[the one about my dad]

I grew up without a father. Fatherless. He found out my mom was pregnant and that was that. He left and I didn’t have a father. Abandoned. At school, kids would ask “What’s your dad’s name?” or “What does your dad do?” and the only thing I knew to say was “I don’t have a dad.” I went to a church and my prayer request was the same “For my mom to stop smoking and to meet my dad”. Father’s Day sucked. I remember the deep sobs and the resolution that I will find my father. When I turned 18, that is exactly what I did. In 2002, I aged out of foster care and was given his last known address. I sent a letter…and I got one back. Pictures. A grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, a brother and a sister and--my dad. I met my father later that year. We didn’t spend time rehashing the past of why he left. I was thankful to see him. He was thankful to see me. And we invested our time in building a relationship.

Late January 2009, I get a phone call from my sister saying our dad is in the hospital. Not knowing exactly what was going on, we decide we need to see him. I was starting a new stage of my life - the  beautifully exhausted days that swell together as a brand new momma. All my clothes have spit-up stains and I didn't care because I was falling in love with my sweet girl. We live in North Dakota and he’s in Washington DC. And I trek across the county with my babe in the bjorn, a backpack pull of supplies, a car seat on one hand and our suitcase in the other. We arrive at the hospital and I see why no one wanted to tell us what was going on. Without a word, I knew. Stage 4 of whatever it was and there was nothing that could be done. Nothing. He wanted it this way, the family says. He didn’t want anyone to know. And I am broken.

I was able to spend a few days with him, holding his hand, looking into his brown eyes (the same ones my Tutu had, the ones my auntie m has, the ones my sister, my brother and I have and now ones my sweet girl has). On February 4, 2009, I said good-bye to my dad. I knew it would be the last…everything. How do you just let go, look away, and walk the 32 steps down the hall? The last thing my father told me was “Take care of that beautiful family.” And with that, I returned home with my husband and precious daughter. February 10, he was gone. I was awake, nursing my sweet girl. 3am my phone lights up and I recognize the area code. I let it go to voice mail because I already knew. I held my sweet girl close and began weeping.

 

4 years ago, I lost my father. I also lost sight of my God. I trusted feelings instead of fact and ran to the darkness to allow those feelings to take root and grow. It's been 4 years and I've made was back to the light and the truth. 

Psalm 147:3 - He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds

Psalm 18:2 - The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold

I am reminded and challenged that even when I felt abandoned, alone, unloved or worthless- I wasn't. I was never alone. I was being pursued by a loving God who restores and redeems.  He waits for me and calls me from the darkness and shadow when I want to run. His love love is so deep that he gave his Son, Jesus Christ to be a ransom for many (Matthew 20:28) that we would be saved (John 3:17). A God who mourns the passing of my father too because after all, my father was created in His image - a child of God.