This last month has felt like one very long day... with little sleep breaks in between. My daddy died on Labor Day (Sept. 5). I'm finally back home. I've heard death-bed stories... none of them were like what I witnessed. And I don't feel up to sharing the specifics - nor does anyone really need to hear the specifics, I guess. Yesterday I ran across a card that my dad sent to me from Korea - 1965 or 66. I was 4 or 5. It said, "To the sweetest little girl of them all = from the proudest dad." I fell in a heap crying. The thing is... those were words I never actually heard when I needed them. I went through our childhood slides the other day. I can't locate any pictures of me doing "dad and daughter" things. I can't locate any memories either - at least not the good ones. My childhood memories of my dad consist of his shined, black shoes and his hands. This tells me that I didn't look at his face much until my adulthood. Mostly, in my dad's presence as a child and as a teen, I felt shame. And I've never really figured that one out. I have some hints... high demands for perfection... little room for childishness... alcoholism... no option to fail... affection/esteem by alcohol (which equaled lies)... I don't say these things to defame my dad - it was what it was.
And I do have a point.
In 1988 God radically changed my heart. And He continued to radically change my heart toward my dad. I don't remember the year it happened, but I remember the day that things actually changed in my relationship with him. He actually said the words "I love you gal" as I was heading out the door of his house. It was revolutionary. That was several years after my regeneration - and I believe it was a response to my intentional offerings of forgiveness to him combined with God's gracious work in his heart. I didn't do anything of huge significance when I was with him. Just being willing to talk to him, to ask advice, to look him in the face, to be with him and treat him kindly. He came around.
In the last 10 years or so... especially in times when I returned to OK to spend time with my parents... I noted an even easier connection with him. We laughed a little. I was able to joke a little with him. We shared books with one another. We shared crosswords with one another. We shared meals. It was more like getting together with an old friend. I was enjoying him without all that old stuff attached to it. Free from the old pain... free to love him as someone dear to me.
Then the three days before he died...
I'm not sure what happened. It was apparent that I didn't have much time left with him. Though I prayed the Hezekiah prayer, God answered "no." Something had morphed in my heart. I could only call him "daddy" - a name, frankly, I had reserved for my heavenly Daddy. It never seemed to fit my dad. But in those 3 days, it rolled off my lips with ease. I held his hand. I can't remember ever doing that - though I'm sure in my early years that probably happened. I kissed his head. We waved at one another as I left and entered the hospital room. I looked at his eyes constantly. I helped him drink. I helped him with his oxygen mask. I worried over his feet - trying to keep them covered and warm. I worried over his pillow, wanting it to be dry and comfortable. I prayed over him. I sang over him. On the last day, I climbed into the bed and put my head on his chest. In those three days I loved him unashamedly and spoke aloud words to him that only my own heart (and God) knew existed. And I said I love you frequently. And I said goodbye.
For 3 days I was a daughter.
I know that there really isn't any room for wishes and regrets in a child of God. I say that because no matter our sin, our failures... God redeems and uses. Regrets are a waste of time because in God's economy, mistakes and failures and the worst of sins are the minor chords in the worship song God is composing of our lives. Nothing is wasted on Him. But as God redeems, He teaches. I think if I had a do-over here, I would have risked being a daughter to my dad even when he wasn't a daddy to me. Maybe if I had loved him rightly in those earlier days of my salvation, instead of withholding my heart in fear, I might have known the man I knew for those three days. He might have felt the freedom to love me well. But... that's still not the main point... redemption is the point...
For 3 days I was a daughter. A real, honest-to-goodness daughter.
God is redeeming all the pain my dad and I invested. I'm about to be a real, honest-to-goodness daughter to Daddy God. When I think about how I loved my dad those three days... I recognize that the love I offer to my heavenly Father is sometimes stilted and labored. Am I memorizing His face... His eyes? Am I holding His hand? Am I kissing His head in worship? Am I purely serving Him and not just serving for service sake? Am I sitting at His feet? Am I curling up next to Him, breathing with Him, setting my life to His heartbeat? Am I speaking boldly what's in my heart? Am I listening quietly for each word from His lips? Am I longing for Him to remain with me? Am I cherishing THIS moment with Him?
January 14th will mark my "Jubilee" year. I'll be 50. There's a deep, compelling urgency in me (I believe by the Holy Spirit) to live out the rest of my days, however many I have left, as an unashamed, unafraid daughter of the Most High God. Fear and self-justification stole my love for dad and his love from me. For 3 days I was a daughter. Yeah, I wish it had been more and in some moments I'm crushed under the weight of the loss of 49 years. And in other moments I'm overwhelmed by waves of gratitude for those 3 days. 3 days that my daddy and my Daddy taught me to be a daughter for the rest of my life. One moment in those three days continues to barge into my thoughts. It was a moment when I knew that I couldn't contain my emotions enough to stay in the room with him. I ran to the bathroom to cry. I cried for a little while and then washed my face. When I lifted my face to the mirror I was shocked to see my dad's eyes. No one ever mentioned the similarity to me, but I had been looking into his eyes for two days at that point. I have my father's eyes. It's an ever-present reminder to me that I belonged to him. I hope as I am transformed into the daughter God wants me to be, when I look into the mirror of His word, that it's an ever-present reminder to me that I belong to Him
All of this (including my grief) compels me to love more fully in all of my relationships. I'm understanding what it means to love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength. But those three days have given me a template for loving Jon and my children more fully. They have deepened my love for my brothers and sisters in Christ. They have widened my heart for strangers and for enemies. My grief holds both loss and gain - my emotions are getting mostly loss, my head is processing the gain. Maybe they'll balance out eventually. (It's a comfort to me that my dad is at this moment experiencing all gain.) Maybe I'm not "the sweetest little girl of them all", but "He rescued me because He delighted in me." He chose me. He adopted me. I'm His daughter. And maybe more often than not He says "I have no greater joy than to hear that my little girl is walking in the truth." All I know is that for 3 days I was a daughter. I want it to be 3+1+1+1+1.... and for the rest of my days. Jesus, help me. Amen.
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