Writing on Father's Day in 2015 about fathers and fathering is fraught with an immense array of emotions for me -- the mixture of which I wouldn't wish on anyone. I stare at the screen blankly as to where to begin. Or how. How candid. How honest. How real. #TooReal. What to share? How. Father's Day 2015. Indeed.
I've worked hard to develop a happy polka-dotted persona that brings smiles and enthusiasm to children in the classroom. A very thin veneer covers my own brokenness, but perhaps candor will benefit one reader. So I'm going to plunge in.... and dig just a little deeper.
I bet you've seen the plaques and tshirts. The admonition: "Remember as far as everyone else is concerned, we are a nice normal family." Or even more to the point: "We put the fun in dysfunction." Norman Rockwell? Yes. No. Partly so? What if we peel back a layer of the onion in the hopes of being supportive of those in their own quagmire.
Father's Day. For me? This day brings the double edged sword of the deepest gratitude possible cobbled together with utmost sorrow and despair. How candidly do I share on such a personal level? With the entire known cyberverse? Plunging in. Let's start with the deepest of gratitude. Foundation. Beginnings.
On a cellular level, before my actual memories begin there is evidence of the great depth of my father's love for me. There exists documentation of every child's dreams: time and attention from superman. My daddy played horsie with me. See. Look at his smile. Photographic evidence for all time. My daddy took us to the beach. See. My daddy was there for me. As the number two child in the mix I'm sure I was trying harder at that point, but as the first princess I know I had his undivided adoration.
My dad took us fishing on grandpa's farm. My dad took us camping. My dad sent us out to scour twigs and tinder and he lit the campfire and we sang songs and we roasted marshmallows and we worked together to pump the water for our canteens. Remember the word canteen? We had a canteen! Dad's filling the canteen from our effort. We went camping. My dad built a car-top carrier to haul the tent and the sleeping bags and the mess kit. Remember mess kits? I do. These photos may be in black and white, but my dad was there for me in real color. For us. There were adventures and road trips. There are memories as a result and I am grateful.
Thank you dad. Thank you for being there from day to day and year to year and decade to decade. Thank you for reading to us. Thank you for taking us out into the wide world with a map that folds and the determination that we would find our way there. Thank you for the example that when we were lost we could find our way back to being found. Thank you for attending my awful elementary school beginning band concerts. Thank you for all of that encouraging and supporting and being there and your insistence on my doing my best. Thank you for insisting that I practice. That I work through challenges. That I edit. That I stick with things when they were hard. That I enter the science fair. That I try out for the school play. {Remember that time when the mice ate my paper mache solar system constellations model? You were certain there was time to patch it back together. You were right.} That was good training.
Dad. Thank you for holding me up in prayer when my world fell apart. To utter ruins. Thank you that when I thought I had embarrassed you the most, in the midst of my marriage vows disintegrating, you stood there in your finest fathering hour and held me up. Literally. You provided for me again. Literally: in my adult-hood when all that I knew fell to ruins you extended your support. Your checkbook. And you prayed. And I knew it. You believed in me when I had lost all my bearings. I didn't know that I was capable of finding my way back from being so very, very lost, but your believing in me somehow made it happen. Your belief was the beacon out of the darkness.
"More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." Romans 5:2-5
There was that chapter when all that I knew and believed in about my marriage and the father of my children came crumbling down around me. That chapter when the organized church utterly failed me. I learned up close and personal about politics in the church and I was dismayed as I experienced betrayal and deceit. Starring in my own reality show. The world's tectonic plates shifted below my feet. All that I held dear proved to be a sham. Yet, dad. Somehow your quiet example led me out of that utter darkness creeping toward a new chapter. Faith in the midst of reality. My Heavenly Father and my daddy were ALWAYS there for me.
31 If God is for us, who can be against us? Romans 8:31
My paper mache solar system could be patched. Not perfect. Pieced back together.
So it was that I entered into that chapter as a single parent. That chapter of swapping my beloved daughters on alternate weekends. That utter despair portion of contemplating Father's Day is very real for me. The driving away in an empty car to spend the weekend on my own. All of those tears. Mine. The girls. Attempting to pretend that all would work out when all was so very very fundamentally wrong. So public the horror of it all. To be the source of gossip of so many of the congregational members. Pastor's wife no more. Across the street from the seminary: of all the settings on this Earth. This would all unravel on Main Street? #TooReal. Strife. Attempting to parent in the face of every broken promise possible. Supporting our three mouths on my preschool salary. Ramen Noodles. Tears. Incredulity as more and more details surfaced. Prayers. Prayers. Prayers. We put the fun in dysfunctional. Indeed. That is a New York Times Bestseller's worth of dysfunctionality.
I was determined that the three of us would have memories of our own. So I was the one to take the tent in the division of worldly goods. I would be the one to take us camping. To pitch the tent complete with the hamster cage and to unfold the map that took us to Mammoth Cave. Fitting destination. GAPING HOLE IN THE GROUND. I knew a little about determination. I knew a little about perseverance. I had been trained. Life went on.
"For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." Romans 8:18
Enter Allen. A new chapter. A man capable of planning. A father-figure that could design and build and teach those little girls things. He took them to the slopes. He coached their teams. He built an ICE SKATING RINK IN THE BACK YARD!!!! It had never once occurred to me that you could have an ice skating rink in your back yard.
He is not their father by biology. He is and has been their father in reality. Day by day. Year after year. Decade to decade. He was there at every one of those milestones. He attended that band concert. Allen bought that first oboe. He is the one that witnessed the handing of her doctoral degree. He is the one that paid for cheerleading camp and all the pompoms, the hair bows, the shoes and the calculator. He is the one that paid for braces and wisdom teeth, too. For prom dresses. For adventures. To that fact I will always be as grateful as gratitude is possible. To know that a man that is NOT 'related' to your children, can step up and step in and love them over decades of time? That is a gift from heaven. And so on Father's Day I think of his contribution to my children. The tears are genuine.
We are a broken family. Make no bones about it. Father's Day was fractured way back in the nineties for me. The father-of-my-children went off the rails. Father's Day. It has been pieced together over the years, but it always a day that entails broken promises.
Fast forward. 2015. Our three WonderPeeps are the subject of a custody battle. Today. Father's Day. BROKEN PROMISES. In more than one generation. Sorrow. How do you answer a six year old that asks what custody means?
This year Father's Day conjures every emotion possible. EVERY emotion.
Yet we have promises.
23 Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful. Hebrews 10:23
"Vengeance is mine says the Lord." ~~ Romans 12:19
"For it is indeed just of God to repay with affliction those who afflict you and to give relief to the afflicted." ~~ 2 Thessalonians 2:6-7
"Thus I will punish the world for its evil,
And the wicked for their iniquity; I will also put an end to the arrogance of the proud, And abase the haughtiness of the ruthless."
~~ Isaiah 13:11
"Assuredly, the evil man will not go unpunished,
But the descendants of the righteous will be delivered." ~~ Proverbs 11:21
So now our daughter is working to keep body and soul together and provide for her children. We are the ones to stand behind her. Offering support and encouragement. In real and intangible ways.
When we say that she owes her sanity to the Younique cosmetics company, we do not exaggerate. We are grateful that she has the opportunity to use her unique skill set to the benefit of their day-to-day expenses. The hashtag #MoreThanMascara resonates at a very deep level. The child enjoyed playing beauty shop, since she could hold a brush.
The two of us have an unusual camaraderie this season. She takes the photos and I put them together for her. Her team is growing and on down the line in a decade or two she will be able to look back and tell her own story. "Her mess will become her message." In the very real, genuine day-to-day? It is important to share the products and the opportunity and pay the bills.
She's good at this. She has to be. She's motivated. She has bills to pay.
#MoreThanMascara = Pay the bills.
So that is the tip-of-the-ice-berg for this week's Praise Report.
Father's Day. Complicated.
In real time. We are surrounded by empty boxes.
This is our last Sunday in our sweet haven-home for the last 10 summer seasons.
Did you hear? We sold our home. The one that is NOT on the market!
If you missed last week's praise report. It was a hum-dinger.
I know I lead a pretty amazing life.
Prayers really do get answered.
All I can say?
"It's a God-Thing."
Our efforts over at WobbleSeat.com continue to see increasing interest.
Every week has blessings and promises.
I am so very fortunate to have my father at the helm.
Through the unbelievable and the unimaginable,
he has held true and for this I am eternally grateful.
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