Thoughts on my father’s death: A testament of grace.

As I grew older, the good memories were tainted by conflict and missed opportunities. I could only see the empty seat at softball games. The stares of disdain. The feeling of being utterly alone when sitting just two feet away from him. I can’t tell you the exact age or moment that I realized my father was an alcoholic. As his addiction grew, my hope for a happy family dimmed. 
 
My mother showed him YEARS of grace, but eventually a choice had to be made. My dad had to choose between getting help for his addiction or losing his family. His choice seemed far too easy to make. My parents divorced between my senior year of high school and freshman year of college. Most of the contact we had over the next year was limited to arguing, and he seemed to only call if he needed something. After a particularly hurtful conversation, I decided to wash my hands of him. For three years, I didn’t see or speak to my father. In my mind, it was better that way. I didn’t need him. He didn’t support me emotionally, spiritually,
or financially. He had caused me so much pain over the course of my life. 
He didn’t choose me.
 
My anger and resentment continued to flourish, fueled by these thoughts. Fueled by memories that were etched into my mind. Fueled by words he said and things he did. More so, fueled by things he didn’t do. I found it so much easier to hate him. Anger provided a blanket over sadness quite easily. If I hated him, I didn’t have to acknowledge the pain he’d caused me. I didn’t have to feel guilty for giving up on him. I knew I was justified. After three years, I had an epiphany. Who was I to refuse forgiveness? Who was I to deem someone unworthy of my love? At that moment, I began to pray. I prayed that God would change my heart. I prayed that he would teach me to love my dad. To truly love him. To be able to say it and mean it. I prayed to forgive him. I can’t tell you how many times I prayed this prayer. I’d be lying if I told you I fully expected this prayer to be answered. I just knew that God was pushing me beyond what was acceptable (“You’ve heard it said…”), and into something better (…”but I tell you…”). 
 
A few months later, I had another epiphany. I realized that the way I viewed my dad had completely shifted. Instead of anger, I felt compassion. Instead of resentment, forgiveness. My heart had been radically changed. This moment continues to be the most compelling personal evidence I have for the existence of God. 
 
I decided to reach out to my dad. I called and asked if he would like to       grab lunch. The phone call was awkward. Seeing him again was  awkward. It was almost as if we were meeting for the first time. He opened the door and began to cry. I think he understood why I had walked away. I think he was filled with more shame than I’ll ever know. The next few years brought forth more awkward lunch dates. He was fully supportive of my travels on the World Race. He told me he was proud of me. He told me he loved me. For the first time in my life, I believed him. We’ve continued to have our ups and downs. There have been a couple of episodes within the last two years that made me want to wash my hands of him all over again. But something within me always called me back. 
 
I’m a firm believer that God doesn’t make bad things happen. However, he does redeem situations and circumstances. God didn’t make my father an alcoholic, but he did use my father to teach me the true nature of love. I once saw a picture frame in Wal-Mart that read, “Love makes all things easy.” I remember laughing under my breath as I walked past. My view of love is quite the opposite. Love is patient. Love is kind. But love is also messy. It requires getting your hands dirty. It requires sacrifice. Love is exhausting. If asked for one word that described the relationship I had with my dad, that would be the word I chose. Exhausting. Yes, God answered my prayer for a changed heart. But I’ve had to pray that prayer many times since then. Pick up your cross DAILY and follow me. Likewise, love is a daily choice. 
 
God has also used my dad to teach me about grace. When discussing my hypothetical wedding, my mom and I disagreed on one very significant aspect. Would my dad walk me down the aisle? My mom was quite clear (and rightfully so) with her stance. He doesn’t deserve it. My response was simple. Exactly. My favorite definitions of mercy and grace are as follows: Mercy is not getting what you deserve, and grace is getting what you don’t deserve. My dad didn’t deserve my forgiveness. He never once asked for it. To his dying day, he never took responsibility for the pain he’d caused me. But there was an unspoken gratefulness in his eyes each time he saw me. I’m thankful for the new memories we were able to create. I’ll cherish our trip to Callaway Gardens. We had a giant lunch, strolled through the butterfly garden, and walked down to the chapel. An organist just happened to be there playing old hymns. I’ll cherish being able to spend holidays together. I’ll never forget our first Thanksgiving together again – the tears that streamed down his face as he expressed how thankful he was to be together to share in that meal. I’m thankful that we had reconciliation. 
 

I didn’t write this blog to tarnish my father’s name. I’m hoping the sparing of details in our story will prevent this.He was a kind, smart man. I’ll never be able to fully understand the struggles he faced.

I didn’t write this blog to make myself a saint. I was far from the perfect daughter. If it were up to me, I would have never seen my father again. It was only by power of God that we were reconciled. 

I didn’t write this blog to promote maintaining unhealthy relationships. There have been multiple times that I had to step back and rest from the “pursuit” of my father because I was just too tired and/or hurt. 

I wrote this blog to tell our story. Parents, take advantage of the time you have with your children. Children, take advantage of the time you have with your parents. Forgive freely. Love recklessly. 
 

There is still healing to come as my story continues. I’m finding once again that anger is easier than sadness. My father died as the direct result of his choices. I’m angry that he won’t be there to walk me down the aisle. I’m angry that my kids will never know their grandfather. I’m angry when I think about the characteristics I possess as the result of his decisions, and the negative impact our struggles have had on my adult life. His death is now the ultimate reminder that he didn’t choose me. I know forgiveness will come. It always has. Even in death, my dad is still teaching me (through painful practice) to lay aside my pride – my justification – and offer grace. By learning to offer grace, I’m finding it much easier to receive grace from God for my own mistakes. 

 

My dad is the unlikely centerpoint of my testimony. He has given me a glimpse into the way God sees me. 
Relentless in pursuit. Forgiving, before I’m even repentant. Constantly offering grace and love that I don’t deserve.
 
For this, I am thankful.