Perfection.

"Madeleine?"
"Yeah?"
"You are perfection!"

My heart about melted when I overheard a papa say this to his 3 year old curly haired daughter at the grocery store. :)

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.

Some days I actually get a glimpse of

whole.
Feeling perfect goodness, grace, and mercy in every fiber of my
being.
Ready to follow His whisper and what he has for me,
wherever He leads.

Everyday is the question,
what do you see in me?
The question of a little girl whose hand still reaches out
to see if Daddy will grasp it.
The need to know that you see me,
that you find my laugh gracious, that you see me as delightful.

Some days tears fall from my eyes because
I'd like to think that I'm a catch.
A woman who has grown into a mature, beautiful, courageous
woman of God.
Yet doubt lingers in my head, my heart, and demands more and more
of those I love, those who love me.

Everyday is the yearning to follow, to know,
to believe.
To suddenly feel Your hand already in mine, your eyes swelling with pride
as you see me.
And to hear you say,
"Doubt no more, you are mine,
beloved."

Smoke Signals

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.

out of guilt.

a character in the book i'm currently reading says that she believes her father is writing her letters out of guilt.
he writes notes of his life: his wife, his children...essentially his new family to her every month or so.

she hasn't seen him in about 10 years.

something twisted inside me.
he actually writes to her.
he probably doesn't know what to say,
where to start.

and then i thought of you.
it makes sense, you're my dad.
i think of you in situations like this.

it made me wonder why you don't write.
why even facebook isn't small enough a window
for you to initiate a superficial relationship with me.

you don't feel guilty.
you don't feel guilty to write to me dated reports
of your life. of your wife.

and that really sucks.
i'd say it sucks for you, but i really don't think it does.
'cause it looks like you really don't care.

this is rare.

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.

you're still the one.

you're still the man of my life.
the one i wished picked me up
held me
the one i think of when i look far into my future
i wish you were there.

it's hard for me to see that you chose to not be in my life
you chose to walk away

i don't know what to do with that.

i don't know what it means to prepare for that day
when you might walk back into my life
...
see, the part of me that loves you just wants to hold you in a tight hug
reminisce and hold your hand
share everything you've missed.
share God's work in my life, the new start to life
a transition to something unclear
uncharted territory...

the other part of me wants to hold you at arms length
show you who i am, what i've become
i know you'd be proud.

a part of me would like to keep you in a corner,
call on you only when i needed to.
isn't that what you sought when you left?
what you always said when you visited?
independence, self-reliance...
i'd like to keep you at arms length.

but when i look into my future,
i still wish you were there.
to be the one that is at my wedding,
introducing you as my dad
with a shy smile that only emerged
while introducing you.

i wonder if that's written as a part of my story.

Dad

I remember loving you.
It bothers me that I still do.

I thought as I got older that the feelings of needing you in my life would cease
but they continue to intensify
to ferment
and grow into something that i can no longer tuck away
behind school, surface relationships with guys and meaningless weekends spent watching television and reading countless novels.

i though i would outgrow you
not need you
and pretend that i don't
and now i lay in my bed at night wondering why you didn't stick around

i now understand that it wasn't anything i did
you just couldn't own up to fathering me
but it kills me inside that i wish you had
that i wish that you were sitting beside me holding my hand as i cry

i feel tension as i think of you
walking down the street hand in hand
and me looking up at you
swelling with such pride
and calling you my daddy

what do i do with that?
the emotions that everyone says i should not have
emotions that rationally should not exist after the pain
the pain of 21 long years while you were absent

the best description of you and i
is Father of Mine by Everclear
"my daddy gave me a name/and then he walked away"
you did. you were so insistent on naming me
and then you walked away like i didn't mean a thing

did that hurt you?
did you ever look back?
did you ever regret leaving three precious ones behind?

do you think of me?
do you even wish i knew you?
do you long to know me like i do you?

i hate this feeling of loving you
even though what you did to me doesn't have a name
it should never happen to anyone
i should not feel this resentment and yet still hope at knowing and loving you

i can only wonder if these feelings will eventually explode if and when we meet
i can only pray that we do
for your sake
i can only ask for someone to love me the way you were intended to

but even that isn't enough

1.14.09

No apologies.

A part of me greatly wishes that I had an open heart, an open heart that were open to everything and everyone that came my way, a heart that was willing to love unconditionally.
There are people I wish I had let walk into my heart instead of shutting the door and causing to turn away. However, I know that my heart has become guarded for a reason, not everyone has loved me as they should, have inflicted more pain than good and have left me regretting the fact that they were in my life. Although I regret that you caused me pain, I am glad that you taught me what you did and that I am both stronger and wiser for it.
Often I wish that God would take away that pain and that you would be erased, for my life was greatly molded by you, my view of your gender and my opinion of most of the human race. Although that is my wish, I am also glad that I do not get to dictate my life, I am glad that the pain remains and that I get to remember both the good and the bad as well as cherish the love that has been given to me so freely by those that He has given me to both love and laugh beside me.
I don't apologize for the anger that sometimes still rages within, the frustration in wanting you near... I don't apologize because I know that restoration is not of me, but of the One that loved me. I don't apologize because it is because of you that I got to know that love, the love that continues to free me and save me as I continue to walk along this path that seems to bring me only pain and forgive you all the same.
I pray that one day you get to share in my forgiveness and compassion for you, and that you're able to forgive yourself. Although you caused pain, God meant to use it for good (Genesis 50:20); and for that I can love that much more deeply, and I sincerely hope that you're able to share in that with me. Someday.

To Dad:

Hi Daddy.
It will soon be my 21st birthday; I wish you were here to spend it with me. I wish that you would understand that I need you in my life, that I want to walk with you down the street, hold your hand and smile up at you like I once did sixteen years ago.
I already forgave you.
Now inside my heart I want to hold you and call you Daddy. Who knows if that day will ever come.

This is what I wrote during a Spanish class; I should have been listening, but my mind seemed consumed with finding him and knowing him as a daughter should.

However, my amazing Father gave me a great image on a night when I felt so alone; he gave me that same image I longed for: being held by the hand, and not walking down a street, but walking by the ocean (my favorite place) and to mind came this:

My God has called me daughter
there is nothing more precious to me
than the way he holds my hand
and draws me near

I can't describe what it means to feel that kind of love; to have it wrap around you. The closest I can get is how heat envelops you during summer and how you can't seem to escape it. That's how it feels, and I'll admit, there is nothing I'd have instead.