A Father's Love

If you’re looking for a weight loss or wellness inspiration, you might want to check out one of my previous posts. The fact that I’m writing at well after my bedtime tells me this one’s going to be a little bit different.

I’ve been kicking around a book idea. The story is a love triangle of sorts. It’s about seeking and not receiving love from a family member. It’s about receiving and not wanting love from a family member and ultimately it’s about knowing that the greatest love that I can ever need or want is from my heavenly father.

It’s been tough to write. I’ve stopped and started many times; mostly because some of it is just too darned painful and raw and some of it is fresh. Usually writing brings healing and clarity to me and this time it’s not, which tells me that I haven’t quite found my direction.

While part of my book will be about the complexity of broken family relationships and the need for healing, my intent is to share the hope God gives me now and how he found and repaired me as a lost little girl.

My parents divorced when I was a toddler and I went to live with my paternal grandparents. I lived with them until my grandmother died when I was in middle school and then I went to live with my Dad and Stepmother’s #1 then #2. In high school Stepmother #2 and I didn’t get along so well (that’s putting it lightly) so I went to live with my Aunt and Uncle. There's a whole lot of entertaining family drama in between there. 

As a little girl I often wondered what was wrong with me. I never quite felt like I fit in. I wondered why my Mom and Dad didn’t love me enough to want me to live with them. I felt rejected and alone. I wanted a “normal” family with a Mom and Dad and siblings. Even though I had a wonderful extended family who loved me to pieces, I felt like an outsider. Many times I thought it was surely because I was a bad little girl, and then one day I met Jesus.

I first met Jesus through the love and kindness of the women who worked and volunteered at the Marshallton United Methodist Church, women with great old fashioned names such as Honey, Alice and Florence.  These women hugged me to their chests and told me over and over again how much I was loved by this man named Jesus. I remember how excited I was to be dropped off at preschool or Sunday school. Today, almost forty years later, I can still feel the love that radiated out of those women and that place.

God found me there.

When I got dropped off, all of my troubles went away. I wasn’t a lost child looking for love, I was found. I wasn’t a confused child wondering what my future would bring, my worries were quieted. I wasn’t broken, I was whole.

There is absolutely no explanation as to how I remember exactly how I felt when I was less than five years old during that time and that to this day I can conjure up that feeling of wholeness, of stillness, of belonging. I guess it really is the peace that passes understanding.

I remember standing in the preschool room one day and it seemed as though the world stood still. We were learning the song “this little light of mine” and I was especially enjoying the hand motions that went along with the song. What can I say, I had a flair for the dramatic. I remember how it felt to blow out the pretend candle (my index finger), how that little breath of wind sailed out through my teeth.

Every time I blew out the candle, my heart swelled bigger and bigger. God’s love for me filled me up. I always left there feeling hopeful, almost giddy with his great love for me.  I would run out of the building, braids flying, knowing that I was loved, no matter what. And in that time of great complexity in my life, the simplicity and pureness of that love was enough.

That my friends is what I want to write about. How over and over again, in the lightest and darkest times in my life, God continues to pursue me. I see him in the beauty of a stained glass window. I feel him in the comfort of friend’s arms. I know him through the laughter of my children or the loving gaze of my husband. I hear his quiet whispers. I sense his urgency. I see him in the gifts of others. I feel him in the warmth of the sun. I know him through the pain in this life. I hear him reminding me to keep going. I sense his protection. I am overwhelmed by his grace and mercy.

After all of these years, I finally have finally come to realize that the love of my heavenly father is more than enough. It's a love story that I can't wait to share with you.  

Hugs and friendship,

Tara