Come Home

Last week was full of mourning.
A few things were legitimate, the loss of one of my very best friends in high school, Caleb "Bubba" Manning, as well as the loss of my stepfather in the same year.
Two years now.

And although the third is just as legitimate, I spend a lot of time dwelling on it.
The loss of a relationship I've never known.
A relationship with my biological father.

It came on suddenly. I felt somewhat mopey and I thought it'd pass.
We'd spent the night in my church study talking about our names, the phrase "children of God" and what we, as Christians, stand to inherit.
I felt fine.
And then I read this post by Donald Miller.
The mopey-ness turned into a wave of grief, of loss, of want.
I spent that night crying, and the rest of the week reading more of Don Miller (I had committed to finishing Father Fiction) and taking time to actually engage with the deepest wound I feel I possess.

And it was ultimately through the grief, the knowledge of the Truth of being loved with an unending love, a love I cannot fathom...all while wrestling with all of my insecurities and questions,
came this.

It was like a breath of fresh air. To not just feel loss and want of something I never had, but to actually work through it. It was a small victory despite the pain. The first time I actually saw something beautiful come out of the pain, the hurt, the messiness.

I'm not saying a neat little (or big) bow was tied. The week got harder, there was more God wanted to work through; more I didn't want to show him. I wanted to avoid the pain of touching my bruise.

I personally thought we were done. I thought the band aid had been secured and I was free until the next time symptoms of this severed relationship popped up again.
I was wrong.

I like music; I like listening to music before I go to bed.
I decided to listen to a song I had listened to, and really liked.
"Come Home" by OneRepublic and Sara Bareilles.

And although I doubt the song is meant to illustrate a little girl's plea for Daddy to come home, that is just what it meant for me.

come home, come home
'cause i've been waiting for so long
so long

and the fight for you is all i've ever known

That phrase stopped me, "and the fight for you is all I've ever known". It made me think that is the way I've lived my life. My fight for my father is all I've ever known. I don't know what it looks like to live without fighting for my father. I've lived my life waiting, yearning, wondering about my father. Wanting my father.

And then I saw myself. I saw myself standing in front of my earthly father, Jesus standing between us. The song still played in my ears, and I saw myself reaching around Jesus, reaching for my father. My reach was close, but far enough that I couldn't actually touch him.
My reaches became frantic, slamming my body against Jesus' undoubtedly bruising myself. Hurting Jesus in my zeal to reach my dad.

Wanting so much for my father to come home. Come home to me.

And suddenly I lunged one last time.
One final reach for my father.
And almost as if I knew it wouldn't be enough, my final reach melted into Jesus' body.
Weeping, I finally allowed Him to embrace me.
My brokenness, my dreams, my pursuit of redemption.

I spent the next day sitting in that.
How much time have I dwelled on what I don't have instead of what I do?
I've spent years letting the lack of this relationship define who I am, instead of letting the reality of my Heavenly relationship tell me who I am.

I had to realize that my non-existent relationship with my biological father
is a part of my story,
it's not the story.

I can look forward to the journey my Papa is taking me on,
the adventure He has for me,
the people and places I love meshing into one.
The untold story of the woman I am becoming.

And for what's to come,
I give Him all the glory.

Amen.