Every Father's Day I remember 2 major events in my life: my daughter's birth (2006) and my dad's death (2015). Both events were life changing. I grieved both days.
To share the story of either events would always be a showcase of God's grace, mercy and love to the listener. But, for me; pain.
Of course the pain is only there until I receive revelation into God's bigger plan and then... AWE envelops me BUT the "awe" only comes as I trust Him with the pain.
|My dad. God's broken vessel.|
I struggle to share how unconventional my relationship with my dad was because I don't believe anyone would understand.
However, I was told that I don't need to make others understand. I just need to tell my story.
Last Father's Day I told myself that I would blog about my last dad but I struggled to find words to write.
Then I thought that I'd do it on his birthday but September came and went. Then I thought maybe it'll be best to write about him on military holidays because he was a veteran but those days came and went. Then I thought maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas or New Years would be best.
With each day that passed I got even more hesitant to write about him. I kept procrastinating because I couldn't seem to say or write about him like I did with my other dad.
My other dad was easy to write about but not this one.
I thought that time would make it easier to talk and write about him but it's not.
Then this Father's Day, as I was preparing to celebrate my daughter's first birthday party which she had to share with her dad and grandfather, I was listening to a podcast and I heard the speaker describe what missionaries would do to show their commitment to follow through on a task to take over an island for the gospel of Jesus.
The missionaries would "burn their boats" so that they would not have any way of backing down from their calling.
As I was listening to this story I immediately saw in my mind my dad's head hung down in disappointment as he said to me in his own way (the way I remember him):
"Rina, burn the f*cking boat!"
I couldn't help but burst into tears because I knew exactly how weak my Christian walk had become. I was already disappointed in myself. I've been hiding. Cowaring in defeat because of fear.
I didn't want to talk about him or the things that he had taught me about life because he was wrong.
I loved him and I wanted to protect him by being silent but I know that if he were here today knowing what he knows now about Jesus, he would be very disappointed in me.
In fact, I believe my mother would also be disappointed in me if they heard my current whiny prayers. They didn't raise me to whine and cower. Not even to them.
I was raised to fight. Everything. Whether I'm right or wrong, it didn't matter, I was to fight.
In my mind I could see me sitting with my dad as a young girl on the porch having a cigarette and drink together.
I thought about what our conversation would sound like today and he would tell me to fight. He would tell me that he is okay now and that he wants me to use our relationship to help others to come to know the saving grace of Jesus. His Savior who grabbed him at the eleventh hour.
How do I share that you were my first adult buddy?
That you taught me how to drink alcohol like a fish, smoke cigarettes like a chimney, cuss like a sailor, shoot a gun like a badass and to see the human body as a candy-coated carnival ride.
How do I share that sex was to be seen as a survival tool for financial gain? That a woman's body is the closest you'll ever get to meeting a god because ecstasy was the only god you were willing to acknowledge? How do I share your atheistic beliefs and your hate for religion? Oh, dad... and your issue with race? What a mess...
I don't know how I'm suppose to share my journey with my dad but I know I can't be the only one who has had a father like him. I'm hoping that as I share my story others who can relate will know that they are not alone.
I feel alone but I know I'm not.
|hold, aim, pin-point your target, shoot!|
I feel like I should've gotten over him a long time ago since our relationship was so dysfunctional but even as I write this my heart hurts because I know that he loved me the only way he knew how.