Because you are sons, God
has sent forth the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba!
[Aramaic word for Daddy] Father! (Galatians
4:6)
Sing to
God, sing praises to His name; Lift up a
song for Him . . . whose name is
the Lord, and exult before Him. A father of the
fatherless and a judge for the widows is God in His holy habitation. God makes
a home for the lonely . . . . (Psalm
68:4-6)
I call Him Lord so often I sometimes forget He’s my heavenly
Daddy. I’m sorry when that happens. ‘Lord’ conjures for me a more distant
relationship than the intimate bond ‘Daddy’ invokes.
In prayer last week, that intimacy stirred thoughts once
again of my earthly father. Those who’ve followed my blogs for a while know Albert
left me and my sister in 1954. I was
four, Andrea was not yet two. He wouldn’t keep out of other women’s beds, so Mom
finally told him to pack his valise.
Andrea and I rarely saw him afterward. Three, maybe four
times over the next decade and a half. Then, in 1968, when I was eighteen, I
asked Mom to set a meeting with him at my paternal grandparents’ apartment. I
wanted to know his side of the story. I wanted to know why he left me and
Andrea.
My mind’s eye still sees him as he sat in the wing-backed
chair in front of the living room window. I sat cross-legged on the carpet a
few feet from him. Andrea and Mom sat on the sofa to my left, my grandmother on
the flowered upholstered chair to the right of the couch. My grandfather softly
drummed his fingers on the dining room table to my right.
“Why did you leave?”
Albert hardly hesitated. He looked me in the eyes and said,
“Because I wanted to.”
That was 45 years ago. His words remain as chilling as if he
spoke them last month.
I don’t know why that memory recently resurfaced while I was
in prayer. I forgave Albert in November 2011 for what he’d done to me. The Lord
had interrupted my prayer time and asked if I would forgive Albert. His
question caught me by surprise, and I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Would I
forgive Al for casting me aside like a piece of trash? More to the point, could I forgive him?
“I’d like to,” I finally answered.
What happened next still warms me to think of it. The memory of Albert saying what he did remained – and yet remains – chiseled in my mind, but the memory then took a sudden and extraordinary turn. I was no longer sitting on the carpet. Instead, my heavenly Daddy was sitting on the carpet and I was sitting in His lap. His arms encircled me and I snuggled deep into His embrace. His warmth surrounded me. I could hear His heart beat, feel His breath on my hair. A great sense of quiet washed over me. I knew I was at home, at home in His arms.
Home. Oh, the security, serenity, the love and hope that
word arouses within me.
Albert’s words, “Because I wanted to” no longer stung as
they had in 1968 because now, in 2011, I could snuggle deeper into Daddy’s
embrace. Albert’s cruelty dissipated like a mist burned away by the sun as my Daddy
held me yet closer – because He understood how those words ripped a hole in me.
I remember as I write this how – as this scene unfolded in my memory – I broke
into a grin, looked him in the eyes and said without hesitation: “I forgive
you.”
Why shouldn’t I forgive the man? How could I not forgive the man? I was sitting in my real Daddy’s lap. Albert was never my father. He only impregnated my mother. He was no more my father than if he had raped her and she conceived. But my Daddy in heaven – oh, my Daddy has never left me, no matter how many reasons I gave Him in my life to do so. And even when I didn’t know it He was there, all the time, His arm around my shoulder, whispering encouragement to a young boy, who became a teenager, and then became a young man who would one day become the man at 63 who joyfully lifts his hands in worship of his Daddy in heaven.
Sitting in my heavenly Father’s arms, how could Albert’s cavalier
rejection hurt me? I could feel only sympathy for the man who missed a lifetime
of opportunities to be my earthly daddy.
Is it any wonder why I am so in love with my Daddy who art
in heaven?
2 comments:
Thank you for sharing this, Rich. Sometimes I wonder, why it is that we seem to always become little children, (in our imaginations), when we need comfort from God. Not just emotionally, but physically transformed. Jesus said we should come to him as a little child, but do we ever grow up in his eyes?
I'm not sure about growing up in His eyes, but did you ever notice how we usually feel more comfortable (especially when we are cold, or ill) when we curl up in a fetal position? As an RN, I see that all the time in patients, especially those who are comatose. I am sure it has a lot to do with the way He made us . . .physically and emotionally.
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