Who's Your Daddy?

I don’t remember much of my childhood.  David, being a social worker on a brain injury unit, attributes this to the 2 concussions I received during my formative years.  (If you consider high school and college “formative years.”)  So the early memories I DO still have are very important to me.  One my first recollections is an evening Mom was away.  I must have been 4 or 5...and Dad let me stay up late ON A SCHOOL NIGHT.  Obviously, this was a big deal.  I had a virgin cocktail to commemorate the event, an orange juice served over ice in a small, brightly colored tupperware glass.  This was the way my Daddy had his OJ, so clearly it was how I was having mine.  Perched on the oversized, brown armchair in our front room, chinking the ice cubes around my sweating plastic cup, I felt like a pretty cool cat.  And that’s it.  Who knows why this particular evening stands out.  My only guess is for that little girl, it was something about the perfect combination of being a little sneaky, feeling a lot special, and basking in the confidence of her Father’s love.  But mostly the third one.

My Mom is funny when she tells my birth story.  Considered high risk because of her diabetes, she had to go to John Hopkins to deliver.  Immediately following her c-section, I was whisked away to the NICU while she was stabilized and monitored to ensure her levels were good.  After everything settled down, Dad went to visit me in the nursery.  When he eventually came back to the room, she recalls, “I could just tell, from that point on, there would be stiff competition to remain the number one woman in his life.”  And there was.

On this past Mother’s Day, I woke up pensive.  My immediate thoughts weren’t of Elijah or of my own Mom, but of orphans and kids in foster care.  It sounds sappy, but this really occupied my mind that morning.  Those children.  What a complicated holiday for kiddos in unique circumstances.  And now with Father’s Day right around the corner, I’m back to pondering again.  Because daddies can blast a hole straight through your life like no one else can.  They can be your strongest support or the loudest voice of dissent in your ear.  Some of my dearest friends are still trying to patch up places their dads tore apart years ago.  It’s a brutal truth: Our deepest wounds can come from the ones who are supposed to be our greatest protectors.

Until fairly recently, I didn’t interact much with that harsh reality.  Because before David, before Elijah, and even before Luke Skywalker, Dad was the first love of my life.  I joked to others that he was like Mary Poppins, “practically perfect in every way.”  The bar was set high and, thank God, David was the result.  A product of amazing parents himself, he met and exceeded my staunch requirements.  But after we were married for several months, I realized something.  Underneath the surface of our interactions, I had these unvoiced expectations for my husband.  Based on traits from my Father, I silently and unintentionally heaped secret qualifications onto David.  It became this subconscious relationship barrier.  For instance, Dad can build or fix almost anything.  ANYTHING.  Back then, David’s strong suits in those areas mostly centered around building great song lists and fixing cheese quesadillas.  Literally the Best. Quesadillas. Ever.  But still.  I remember when we tried to assemble an IKEA desk together, it nearly ended in divorce.  The fallout from my unspoken stipulations was piling up. You see, I needed to recognize that David was never going to be my Father.  And it wasn’t fair that I assumed he would be.  But in relationships, it is easy to expect what you’ve become accustomed to during the course of your life.  This might not be the healthiest way to manage personal connections, but it’s certainly the most common.

When I considered this whole dynamic anew, a light bulb moment happened.  Of course people who have had a crappy relationship with their dad cringe over the term “Heavenly Father.”  Duh.  As my understanding of husbandly duties was biased towards what I saw in childhood, our understanding of what “Father” means is also tainted by all our human stuff.  These good or bad connotations linger, though darkness tends to stain deeper than light.  Maybe dad was absent, so “Father” is associated with nothing.  A blankness...or worse.  “God the Father” is a pretty ominous phrase to a foster child who has known only abuse and neglect from their earthly dad.  Perhaps God is a big Darth Vader in the sky, ready to strike them down over any small mistake.  And unfortunately, that simplistic picture is peanuts compared to what some have actually experienced.  

Having never wrestled with much disparity between role expectations for my earthly and heavenly Fathers, these scenarios are heart breaking to me.  It’s not supposed to be that way.  But as future adoptive and foster parents, we’re now well-versed on the trickle-down negativity that can be a by-product of broken homes.  The invisible baggage carried by little hands.  Because when parents are suspect, hearts don’t mend quickly.  Fractured trust can affect personal connections for life.  It’s why many adults struggle to cope with these longstanding feelings today.  And it’s why I don’t say this lightly: You actually do have an amazing heavenly Father.  He’s such a gentleman who would NEVER pressure a relationship, but would instead spend a lifetime gently convincing you of His love.  You are worth that much to Him.  Regardless of what anyone has said about you or done to you.  Regardless of what you have or haven’t accomplished. An adoptive Father Himself, God wants nothing more than to add you to His incredible family.  He wants to empower you to leave the chains of your past behind and come rest in His unfailing, unconditional love.  In fact, His own words state it best.  Here’s a compilation of Scripture taken from an adoption blog I wrote awhile ago.  (My only additions to the verses are in the <>.)  Listen to what God is saying about YOU:

“For God loved the world so much (John 3:16), <He> decided in advance to adopt us into His own family by bringing us to Himself through Jesus Christ. This is what He wanted to do, and it gave Him great pleasure (Ephesians 1:5).  <So> God bought you with a high price (1 Corinthians 6:20), yes, by God's grace, Jesus tasted death for everyone.  So now Jesus and the ones He makes holy have the same Father. That is why Jesus is not ashamed to call them His brothers and sisters (Hebrews 2:9b,11).  For you have not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out, ‘Abba! Father!’  The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are children of God (Romans 8:15-16).  You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's special possession, that you may declare the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His wonderful light (I Peter 2:9)."

My Daddy has the obligatory “Dad” wallet.  It’s about 8 inches thick and weighs as much as a brick.  (It needed to be that heavy to contain all the money I begged from him over the years!)  And for the longest time, through college and maybe even now, he kept a picture of toddler me inside.  A reminder of his little girl.  God does something similar when He regards us...although on a larger scale.  Because of Jesus, He can look past our flaws and mess.  Those things don’t register anymore.  When we are made new, redeemed, we are born again in His eyes.  And He perpetually remembers us at THAT particular moment in time.  Precious and pure, a Father’s beloved child.   The perfect snapshot of grace.

This girl may be all grown up, but she still loves her Dad.