Ever since I was a little girl, my father has been influencing my life.
I suppose that's not so unusual. For better or for worse, our fathers, both those who were present and others we never knew, have had a significant impact on who we are, what we think, say, feel and do, not only as in pertains to ourselves, but to other people, the world around us, and our perceptions and reactions to God, particularly as He is described as our Heavenly Father.
I still remember the first time God used my earthly father to illustrate something about Himself. I was in first grade, staring out the classroom window into the brilliant September sunshine as it bounded off the lush green lawn and still verdant maples. Through the reverie of my dreamworld, I heard the teacher reciting to us the first of many catechism questions and answers we were to learn during the next eight years of Catholic grammar school: "Who made me? God made me."
As if they were made of sharp steel, the words cut through my dreamlike state of mind, grabbing hold of my imagination full force. "God, you made me?" I said, nearly incredulous. "You gave me my mommy and my daddy? You put me in this beautiful world?" I could hardly believe One so wonderful as this, so generous and kind and full of good intentions toward me existed. "God," I said, as my heart filled with joy and overflowed with gratitude, "If You made me, You can have me!"
I didn't really know what I was saying. Not fully. Yes, I loved the Lord. Yes, I wanted to thank Him by giving myself to Him, wholly and completely. But I didn't really know what this act of total surrender, however fully I had given it and with whatever depth of gratitude (and it was very deep) it came, would cost me, both personally and professionally. Yet, as I would come to decide again and again at pivotal moments in my life's journey, they were the most reasonable and deserved words of surrender any person could utter.
Perhaps, as you read this, you are thinking about your own childhood. It was not an easy time. There was no parent to care for you (or those you had were harsh and mean-spirited). There was no lovely schoolyard to look upon on a sunny September morning; instead dark, towering brick structures surrounded by cracked cement sidewalks and thugs selling drugs on the streets were your world. There was no reason for you to believe that God existed or, if He did, that He cared one whit for you.
I get that. I really do. I've travelled a long road since those days in Catholic grammar school. I've known what it is to go a long time without a job and even sweat scraping together the money it would take for me to put gas in the car. I've known what it is to be emotionally and then physically abused and beaten by a man. I've known what it is to feel completely rejected by nearly everyone for a physical disability I could not change, or stand ostracized and unforgiven by someone I deeply loved for a sin I could not erase.
Sometimes I've questioned God deeply about why He allows suffering in this world if He loves us as He says He does. I've seen people say they love the Lord, then do hateful things to others in His name, and been sick at heart from the sight of it. I've struggled to find reasons to believe, when everything I turn my hand to do refuses to blossom, no matter how much effort I give it or how faithful I am to do the good I know God asks of me to do. I've seen the pain of others, whose lives are in far greater difficulty than mine, and searched, without finding, for words to help them through the darkness, only to realize that sometimes just listening and caring are the best response for seasons and situations such as these.
Sometimes, seeing these things has threatened my faith. It has beaten upon the door of my heart, sometimes seeming to slam at it with a battering ram. Sometimes it has seemed that I barely cling to what I believe by the tips of my fingernails, that the world looms beneath me like a city sidewalk miles below, ready to receive my body in broken, bleeding pieces when once I lose my grip. Many times, it has only been a shriek into the heavenlies and a stern determination to stay the course, believing, even without feeling or having intellectual certitude, that His strength, His commitment to me, will hold me, that has kept me from giving in.
It is from these caverns (and sometimes mountaintops) of experience that I write to you, and from which, I hope, to encourage, inspire and walk with you as we traverse Earth's paths together, peering into the world our God has created, groping for His hand, seeking His thoughts, longing for His guidance, depending on His deliverance, all along the way.
Over the course of this blog's lifetime, I will be sharing little tidbits from my quiet times with God, lessons my heavenly Father is sharing with me. I hope and pray they will inspire, motivate and encourage you as much as they have me, and I invite you to share with me your own thoughts about these meditations and what lessons the Father has been teaching you. Come along for the journey!
