You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Father’ tag.
It doesn’t escape me that tomorrow is Father’s Day. For many, it’s a celebration. For some, it’s complicated. And for a more rare few, it’s a quiet, empty ache.
If you’re like me, you’re somewhere in the middle.
I’ve not seen my father in person in 5 or 6 years. Not so much because of a falling out, though that definitely happened, but more because of distance, and choice. I’ve not gone to visit him and he’s not come to visit me. And that is, weird. I don’t know what to think (or feel) about that. I’m conflicted.
I don’t know if I miss him as much as I miss what I should have had. A role model. A mature human. Someone to follow. I don’t blame him… or at least I understand the limited cards he was dealt as a child and young man. And I have tremendous empathy for him. He’s just as broken (or even more so) than I was.
But it still feels unfair.
I get it. First world problems. And there are people out there who have walked through so much worse. But it’s still the reality I face. And if I’m honest, conflicted doesn’t seem big enough. It doesn’t. It seems… incomplete, inadequate, too small, to describe how I feel about all of this.
On the one hand, I’m a grown adult. I’m successful at what I do. I’m happily married.
On the other, I’m a scared 10 year old who simply wishes his dad never left and that his parents never split.
I had dinner with a few buddies yesterday. And we ate and conversation flowed, we opened up and shared how none of us come from families that are remotely functional. And as we talked, I was struck by two feelings. The first, how grateful I am to have friendships like this. The second, how I felt when they talked about raising their children.
It struck me then that in it within just a few short days their wives would be celebrating them. Their kids would give them handmade cards. Or pasta-art. Or something else covered in glue and glitter and beautiful mess. Something tangible that says they’re fathers. And they’re doing a good job. Something they’d get to hang on their fridge. Or stick in their bible. A memory of a moment in their journey of fatherhood that they could keep for the rest of their lives.
Did I romanticize it? I did. But did it prick the “I’m totally ok” facade? Yes, it did.
Maybe the word isn’t conflicted. Maybe it’s grief.
Not over what I lost — but over what never was.
We fear the storms of life.
The real ones.
Trust me. I know. I live in tornado alley.
Each spring my wife, our dogs, and I spend a few afternoons or evenings in our basement next to the weather radio as sirens go off.
Two years ago, in early December, we found ourselves huddling in a theater basement with a few hundred other folks as a tornadic supercell moved through the region. We were there for a Christmas concert. The concert still went on, and it was all the more beautiful because of the shared experience…. but the band has yet to return. (Looking at you, Over the Rhine…). I digress.
Storms are scary. Both the real ones and the other storms life brings. You know the ones. The ones that can be even less predicable. Not tornadoes or supercells, but job changes, relationship issues, or the illness of a loved one.
A storm comes. An unexpected phone call with an unwelcomed diagnosis, a pink slip, word that someone you love is moving, a senseless loss, or the ramifications of our bad decisions…. all storms. All basically unpredictable, all with the power to bring pain.
And we suddenly feel unmoored. Tossed by the unexpected winds. Unsure which way is up and wondering if it’d be easier to simply turn tail and run than turn into the storm and face the winds headlong.
The things we put our faith in, we rely upon for happiness and peace, all are prone change or break. None are eternal.
Just a year ago, my wife and I were navigating a cancer scare (I wrote about it here). We got through it. Yes, it was scary. Yes, there was fear. But, we got to the other side of it. And she is ok. But for whatever reason, in spite of how often I am carried through the storms, I still fear them.
I’m realizing I shouldn’t be afraid. Yes, storms are powerful and dangerous things. Yes. They are scary.
But if I truly believe in the God of the Bible, then I must believe He is more powerful than the storms. And, I must also believe He knew the storm was coming even when I didn’t. The storm may have caught me by surprise, He wasn’t surprised.
And, if the Bible shows us anything, it shows us that storms are to be expected. They’re part of life.
So maybe you’re facing some storms tonight. Maybe the holidays are overshadowed by something unexpected lurking around the edges. Maybe someone is missing. Maybe you’re living someplace new and you’ve not found “home” yet. Or maybe you live at home, but it doesn’t feel like it. Or maybe you’re facing something huge that left you breathless, whatever it is….
The God of the Bible is bigger than the storm you’re facing.
Sometimes He calms the storms that surround us, and sometimes He gets in the boat with us and says…
“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this together.”
a
You can think about a lot during your commute home. Especially if that commute takes you through a $3 billion (yes, billion) construction zone. And if that commute includes 4 disabled vehicles blocking one of two open lanes.
I thought about a lot. I worried about a lot. I wondered when the drive would end and if this was what hell was like.
But mostly, I worried.
I worried about finances, about our future, about making good decisions. I worried about Christmas and family and all the other things I couldn’t fix.
I drove, and I worried. And as I got ready for bed this evening, I realized how wrong I was.
My wife isn’t feeling well. And as we were saying goodnight yesterday evening, she asked me to read to her. So I did. And I read:
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
Matthew 10:29
I worried. For nearly 2 hours today I worried. And He’s already taken care of it.
I may make mistakes, I may not be perfect. I may face more long commutes. I may not have all the answers. But I am not alone. I am perfectly loved by a perfect Father.
And in that, I can rest.
FindingTheCourageToDream.com 