombstone that became my steppingstone…..

“THE PROMISE”

As I noticed myself becoming old and gray,

I knew it was time to visit the little girl of yesterday.

She had been kept safely hidden

In a place where others had been forbidden.

She knew I had to leave her long ago,

So one of us could find the strength to grow.

I promised her that I would someday return,

For she was my main concern.

No one could understand how her and I connect,

For I was the one present during the crime and neglect.

As I opened the door to yesterday,

I heard the sound of children happily at play,

But I noticed her sitting all alone and sad

Until our eyes met and she became glad.

We reunited by hugging and kissing one another

Like a beloved daughter and a mother.

I comforted her and dried away her tears

That were too painful for so many years.

As I looked in her small eyes of grey,

I told her that the monster had gone away.

She looked up at me and said,”I love you”

Then I replied, “I love you too”.

Someone who cared had finally set her free.

The little girl that I used to be.

Andrea

The Man With No Face June 22, 2008

I am small in my bed.  I must be five or six.  I am on the bottom bunk.  I look up at the wooden slats supporting the mattress above me.  The glow-in-the-dark stars are there so I won’t be afraid.  There’s an amazing mural painted on the wall.  The Cat in the Hat balancing on a ball.  My mom painted it.  My mom is the best artist I know.  Two squares of light appear in the corner and move slowly across the wall, then disappear into the closet.  After a minute they appear again, this time starting from the closet and moving in the opposite direction.  The fading whine and rumble was louder that time.  Must have been a truck.

There is someone in my room.  It’s a man.  His hair is black.  He is over me.  I am being squished.  I am being pushed.  I can’t breathe right.  His hand is over my mouth.  His hand is on my mouth and I can’t scream.  My hips are being pushed down, down deep into the bed.  I struggle to get free, but I can’t.  I can’t move.  I am too small.  The man is too big.  Pain washes over me.  Waves of pain.  Wave after wave of unbearable, unimaginable pain.  Oh God, make it stop.  Please make it stop!  I am being punished.  I am being vivisected.  I am … BAD!

   In my memory, there is something strange about the man’s face.  It’s all gray.  It’s missing.  Somehow I took a giant pink eraser and rubbed it out from the picture.  The man’s identity was something I refused to see.  It was the truth I refused to know.

Who to Call for Help June 20, 2008

The Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline:      1-800-4-A-CHILD

Call this number for help if you are  1) a victim of child abuse     2) a survivor of child abuse     3) an abuser or someone who is afraid they may abuse a child     4) a witness of child abuse or someone who suspects a child is being abused .  Your call is anonymous.

Please Hear What I’m Not Saying- A Poem June 17, 2008

I came across this poem recently and thought it appropriate to put here…how often as victims of abuse haven’t we lived with masks-afraid to live authentically….and how important it is for true friends of the heart to see past the pain and the masks and offer us authentic fellowship and friendship, enabling us to peel away the layers and choose to live authentic lives…we need Jesus with skin on to help us shed those masks.

 

Please Hear What I’m Not Saying

Don’t be fooled by me.
Don’t be fooled by the face I wear for I wear a mask,
a thousand masks,
masks that I’m afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that’s second nature with me,
but don’t be fooled, for God’s sake don’t be fooled.
I give you the impression that I’m secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me,
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water’s calm and I’m in command and that I need no one,
but don’t believe me.
My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this.
I don’t want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
my only hope, and I know it.
That is, if it’s followed by acceptance,
if it’s followed by love.
It’s the only thing that can liberate me from myself,
from my own self-built prison walls,
from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.
It’s the only thing that will assure me of what I can’t assure myself,
that I’m really worth something.
But I don’t tell you this.
I don’t dare to, I’m afraid to.
I’m afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,
will not be followed by love.
I’m afraid you’ll think less of me,
that you’ll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I’m afraid that deep-down I’m nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,
with a facade of assurance without and a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,
and my life becomes a front.
I tell you everything that’s really nothing,
and nothing of what’s everything,
of what’s crying within me.
So when I’m going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I’m saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I’m not saying,
what I’d like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can’t say.

I don’t like hiding.
I don’t like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you’ve got to help me.
You’ve got to hold out your hand
even when that’s the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you’re kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings–
very small wings,
very feeble wings,
but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator–an honest-to-God creator–
of the person that is me if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach to me the blinder I may strike back.
It’s irrational, but despite what the books say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.

~ Charles C. Finn, September 1966

 

Please Hear What I’m Not Saying

 

Justice for Tyler June 17, 2008

Last week in a ‘good Christian family’ a 13 year old boy named Tyler was murdered.  By all accounts Tyler was sweet, obedient, and compliant young man.  But apparently he was not perfect.  Last week he made a mistake of some kind.  Because of Tyler’s mistake, his father tied him to a tree overnight as punishment.  In the morning he let him go but the next night he tied him up again with his step-mother’s full knowledge.  Later that day Tyler was found unconscious and all efforts to revive him failed.

I am furious about what happened to Tyler.  For the last few days the Bible verses Tyler’s parents must have used to justify his actions have played over and over in my head.  There’s ’spare the rod and spoil the child’.  There’s ‘children obey your parents’.  There’s the one about the father taking his rebellious son outside the village to be stoned for his disobedience in the name of God.  I wonder if those verses played over and over in Tyler’s head as he was tied to that tree.  I wonder when he realized his young life was slipping away.  I wonder if and when he stopped believing that his dad was good.

I believe God too is furious about what happened to Tyler.  When the Judeans killed their children in the name of religion God was furious enough to give His chosen people over to the hand of the uncircumcised Chaldeans.  He said:  ”They built the high places of Baal that are in the valley of Ben-hinnom to cause their sons and their daughters to pass through the fire to Molech, which I had not commanded them nor had it entered My mind that they should do this abomination, to cause Judah to sin.”  God did not command Tyler’s parents to tie him to that tree.  It had not even entered God’s mind that they could do this horrible abomination.  It was a sin beyond God’s imagination.  A sin that demands justice.  I want justice for Tyler.

May God give us all eyes to see.  To stand in the gap for the Tylers in this world before it’s too late.  This episode was far from a momentary lapse in judgement.  Parents don’t suddenly decide to tie their children to trees.  Abuse, like every other sin escalates as you feed it.  The rush of power and sense of control abusers get from their crimes override rationality like any other drug.  Reports are that Tyler’s dad was ’scary’ and that he made people feel uncomfortable.  If you as a grown man or woman feel afraid around someone, just try to imagine how a small child must feel when trapped with that person behind closed doors.  

I’m planning to start a series of posts here cataloging the symptoms of child abuse and what you should do if you suspect it may be happening.  It’s not justice for Tyler, that’s in God’s hands now.

*edited on 1/20/2009 to change ‘mother’ to ’step-mother’*

Father’s Day Cards June 14, 2008

One of the things I miss the most about having an ongoing relationship with my Dad is buying him a Father’s Day card.  Instead this year I decided to go buy a card that expressed my gratitude to my true Father and Creator.  Although I didn’t have a plan for how to deliver it I couldn’t resist the urge to go pick one out.  It turns out I couldn’t narrow it down to just one card, so I bought three instead.    

Here we go:

Card #1

Outside: Fathers who believe in their daughters give them the courage to succeed.

Inside:  Wherever I go, whatever I do in my life, I always know that you believe in me and that makes all the difference in the world.  Happy Father’s Day.

My thoughts:  I like this one because I like to think about the fact that God believes in me.  One of the best responses I ever heard to atheism was when someone said, ‘I don’t believe in God’ and someone else said, ‘that’s OK because He believes in you.’

Card #2:

Outside:  My Dad, my HERO

Inside: For teaching me the things I needed to know to get along in this world, for treating me with kindness and respect, for loving me through every phase of my life, especially when it wasn’t easy.  I couldn’t thank you enough or love you more.  Happy Father’s Day.

My thoughts:  This one reminded me how God always stood by me even when no one else did.  He loved me when I wasn’t easy to love and His kindness and respect is teaching me true compassion.  “But God demonstrates His own love for us in this:  while we were still sinners Christ died for us.”  (Romans 5:8 NIV)

Card #3:  

Outside:  It’s little things that make dads heros, things not often seen, sacrifices made while living out each day’s routine,

Inside:  It’s little things a father does, the things he knows he must, the ‘being there’ when each day’s through, the love that builds up trust.  And though there’s not a list of every single thing he’s done, the heart remembers and gives thanks for each and every one.  You’ve always been there for me — and since Father’s Day is here, I wanted you to know how much I admire you, how much I love you, and how proud I am that you’re my dad.

My thoughts:  I often think of the mind-boggling ways God built love and beauty into the universe.  Human beings will never be able to catalog the depth of His work, but those ways of His that I’ve stumbled across have made my life worth living.  I am proud to be a daughter of the King!

 

Happy Father’s Day!

Father’s Day June 10, 2008

In the past Father’s Day was a time of mixed emotions for me. I would weep as I’d hear of the love and gratitude expressed for dads, partly because it would bless me, but mostly from a sense of loss and what I never had.  I never knew my dad. I lost my mother when I was only six months old and because my dad was an alcoholic I was taken out of the home and raised by an aunt and uncle. So my dad only knew me for the first six months of my life.

 

 I saw my father on occasion while growing up, and yet when I got married and lived only seven miles from him he was more like a stranger to me than a father. The times I would see him he would get tears in his eyes and sometimes openly weep. The tears made me uncomfortable and uneasy as I didn’t know how to deal with his emotions.

 It was soon after my first daughter was born that the Lord Jesus became my Savior and He placed within me the desire to get to know my father, sadly he passed away soon after. Years later the Lord began to heal the wounds of my childhood and one of them was the abandonment of my father.

 I remember so well, years ago, the day I finally had the courage to visit the cemetery where my parents were buried. And as I placed the flowers upon his grave I knew that the Lord indeed had done a work of healing in my life. As I let the tears flow freely my heavenly Father gently gave me back to my mother and father, and deeply touched the scars of a daughter abandoned so long ago.

  When I got home what I will share next with you are the words I wrote in my journal. And today when Father’s Day arrives my tears are no longer from a sense of loss but from a heart of Love.

 

As Father’s Day approaches

I think of you my dad,

the man I never knew

the father I never had.

 

I saw you mostly from a distance,

a few times we would meet

and your eyes would well up with tears,

other times you would openly weep.

 

I’ve often wondered about those tears

and who you shed them for,

were they for your broken heart

or the child you held no more?

 

Were they for your little girl

who left your arms so young,

were they for the emptiness

you carried for so long?

 

Did you ever hold your little one

in arms secure and strong?

Did you smile into her eyes

and speak her name in love?

 

Did you rock her to sleep at night,

did you sing a lullaby?

Did you sooth and comfort her

and hold her when she cried?

 

Did you ever imagine,

could you have ever known, as you held your baby girl

that one day she’d be taken from your arms

or forever from your heart?

 

No, I never knew my daddy’s love

I never knew his heart,

I only saw him from a distance

a stranger set apart.

 

And then the day did come

when by his side I stood,

but daddy it was much to late

and now my chance was gone.

 

Your eyes were forever closed

your soul forever gone,

and I wondered if one day I’d have the chance

to meet with you in heaven, my home.

 

Even though I’ve known much sorrow

and many tears I’ve shed,

My precious Jesus said to me,

“My child I’ve a plan.”

 

He placed within my life

a very special man,

someone with a gentle heart

he’s my husband, he’s my friend.

 

I’ve watched him with our daughters

I’ve seen his love abound,

I’ve seen his eyes speak volumes

yet never whisper a sound.

 

I’ve watched him hug and hold each one

I’ve seen him dry their tears,

I’ve heard him speak their names

as he goes to God in prayer.

 

I’ve seen his firmness

and I’ve seen his tender side

I’ve watched them roll in laughter

and I’ve heard his words of pride.

 

Through this man I’ve witnessed

a Father’s special love,

as he gives of himself

and shares with them his love.

 

Even though I never knew my dad

God knew that in His time,

in my husband I would see

just how deep & vast a father’s love can be.

 

And to our daughter’s

my husband is the kind of dad

that I had always dreamed of,

but now my daughter’s have.

 

What a joy it’s been for me

what a gift from above,

that God saw fit to bless my daughter’s

with an earthly father’s love.

 

And on this Father’s Day

I realize all that I’ve been given,

For you see I have the greatest Father,

My Father God in heaven.

 

It was He who said to me,

“My child, you are my own,

let me be your Father

let me give to you my home.”

“Let me take the emptiness

let me fill it with my love,

let me dry your tears,

come, my child, come.”

My heavenly Father said to me,

“My child your tears are not a waste,

for I’ve gathered up each one,

and filled each lonely space.”

“It is I who open my arms to hold you,

and within the serene stillness of my embrace,

is where you will find love and security,

and will truly know my grace.”

“My child, even before the foundation of the earth,

I had set my love upon you.

Before time I ordained that I would adopt you,

you see my daughter, I knew!”

“I have sealed you with my Holy Spirit,

I am the Author of your wholeness,

it is I who have chosen you

and I am the finisher of your faith.”

“All that you are

or ever will be,

has had its beginning

and its end in me.”

 

Oh……..and dad……..

those flowers that I placed upon your grave,

they are from your little girl,

given from a heart thats healed,

by Jesus Christ her Lord!

 

*Copywrited*

 

 

My Real Dad June 9, 2008

Driving home in the dark.  Deep in thought.  Pulled back for the thousandth time to the scary room.  I am small in my bed.  I must be five or six.  I am on the bottom bunk.  I look up at the wooden slats supporting the mattress above me.  The glow-in-the-dark stars are there so I won’t be afraid.  There’s an amazing mural painted on the wall.  The Cat in the Hat balancing on a ball.  My mom painted it.  My mom is the best artist I know.  Two squares of light appear in the corner and move slowly across the wall, then disappear into the closet.  After a minute they appear again, this time starting from the closet and moving in the opposite direction.  The fading whine and rumble was louder that time.  Must have been a truck.

The memory fades out and disappears.  I can’t remember what comes next.  I can’t remember why it’s so important.  What happened in that room?

My mind wanders to thoughts of my father.  I think about the prayer, the Big Prayer that went unanswered.  I prayed the Prayer for years with all the child-like faith, persistence, and courage I could muster.  I spent all my Hopes and Wishes on the one Big Prayer, the Prayer of my Life.  I laid it all down.  I bet the farm.  When God said no, things were never the same.

I asked God to make him Good.  I asked God to make him love Him.  I Needed a dad.  If God would just do this one thing, just this one small favor, I could live with the rest.  The Big Prayer was, ‘God, please make my dad Good’.  What I prayed in ignorance, I now know to be wrong.  God’s hands were tied.  He couldn’t answer my prayer.  God won’t force love.  It’s against His Religion.

  Focused on the road and the lights of the cars ahead of me, a thought comes to me.  It buzzes around like an annoying fly for some time before I even realize it’s there.  Here it comes again, a little louder this time… Let me be your Dad.  Hmm, I wonder.  What’s that supposed to mean?  Let me be your Dad. I think again, I’ll be your Dad. Now that’s just confusing.  Let me be your dad?  Whose dad?  And why dad?  Don’t I mean ‘let me be your mom’?  This just doesn’t make sense.  But here it comes again.  A thought so tender, so pained, so gentle.  Not controlling, not even urging.  Just a simple, quiet invitation, a patient, hopeful expectancy.  Let me be your Dad.  I want to be your Dad.  

 And then it dawns on me.  The source of the thought.  God is my Dad.  God has always been my Dad.  He’s the one who somehow kept me alive, kept me sane under impossible circumstances.  He’s the one, the only one, who has watched me and helped me build a life based on truth.  A life not free of mistakes, but always pressing on in the right direction.  He’s the one, the only one, who has always looked on with pride when I made the right decision, when I won success.  He’s the one, the only one, who has always cried with me when I suffered.  I bore up under the pain because of Him and only Him.  God is my Dad.

I struggle to keep the car on the road as my body begins to shake.  Tears flow freely from my eyes, turning the lights from the cars ahead of me into blurry X’s.  I’ve been given a gift.  A new Big Prayer.  The Prayer of my Life for the rest of my life.  God, you are my Dad.  You are my Real Dad.  You have always been my Real Dad.  Thank you for being my Dad.  Thank you for being such a Great Dad. 

Don’t Waste Your Pain June 4, 2008

The most helpful thing I’ve read lately is a four word quote from John Eldredge in Walking With God.  He said “don’t waste your pain”.

We all have our share of pain eventually.  It comes out of nowhere to slap us in the face when we least expect it.  It looks from the outside like some people get a free pass from pain, but looks are deceiving.  You need to know that this burden we all bear is so, so, so, so, so NOT God’s desire.  He has always wanted better for us.

I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating, the most expensive thing in the universe is Love.  Love costs us and costs God dearly.  God pays an immeasurable price every day to buy us the right to Love.  Every day we have the right to choose and that choice opens the door to unspeakable consequences.  Our right to choose, our freedom to Love means that a father has the choice to rape his young daughter.  It means a drunk has the choice to sit behind the wheel.  It means a terrorist has the choice to detonate a bomb.

Pain wasn’t meant to be wasted.  It was meant to be redeemed with the very purchase it was spent on.  Because Love, too is a choice.  Spend Love generously, lavishly, wastefully on yourself, on your fellow humans, and on God.  Don’t waste your pain.