The Sovereign Lord is my strength
He enables me to go on the heights
And I am not afraid
The Sovereign Lord is my strength
Where are the greener pastures
Where are the quiet waters
The Sovereign Lord is my strength
You are my green pastures
You are my quiet waters
The Sovereign Lord is my strength
“I wait for the postman to bring me a letter
And I wait for the good lord to make me feel better
And I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders
Family in crisis, that only grows older
Why’d you have to go?…”
So at long last I may be looking at the chance to sit down with my [estranged] father and ask him all the questions I ever wanted to ask. Which seems pretty incredible considering all the daydreams I entertained on confronting him and demanding an answer for his actions.
The only problem is, now that I have the chance…I’m speechless.
I literally have no idea where to begin with him…what if I agonize over this list and then meet him face to face and come to the realization that all my questions are meaningless compared to the chance to be reconciled with him? But what if that’s not the case, what if I am overcome with emotion and tear into him in such a way that makes him regret meeting with me in the first place?
The last chance I had to post a hard question to my father, he told me he would call me back the next day to discuss some things and I waited over 3 years for the “next day” to come. With this once-in-a-lifetime (literally this is the only time in my life thus far that I have been presented with this opportunity) chance to talk to him, I don’t dare make a wrong move lest he run off and disappear for another 10 years!
“Daughter to father, Daughter to father
I am broken, But I am hoping
Daughter to father, Daughter to father
I am crying, A part of me is dying
And these are, these are
The confessions, Of a broken heart.”
I remember that I always preferred confrontation with my dad over my mom. He was always calm and inquisitive, where as my mom, if often seemed, was testing the magnitude of her vocal chords and the strength of her hand.
“And I wear all your old clothes, Your polo sweater
I dream of another you, One who would never, never
Leave me alone to pick up the pieces
Daddy to hold me, That’s what I needed…”
The last time I saw my dad was about 10 years ago…right before I entered my last year of high school. A year later I would find out that he took all my trust fund money for college and disappeared to the Middle East. I remember hearing my mom sobbing in her room through my bedroom walls; she was so confused at his betrayal. I think I just was numb and couldn’t quite grasp the magnitude of what had happened…later the deception would sink in and I would find myself quite angry and wrestling with the idea of a father not only physically abandoning his children, but also financially robbing them.
“So why’d you have to go? Why’d you have to go? Why’d you have to go?”
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard if he wasn’t worlds away, living in an unreachable place. It was as if he was on the run; hiding in the desert across the world. What did he fear? It wasn’t as though I could come to where he was living and get the money back. Perhaps for him, he needed to “start over” and a new geographical location could lend to the facade of a clean slate…
“Daughter to father, Daughter to father
I don’t know you, But I still want to
Daughter to father, Daughter to father
Tell me the truth, Did you ever love me?
Cause these are, these are, The confessions of a broken heart…”
“I love you, I love you
I love you, I….I love you!”
It’s weird how I view my father as a stranger – yet there us such a strong underlying bond (which I am convinced only exists because I am part of him) that somehow allows me to feel very connected to him. Even though I harbor resentment and fear from his abandonment, I still have a desire to know him. I feel like many things in my life have been directly (and indirectly) affected because of my (lack of a) relationship with my earthly father. I often wondered, “Did he ever love me?”I have a hard time believing he did, simply because of how he removed himself from our lives with out so much as a glance back. But maybe he never really knew love himself…
“And I wait for the postman to bring me a letter…”
I was talking to Holly the other day and she made a comment about spiders and then asked me if I knew how many eyes a spider had. Afraid to be upstaged by a 4 year old, I hurriedly (but slightly self-consciously) answered, “Ummm…two? Wait! I think six!?!?”
Actually they have eight. And she had the picture to prove it. (Yeah, I know it’s kinda gross!)
So looking at this spider got me thinking…about all I see, and more-so the things I don’t…
For example,
I see a stained person staring at me in the mirror because I can’t always see past that to His grace.
I see where I want to be in the near future, but I can’t see all the things He is doing in me to sustain me right now.
I see other people’s eyes on me and I care more about that than I care how He sees me.
I see the old me rising up again but I can’t see how Jesus is breaking me from that pattern (though it’s obvious He is!)
I think about those 8 eyes and wonder, “if I had more eyes, would I be able to see things that seem hidden?” And I remember that if I ask Him, he will reveal it to me. That gives me hope…hope that even these two blind eyes of mine will soon see what He is showing me.
Bible truth, life experiences, random thought processes | 
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I have such great friends. I mean, these people are really awesome, so much so, that I wouldn’t be the least surprised to find anyone of them great in their own right. In fact, I could go so far to say I would be disappointed if none of them amounted to anything beyond where they are now. (Not that I’m putting the pressure on or anything…just saying, they are great!)
Jessica is great at writing. I remember when we were roommates in college and I was still studying theatre and biology and she was pursuing her degree in English. I looked up to her so much then for being so knowledgeable. Even now, I read her blog and am just amazed at what a great writer she is. In fact, she recently accepted a job writing full time for a company, which only proves she is great at that. I hope I am as good as her someday. She’s also an amazing cook – especially in the area of presentation. She makes amazing looking desserts and I’m surprised she hasn’t been “discovered” for them yet – it won’t be long.
Katie is another amazing person I know. In the past we have referred to her as the “white Condi.” Which should immediately tell you how intelligent she is. I think the dudes that created Google must have know, or heard of Katie. She has such a wealth of information from how Texas was formed to what the latest verdict is on Britney Spears’ as a mother. Katie never ceases to amaze me at the amazing amount of knowledge she archives in her brain. I hope I can harbor even a fraction of what she knows about the world.
Marcy is another friend of mine who is wonderful. She’s battling a life-long struggle with her weight and she is just taken it on head first. I am amazed at her persistence even when it’s really hard. But Marcy is that kind of girl, she wears her heart on her sleeve and I think that is so rare nowadays, especially in a culture that is all about me, myself and I. Despite the emotional hazard that presents, Marcy continues to express how she feels openly and worries about the consequences later. She isn’t afraid to post her weight on-line (and even is she is afraid, she does it anyway!) and she isn’t afraid to cry in the middle of Starbucks (I have trouble crying period. Let alone in a public place!) The way she wears her emotions unreserved is so rare, because most people fear being hurt or rejected by others when expressing emotion, but Marcy just grins and bears it. I hope one day I can do the same.
I keep thinking, “what am I great at? Like what can I do better than anyone else? Or what sets me apart from the norm? Will I ever be great?”
There is just this “thing” inside me, this feeling, you know, that makes me just know I am bound to encounter greatness. I can’t explain in what capacity or when, but I just know that I am destined to experience that. Do you understand? I used to think it would come with my career, especially at the time when I was pursuing what I believed to be the “coolest career” I could do; however, the deeper I got in to that world, the clearer I saw that I couldn’t do what they wanted me to without sacrificing a large part of who I am. So with the close of that possibility, I had to wonder what would be next? So far, I haven’t encountered any path which I believe is leading me to greatness.
Then there’s the part of me that thinks, wouldn’t greatness just lend strength to my pride? And we all know that can’t be good…but I can’t believe I would so deeply and innately feel something and it wouldn’t be true. So I guess I am just waiting for the right time, place, opportunity, etc. to see what I’m really made of. Until then, I’m just longing to be great.
