Daddy… The word slipped out of her mouth like honey, sweet and warm as she poured her prayers out one by one. There was a distinct confidence of a daughter beckoning the attention of her father and it was this confidence, and that word, that left me so torn.
Growing up I never knew just how different my life was from most kids. I never thought twice about having two Christmases or Thanksgivings. I mean, if you know me well enough then you know I was content sitting around the dinner table twice every holiday. It was just a part of my normal, not a picture of a broken home to me. I never questioned those things. But the things I did question were much deeper. The wounds were messier than I had anticipated and somehow I lived a life not completely aware of just how broken I was, how damaged I was by the decisions of a man I barely know, a man whom at times I thought I might not even need. You see, my whole life I understood the concept of “Daddy doesn’t love mommy anymore. Don’t worry, it’s better this way”. That part I got. What I didn’t get was, “Why doesn’t daddy love me?”
I wanted so desperately to understand what I had done. Why wasn’t I worth the fight? And how is it that I’m suppose to trust someone who isn’t going to stick around? Constant battles of not being good enough, feeling like there was something wrong with me, or like I wasn’t worth the trouble constantly raged in my head. I was broken, lost, rejected, and looking for acceptance.
Now, the truth is my father loves me. He loves me as much as he knows how to love. I say this all because this is not the part of the story I really want to share with you. See, my earthly Father had always let me down. I knew even though he said nice things and made grand promises his words could not be trusted. I knew he would always choose his new family over me and I would just have to live with that. The greater tragedy of all of this and what I really want to share was that without even knowing it I put these same expectations on God.
Sure, I could call him “Father” and love him, even go so far as to say I “trusted” him. But at the root of it all I still feared he was just like my earthly father. I could appreciate his protection, because that had been very evident in my life, and I loved to view him as an authority in my life because it brought peace and structure. But to see him as a father who loved me and delighted in my presence? Now that would be far too risky!
This is why it was so hard for me to hear the word “daddy” slip out of her mouth so comfortably as she prayed. Didn’t she know that he was God the almighty not daddy? That concept was so foreign to me. Father was ok, I mean of course it was, it only made him some strong protective figure, but daddy? That was one step too far! The word was so offensive to me that it caught me off guard. In a weird way my offense to it didn’t push me away from the word, it just drew me closer to it. It tossed around in my mouth like a piece of sour candy. And that’s when the question struck me “Could I call him Daddy?” Could I believe that he was real, that he was actually my Daddy.
To see him as more than just father, to intimately see him as Daddy would require things I wasn’t really willing to give. It meant giving up control of my heart. Saying that I trusted him to not hurt me. I had to truly believe and accept that all of the stories I had ever heard about his love for me where actually true.
The next few days were plagued with thoughts of this word. I would silently practice it every chance I could. Making sure that it would float flawlessly off of my tongue if I ever did decide to use it. There was so much doubt and almost giddy excitement every time I thought of the possibility of having the courage to actually use the word. Until finally, in a bout of tears and surrender I decided that maybe it was ok. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt me. I mean if the stories were actually true about him, if he really did love me, if I was actually his daughter and he my Father, then wouldn’t it be just exactly the acceptance I was looking for? As the word sprung out of my lips and into the air I felt a freedom that was almost indescribable. It was like coming home to a home I didn’t even know I had. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. It was as if I finally knew the answer to a math problem I had been trying to calculate in my head my whole life.
My earthly father no longer needed to be a dad to me in order for me to have a daddy. I had always had a daddy in my Heavenly Father and that had always been his plan. I was only ever on loan to my parents. I had always had my Daddy in heaven constantly attentive to my every move. To him I was worth the fight so much so that he gave his life for me in the fight for my salvation. He sees me as the apple of his eye, a precious gem more valuable than silver or gold. All this time I had been enough for my heavenly Daddy. I had just been using the wrong Father to measure my worth by.
But because of this there is so much grace I can extend to my earthly Father. I know now that my Father didn’t choose to reject me when he chose not to be apart of my life; he really chose to reject his Heavenly Father, God. He rejected the joy and experience of knowing The LORD as father and son through experiencing what it means to be a father. And that’s ok, because I know his story is not over, I know that there is redemption for his life and our relationship because that’s how my Heavenly Daddy works! That’s how much he cares about my heart. Even if the relationship with my earthly Father never looks the way I thought it would, I am still loved, accepted and cherished by my heavenly Daddy. Because of this I can freely say to my earthly father that he is forgiven and loved by me regardless of his ability to reciprocate that love.
