redemptive love

He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. ~Clarence Budington Kelland











People talk about gifts that God gives them and blesses them with—strength, passion, love. Some of these are like flowing rivers, constants that shine through people all the time. I know people like this. When I think of determination I think of mommy, when I think of strength I think of Grandma Genevra, and when I think of courage I think of my dad. There is just something about associating beautiful characteristics to the people around you. What happens when these characteristics are not enough? What happens when words cannot evoke the perfect sense of feeling, the right description of qualities? More importantly, are these words just a figment of our imagination, a creation to attribute others with boxed in traits?

Regardless, God does equip us with abilities and with His love, so that in our lives we can exemplify His love. Lately, what I have witnessed is His power to give you feelings and abilities you may have never known existed.

When I first found our my dad had gotten in trouble, I didn’t know what it meant and to what extent he was in trouble. My parents were already divorced and when my mom told me that dad was coming over to dinner, I knew something was up. Dinner? Talk? What words were going to be exchanged? I feared more words would be splattered like a snowball thrown against a barren tree, in which the snow would fall and spill over, like our family. When he came it was weird. But it also felt okay—my parents were cordial, warm even. We ate and sat down in the living room and he spoke. It’s a blur now—the words from his mouth are beyond me, like a fuzzy dream that no matter how hard you push to remember, you just can’t. He came to tell use he got a DUI. Drinking Under the Influence. He got it a couple days prior to this. He had been driving in his beloved black ford truck, and drinking beforehand, when he slammed into the side of the road. Nobody got hurt. No other car was involved. He didn’t even get physically hurt. His car was totaled. And because of the offense he had to spend the night in jail.

He had to go to jail.

Jail. My father. My daddy. In jail.

My whole body went numb. How could he do this?

God it was so bad. But it was bad enough that is happened. I couldn’t concentrate for the next few days, I was completely lost and wanted nothing more than to escape. It was worse though, how I responded. I was angry, disappointed, sad, but mostly angry. I tried to tell him everything was okay and that I wasn’t mad at him. I tried so hard not to be. Everything started to return to some sense of normalcy, but I felt I was carrying a heavy burden. A burden that weighed heavily because I was still so angry. Everytime my dad and I would disagree or argue, I would throw everything back in his face. I would use my anger as a weapon and try to feel better from my dad’s guilt. It was awful, and I cringe when I think about how I used to be. I am not proud of that person, and I am disappointed. I think apart of it was how high I held my dad up; I put him on a pedestal, I wanted to be everything that he was. So, when this happened, it all came crumbling down. Yet, maybe I had to go through all of that to learn who I didn’t want to be. Maybe going through that opened my eyes, trust me, it opened my heart.

It took years for me to forgive. To truthfully release the anger in my heart, the burden on my back, and the regret in my soul. I don’t recall exactly when it happened, but I knew God had given me an attribute that I never knew I could have—the ability to forgive. It was a long road there. I went through emotional hell, and put my dad through it too. I blamed his mistake, and his alcoholism for the divorce. Granted, it was apart of it, but his issues were in no way the only reason my parents’ marriage fell apart. They fell out of love, they weren’t happy. The drinking was more of a result of the unhappiness, if anything. The words of bitterness leaving my tongue were not me—I knew that—but it kept happening anyway.

Yet, healing and forgiveness came along one day. It didn’t happen in an instant, it was a long time coming, but when it came everything changed. My world wasn’t a battle as much as it was a sincere effort to find love. The best part is that my heart transformed. You might say I woke up, and I smelled the coffee! I didn’t use my anger as a means to build a wall up from my dad, instead, it tore the wall down. God gave me the ability to forgive my dad. I thank God for that.

I needed that more than anything. It’s a funny thing to feel anger leaving your body. It’s like taking the first jump into the pool on a scorching hot summer day. It’s refreshing and nothing has ever felt so good. That was the beginning of my challenge. Forgiving my dad and investing new joy and love into that relationship became a priority that topped all other things. We went golfing, to Chipolte, and of course spent many lazy Sunday afternoons throwing the football around outside. With anger subsided I could tangibly see all the beauty that my dad’s heart entails—his witty sense of humor, his devotion to his family, and his strange personality that always embarrasses me, but I have grown to admire, and at times emulate. The challenge of forgiveness did not completely diminish though, because I could feel it in my heart. Not the forgiveness I found to give to my dad, but the forgiveness of myself. Forgiveness, you see, can at times be two-fold. It goes both ways.

I forgave daddy.
I did.
But me?
How could I put him through that?
What kind of daughter does that?

I would watch my friends with their dads and I would feel horrible. Like, something was eating at my insides. Because I felt terrible for not supporting him when he needed me most, and for letting him down.

This was something I had to reconcile. I prayed. Over and over.
But my heart wouldn’t budge.
I was holding myself in contempt and didn’t think I deserved to be forgiven.

To this day I feel a tinge of guilt for spewing anger at my dad when he made that mistake; that mistake that changed him, and made him better. I feel guilty for choosing anger instead of love.
But somehow along this journey I have found peace. I have found solace, and it brings tears to my eyes, because it has been the most redemptive and freeing emotion that I have experienced. This peace has set me free. God once again, has provided that which I though was impossible.

I have forgiven myself.

As the cans of beers have slowly dwindled away, due to my dad’s steadfast commitment to get his drinking under control, my heart has slowly, but surely come to find contentment. God is so good, and I am so blessed to have been through all of this. It’s taught me about myself, daddy, life, and God. As I relinquished my guilt, I can look back and literally see how God was working in my life. Right around the time I was able to forgive myself, was the time I really found Jesus. God works in funny ways like that.

I’m embracing my life fully knowing and at the same time, being utterly unaware of God’s magnificence and His abilities. I have experienced the beauty of His love and power, and I now know that anything is possible.

My dad is one of my best friends. He is quirky, funny, weird, hilarious, loving, and strong. That man, he is so strong. The things he has been through are unbelievable, and yet through it all he becomes a better person everyday. I am lucky, so lucky, to have him as my dad. I wouldn’t be me without him. I wouldn’t be loud. I wouldn’t be fearless. I wouldn’t be strong. My dad got me through not just this struggle, but just about every other struggle I have faced. My dad is my hero.

No regrets.
No bitterness.

It’s the only way to live. <3>