 I grew up in a household with 6 of us siblings fathered by 4 different men. And . . . there were also the fill-in-fathers who ran through our house to service the in-between “father” spaces - all of whom had no desire to step up to play the dad role in our lives.
At an early age, my biological father fell off the grid - where he remained the majority of my childhood. He resurfaced when his parents induced him to reach out to his two teenaged daughters. But, in 1997, our father wrote a letter, one to my sister and one to me, advising us of his intent to discontinue relationship with us as he’d grown weary of his “fatherly” role. To emphasize his point, he moved and left no forwarding address for me nor for my sister to get ahold of him. And, true to his word, we’ve heard nothing from him for the last 23 years. To fill the void my father left, I attached my heart, for a period of time, to a soul who seemed to offer, what I misconstrued as, fatherly affection. But, he too eventually slithered off into the darkness of his soul and withheld his heart. The effects of abandonment, of being left vulnerable without a father’s love and covering and then too to sustain this same man’s overt rejection as young women, well, you can only imagine the impact on my life and my sister’s. Though, for me, Father’s Day does not hold the usual celebratory definitions typically attribute to this day, I do indeed appreciate this holiday. For though I’ve no earthly father to dote upon, I do have a Heavenly Father who adores me, who has my very best interest at heart, who calls me His child and has engraved my name in the palm of His hand. I adore my Father and I am thankful He’s never left me nor has He ever forsaken me. Today I dote my affections upon my Heavenly Father who truly cares for, who truly loves me. Today, know that your Heavenly Father loves you, His child, too. So, here is to Father’s Day - a beautiful day of love.
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 Moonlit Night I slip into the water as steam rises obscuring my view of the night sky. I sink down past my shoulders. My toes burn in the heat after walking across the snow covered ground from the house to the hot tub. I lean my head back and breathe deeply of the icy, winter air happily anticipating a relaxing evening ahead. “You don’t really believe in that predestination sh*t, do you?” My friend demands, aghast at the thought that I just might, as she walks through the back door of her home to join me. Accustomed to her challenging the differences in our beliefs, she leaves me to infer on her interpretation of predestination. I take a deep breath, offer up a hasty, silent prayer and shift my attention toward the intensity with which I am broached. “Let me start with a question before answering,” I begin. “You and your co-parenting partner communicate certain expectations to your children you believe lend toward the success of their future?” I continue by reiterating her list of expectations she campaigns:
- due to over-population “Is this an accurate summary?” I probe. “Yes,” she concurs. “Is it fair to say then that you’ve a predetermined plan you believe enables your children to thrive if they follow your mandates?” I inquire. “Yes,” she admits. “As free agents, would you agree that, your children posses the ability to choose to either adhere to your directives, reshape your plan to their own imaginings or, too, they can entirely reject your predetermined plan for their lives?” I ask. “Yes,” she agrees. “In like fashion, God lovingly provides humanity with a plan, a roadmap that predetermines eternal life for ALL,” I encourage. “And, we can either embrace His plan of love or we can turn away from His outstretched arms,” I conclude as we fall contemplative under a starry canopy. *** *** *** *** *** Last year, during a visit to California, I went dancing at a Gothic/Industrial Club in LA. A group of us went shopping for the occasion and we all dressed in dark attire and applied heavy makeup for our evening of social interaction and entertainment.
I anticipated an education into this new world. So, I googled and learned that some Gothic Clubs issue rules of conduct:
Research provides a sense of preparedness, but experience is the real teacher. For the most part, the scene was as I’d expected; loud music, dim lighting, costumes, mingling, dancing. The ground level of the Club played a poppy-industrial style of music. People smiled when we’d make eye contact and a few even chatted me up. The upper level of the Club played primal, undulating sounds and people moved to the driving rhythms. On the back wall, black and white clips of horror flicks played (of which I averted my gaze as I’m an Anne Of Green Gables kind of girl). A tall figure costumed as the Grim Reaper weaved in and out around the dancers on the floor. Intrigued, I studied the ‘Reaper’ but never caught a glimpse of their face. Asked if I was scared in this environment, I answered honestly, “No!” For truly, I felt - peace. When I looked around the room, I simply saw people wanting to connect, desiring to embrace the life God gifts. I saw people God predestined for eternal life, people God loves, people experiencing pain only He sees. So, as I danced with my peeps among the creatively clad, I found myself praying for people; I still pray for them almost a year later. God does not desire that ANY should perish, but that ALL embrace His love for THEM. Search on google - John 3:16, 2 Peter 3:9, 1 John 1:9, Ephesians 1:5 |
AuthorAs a young adult, I believed there to be a point of arrival; a place where internal struggles with fear or anger or confusion give way to assurance and appropriate displays of passion and clarity of thought and direction. Where striving with relationships transform into understanding and acceptance and the propensity to self-protect shifts to trust and confident vulnerability. However, to my dismay, I was startled to learn, through a friend in her 80s, my perception was most definitely a misconception. Archives
June 2025
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