My Prayer

First, I want to express my gratitude about something. This past week, I've received a number of e-mails, both personal and private, from friends reminding me of their love, their pride over my growth, and general well-wishes. It's hard to see change when you're the one changing, so the outside perspective has been a tremendous encouragement and frankly, God's voice communicating audibly. I have been fortunate in my life to have some close and intimate friendships, all of whom have made me a better person, all of whom taught me something unique. So, to you my friends, thank you for hanging in there. And to you, my dear God, my cup overflows again and again.

My mind feels like a toll road these days. Lots of passing thoughts, heartstrings being pulled this way and that, emotions rising to the surface. I feel a sense of connectedness to myself and to what God brings up. Some things I have to put back on the shelf for the time being, while other things I am so much better equipped to handle. Many relationships within my family are sitting on the shelf. I feel fear around confronting my own anger and hurt. This is a primary feeling related to my Dad. He's computer illiterate, so I don't worry about him finding my blog! He can't even set a digital clock! It's actually a part of him I find endearing. Anyway, several months ago he and I had our own OK Corral-Tombstone type experience...we just weren't on the same side. I said things that were down right appalling and insensitive. I was heartless and didn't express any measure of gratefulness for all my father has provided for me. I can't say that growing up with this man was easy, fair, or without abuse. My Dad, for reasons still inexplicable to me, has never been able to fully own his past actions. While I ranted that I had moved on, forgiven him and no longer focused on the past, I continued to lie to myself. Deep down I was resentful and my fury raged just below the surface. An event with my son a number of months ago, triggered my anger and sent me over the edge.

Let me paint a picture for you. I grew up in a christian home, divided, but christian. My Mom strove to please God, please others, and love both my brother and I for the both of them. My Dad, a policeman, was a wonderful provider, but emotionally distant from his children. His anger tormented much of my childhood. That being said, I am blessed to have been given many of their individual strengths (weaknesses too). My Mom is tenderhearted, wickedly smart, and faithful. My Dad too is equally intelligent, quick witted, has a passion for words and their composition and loyal to the end. Even in the heat of the moment, I never cussed at my parents...sometimes in front of them, never to them. Well, that went down in flames at the OK-Corral. I let them both have it, my Dad bearing the brunt. He hung up on me, which just furthered my incensed state. Ladies, envision the scene from the movie "Divine Secrets Of The Ya-Ya Sisterhood" where Sidda and her Scarlett O'Hara-like mother are slamming the phone down on one another, screaming, yelling and certain all the fault lied within the other person. That was us. Since that conversation my father and I have spoken only once. It's been six months. Shortly after our argument, I learned he had congestive heart failure and was in the operating room having a quadruple bypass surgery. I wanted to take it all back. I wanted to be the daughter he longed for. I wanted to help, to fix it, and make the hurting stop. None of that happened and while my longing was there, I was simply unable to apply it.

My Dad called my Mom's house this weekend (I'm staying with her short-term). You must know, he's been the best grandpa you can imagine to my kids, especially Garrett. He phoned to talk to him. It happened that my Mom, Garrett, Kelly (my older brother) and I were all fat and happy on the couch. My Mom says to him that I'm there...dead silence (he's on speaker phone). You could taste the tension. My Dad worked his way around the family and spoke with them all, but, he would not speak to me. After he hung up, my Mom shared that his health is poor again. I said out loud "Dad could die and our relationship may never be healed." What is startling about this is that my father could live with that. He's so angry and bearing this grudge, that passing into the afterlife without making peace is reasonable. I want to puke when I think about that. So much has come into perspective. My Dad doesn't get high marks for his fathering skills, but I don't get them either in many of my past behaviors. The degrees of separation between us are really small. I let him financially support me as a way of making him pay. That was my punishment so to speak. I thought "fine, you'll never say you're sorry or admit what you did. You can pay financial penance to me." When I first realized what I was doing, I chalked it up to addict behavior. I was embarrassed and yet, glad I'd realized my part. Real change begins when we own up to our stuff. I moved on from there to realize my Dad will likely never change. I can either accept that or not. Either way, I ought never be prevented from my own change.

My heart hurts in the silence. I don't know what to say to make it better, help him see the changes in me. I don't know how we can or will move past this. I can't bear the thought of losing him and him not knowing how much I love and respect him. I feel so sorry for my part. Making amends is part of the process, living our amends goes on for a lifetime. My prayer today is that time not slip past, that my pride dissipate, and peace be found.

The healing balm of Gilead is a part of my life today. I pray that the balm be soothing to the hurt for my Dad and I.