That Friday night after watching "Smoke Signals" I cried. I cried a lot.
I cried more than I had all Spring quarter, I think.
The themes of the movie are: poverty, adventure and the loss of a father (death and emotional detachment). As soon as Todd spoke the themes, I was already groaning.
I knew God was going to do something in me that night.
As I watched the movie, I felt wounds being uncovered to be aired out and dressed again. Wounds that I had avoided for far too long.
The question by Victor in the movie, "Did my Dad ever talk about me?"
It floored me.
I've asked that question to myself so many times. I have wondered if Dad ever thought about me, wondered what I was up to. If he ever asked about me.
I wonder that still.
I wonder if he thinks of me, if he cares what's happened to me.
And then I started to cry.
I cried 'cause I am frustrated with myself that I still wonder.
That I still hope that he's thought of me now and again.
I still cry on occassion 'cause I wish he did.
I cry 'cause I wish I was further on the journey towards healing.
The part where I didn't need my Dad.
And if you're wondering if there's any resolution, the answer is not really.
I have a lot of feelings that feel as if they'll never go away, but I also hold onto the hope of two pieces of Scripture that have been given to me.
"You, my Daughter, are called to be free" (Galatians 5:13). I know that freedom is near, that the journey is meant to be one that I walk and sometimes run, but I always have my Papa right there with me.
"Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him, for he shields her all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between his shoulders" (Deuteronomy 33:12). And I know that in the midst of the chaos and madness and frustration, I have a steady place to rest my head, to sleep in the arms of my Papa.