it is rare when i let myself re-enter childhood.
no, not the parts of my childhood where i reveled in running through the sprinklers with my sisters, planting roses with Mom, or making a mess in the kitchen with my aunt.
the part when dad would re-enter the family, cook up a storm, pretend everything was okay as my sisters and i looked at each other confused, how do we play the part of daddy's girls?
we watched the news over dinner. we should be just as informed as daddy, sitting there wanting to share the sticker i got for reading well at school today, the spelling test i aced, or the fact that i was chasing a boy around during recess. his eyes stayed on the screen.
we played with our dog. the dog who seemed to listen to everything we said and got defensive when this stranger would enter our home. dad would eventually get annoyed at his protectiveness and kick him. dad couldn't understand our love for that pup.
i always got nervous after our hugs and kisses good night to daddy. i was always afraid of leaving him alone with mom. soon after we made it up to bed, my sisters and i cracked the door open to hear what they were arguing about next, what dad was throwing across the room, listening for the sounds of skin hitting skin... waiting if we needed to make an appearance.
waiting for night to end and the pretense of another day to begin.
i've been wrestling with the parts of myself i don't want to engage with. the parts that are messy, wounded, upset, healing (still). the parts of me that do not believe that complete healing is possible. that freedom is too elusive.
this time i choose to engage.
thanks, A for pushing me on this night.
thank you Jesus for sitting with me.