You must be clued into the fact that if I have to go to the definition of father to the dictionary, I must not really have an understanding of what the word means experientially.
My mother and father were married when I was born. They THOUGHT I was a honeymoon baby. However, when I came three months early and was born at 6 pounds, 9 ounces, something didn't quite make sense to my father. I was healthy. For a 'preemie' I had nothing wrong with me.
Needless to say, things didn't stay in honeymoon phase for very long. My father had so many wounds in his heart, he couldn't love my mother the way she needed. He didn't love himself! Affairs, drama, abuse, etc....I was a neglected, malnourished, abandoned baby who laid in my crib alone and crying with parents who could barely take care of themselves, let alone care for me.
As the story goes, my father couldn't take seeing me being so grossly neglected any longer, so he decided he would kidnap me and give me to his sister to raise. He would be known to me as my uncle. I was two years old. Several weeks into this new identity of mine, my mother summoned my father to bring me back so she could get pictures taken of me. Whether he missed her, or felt guilty, he brought me to her and then her family kidnapped me back with violence from his family.
This action progressed to court. As the judge began to proceed over custody, my father was told, you cannot have her, SHE IS NOT YOURS! My father was so broken prior to this announcement, he couldn't not fight any longer and pretty much walked away. For some reason, he still paid child support. As I grew, that $10 a month was a secret letter of love to my rejected heart.
My mother and father could not stay away from each other. Bloody, broken and bruised, they continually found themselves back together. Days turned into years and now I'm four years old. In that time, my mother conceived another child to another man and for some reason, stuck to my father's last name. Now there were three of us with his last name and we were all drowning in IDENTITY crisis!
We lived in the projects when I was four years old and my mother was waiting for my father to call. She was soaking in the tub and when he called, she grabbed a towel, ran down the wooden steps to answer the phone only to find herself in a hospital. She had fallen, cracked her skull and now had a new label: Chemically unbalanced.
More time went by and my neglect, abuse, and abandonment only worsened. You name it, they abused me, sexually, physically, verbally, mentally.
A vivid memory of my father was when I was five years old...I was so excited that I got to see my daddy. He worked at Hills Department Store. My grandma was taking me to see him. I missed him so much! See, no one ever said, "He's not your father!" He was all I knew of a father. The moment my feeble legs hit the marble floor of the department store, they didn't stop running to get to my daddy. I ran until his arms grasped my small frame and he picked me up and spun me around, holding me high in the air. For a fleeing moment, I felt loved, wanted, and secure.
How quickly that moment faded back into my normal dark life. Void of love and protection, nurture, and security. I did not get to see my Father again, that I can remember, until I was reintroduced to him at 19 years old. I would sing songs of my daddy coming to rescue me from the horrific life I knew. He never came. My mother spoke very highly of my father, so she added to my love tank of my father. When she spoke of him, it was in high regards.
My mother, however, began having mental breakdowns when we lived in the projects after she had fallen down the steps. Every season, brought change...She would land in the mental hospital at least two times a year. She would become religious and begin dressing weird, writing weird, talking weird, and became a threat to me and society. The first time Schizophrenia took over her, she dressed me up as Joseph, my baby sister up as Jesus and herself as Mary. We went through the projects telling anyone and everyone who would listen that the world was coming to an end! Flashing lights, pandemonium, chaos, and drama, ended that night with a white, tight jacket being placed on her arms and she being driven away in an ambulance.
That night marked a new darkness for me in my young life. Not only did she get admitted to the Mental Hospital for months on end, I was forced to go visit her. No father to cover and protect me. No one to shield me from the other mental patients that would say things to me and look at me with darkness in their eyes. Trauma after trauma...drama after drama. When I should have been drawing pictures for my mom to put on her refrigerator because I was a little girl exploring creativity, I was denied that, I had to accept her drawings and creations she would make for me while she stayed at the mental hospital.
One visit, she even introduced me to 'Jesus.' I didn't like Jesus. He was creepy and dark. I wanted nothing to do with Jesus. My childhood was like this moment. Moment after moment....days after days, months after months, year after year.
Father's Day meant NOTHING to me! I would watch other children with their father's and I just didn't understand why I wasn't worthy of a Father's Love.
I went through a Healing Group and in it we were to list only five people who taught us love...both good and bad. Out of the five people, only two taught me love...my grandma and my sister. My mother's love was void for me. She continually blamed me for this life she found herself in. My father abandoned and rejected me. My grandfather molested me. People that should have been safe were not. People that should have covered and protected me only added insult to injury. I only knew abuse from men. There was not one man in my early childhood that was a safe place for me. NOT ONE!
When I was 12, my mother was in the middle of another mental breakdown and she decided in her instability that it was time to tell me my TRUE identity. My father was not my father and some other man was! Gosh, talk about being thrown into a deep dark unending pit of despair. Any tiny bit of security that I found in my last name was suddenly ripped away and all I could ask myself is WHY? I never asked to be born! Why was I born? Why me? Why doesn't anyone love me? Why am I so unlovable? My mother and grandma always had told me that I could see my daddy again when I was 18. I never understood why I had to wait until I was 18. Even in the midst of my new identity crisis, he still paid his $10 a month. That $10 was a continual seed of love into my life. We didn't have money. We lived in extreme poverty. $10 was a lot of money to me then. If this man, who my mom claimed to not be my 'real' father wasn't my biological father, he surely sowed into my life financially. It spoke a silent love to me in ways I cannot explain.
At 19, my daddy's parents were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. I had hope rising in my broken heart that I would get to see him there...he didn't show. I was so disappointed. I was in the bathroom and one of my cousins came into the bathroom and we began talking. She knew my dad's address and gave it to me. I wrote him a letter and guess what? He responded back! He wrote back! He told me I could come see him in Florida! I was on the plane to see him within months.
I wasn't a Christian at that time and things were up and down when I visited him, his wife and two sons. But I got to hug my daddy and tell him how much I loved him. We began a relationship for the first time in my 19 years and my dreams began coming true. I had my daddy back in my life and he loved me.
I got saved at 21, got married at 21 and my father gave me away at my wedding. This was something that as a little girl, I had dreamt about....my daddy giving me away at my wedding! The Lord was restoring broken dreams to me. My father stayed a part of my life until shortly after I had my first child. He was told to chose between me and his family. He told me I was secure in my new life and that his sons needed him more that I did. He walked away again! Once again, rejected by my father!
Long story short....my father took his life about six years ago! My mother took her life almost 19 years ago! When my father died, I went to his funeral as an outcast. I was a part of the crowd. Not many people even knew who I was. A woman turned around and asked me how I knew Bill. I started crying and my sister said, "SHE WAS HIS DAUGHTER!" I watched the 21 gun salute and the honor the military gave to him at his funeral. I was disowned, dishonored, rejected, abandoned, and hid in the shadows as his wife, son, and my aunts and uncles sat in the front rows.
Pain I cannot describe overcame me that day! 'Daddy, why did you do this? All I ever wanted from you was love! Why couldn't you love me?' I went to my piano and began to write a song to my father. It laid my heart at rest! It pretty much sums up all that truly matters in my life.
I'm gonna leave you with that video. But before I do, Abba, has become my father! He has loved me, accepted me, treasured me, valued me, adopted me and never has forsaken me or left me. He has healed my broken heart and restored unto me all the shame, guilt, condemnation, rejection that others have heaped upon me. His love has taught me to walk in unconditional love and continual forgiveness...His love has taught me to love the unlovable and run to him when others are void of loving themselves. To my Abba Father, I say....I love you, Pappa God! Happy Father's Day! To both of my fathers in heaven...I love you! I forgive you! One day, we will have that relationship I always wanted; perfect love cast out all fear! Love truly does cover ALL!
