Speaking in the Light – 6-16

Today I turn over my column to Robin Hetherington who has written a beautiful and poignant piece just in time for Father’s Day. But before I do, I want to take this opportunity to wish all the Dad’s out there a blessed and special day. And I challenge them all to not miss a moment of the chances they have to invest their lives and pour out their hearts into their children. Now- here’s Robin.
I was seven when I needed you near. Daddy was busy with life. I twirled at the checkout as mommy bagged the food. Daddy, turn to me. As you squatted down to pick up the newspaper, for a moment we were eye to eye. My arms squeezed your shoulders and you leaned over, only to give me a cheek kiss; too quickly I wished for a tickle or a hold that could make us close.
Turn to me, Daddy, and see I’m here. Are my arms too short to hold you near? Maybe my hugs are just too simple. Was my smile not big enough for you to notice? Turn to me, Daddy, and see I’m here.
I was 12 when I needed you near. Daddy was thinking of work. I danced at the moonlight when we stood on the porch. Mommy made dinner while you walked on the dock. I heard the croaking frogs and we laughed at the jumping fish. My hand reached for yours but I got a shoulder tap instead.
I wished for your whisper in my ear or a squeeze that said I matter.
Turn to me, Daddy, and see I’m here. Are my arms too short to hold you near? Maybe my hugs are just too simple. Was my smile not big enough for you to notice? Turn to me, Daddy, and see I’m here.
I was 21 when I needed you near. Daddy was out with his new truck. We went down the aisle and I threw my bouquet. Mom cried at the wedding while you texted your new client. The music invited us to join the crowd, but there was no pirouette with you. I was 21 when I needed you near. I wished for a way to make you happy.
Turn to me, Daddy, and see I’m here. Are my arms too short to hold you near? Maybe my hugs are just too simple. Was my smile not big enough for you to notice? Turn to me, Daddy, and see I’m here.
I wrote “Turn To Me Daddy” following a day at work when I saw this little girl and her dad. She was about seven and she was all giggly and fresh with innocence like the first daffodils of spring. The first paragraph tells what really happened when she tried to get his attention.
It was uncomfortable to me to see the missed moment, the missed kiss, and the missed impression that that dad could have given to his little princess because, like an unexpected wind, I felt my emotions suddenly toss me around my own experience of being a daughter who wished to be noticed by my dad.
I continued the story with how I imagined this girl’s life to be at different ages; that while she was growing up her dad was preoccupied with his own life and didn’t stop to notice his daughter. If you’re starting to feel sad yourself, or a little depressed, then you’ve peeped into the darker side of this story, which I am, at last, prepared to share. (It’s taken me years, no make that decades, to get to this place.)
Like every little girl and adolescent, I wanted from my dad the hugs, the whispers, the dances, the stories, and the things that seem normal to have with a father. Just to be noticed. Just to be loved for whom I was, at that moment, at that age. I never wanted anything too hard to grasp, only a steady hand to hold while growing up.
My natural dad died when I was a tender five and half years old. He surrendered his life to a gun and left my mom with five children, between ages two and seven.
We lived on oatmeal for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly for lunch and tuna fish for dinner. I can still hear those harrowing words from my mom. “Daddy,” she said, “is never coming home.” It can bring me to tears even now.
There was a garment of sadness, all tattered and torn, that was placed on me that day, much like the second-hand clothes my siblings and I always wore. My life made various efforts to mend it every now and again, and though I hated to wear it, somehow it was altered to fit me every day. Threads of depression held my sadness together. I wore that same garment for 42 years. (Talk about being out-of-style.)
There is a sadness that heals in grief, and gives way to hope and peace when allowed to run its course. But my sadness was so tightly woven with depression that there were times when I thought it would suffocate my next breath. “I was not a real daughter because I had no real father” is how I thought.
I felt orphaned, abandoned, and unworthy. I kept this pain inside that I could and would never hear my dad call me daughter. My depression had little to do with those missed moments of affection, playtimes, stories, and conversations, but it had everything to do with a missed relationship.
Today, however, is different. I can look you in the eye and say with delight, though sadness is part of the wardrobe of life, the rags of depression can go to the dumpster. I took my new clothes right out of Isaiah 61:3, “The Lord appointed to them that mourn in Zion, to give to them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified.” It did, however, take me quite some time to get it into the closet of my mind. (I had a lot of old stuff to get rid of, you know.)
On June 20, 2004 Pastor Rudy’s father’s day sermon was from Romans 8:12-17. Pastor Rudy said, “When we are adopted into God’s family because of Jesus’ bloodline, we begin to look a lot like our Father in heaven…we take on the family resemblance.” In my margin notes of that outline (yes, I still have it) I responded, “Lord, do I look like you? Do I have your eyes? Is my smile like yours? Are we related?” I had begun to grasp what the Holy Spirit was trying to convey to me.
It was as if Abba was saying, “Be a daughter, again. I call you daughter.” It still took me three more years to more completely accept that He calls me “daughter.” For too long I had believed the accusations of my depression, that without a real dad my name meant nothing.
It is only by Abba’s grace washing over me daily that I am able to see my place in His family, as daughter, and that I’m truly “welcome in the family room” as Pastor Rudy said that day. Meditating on my heavenly Father’s promises has given me rest and peace. And now I can finish the rest of the story about that little girl as I imagined her life.
I was 25 when I needed you near. Then Abba came to live with me here. I danced through the pages of the love letters He gave. Mom always said He was there, while the years waited for me. “Arise my darling, and come away with me.” He gave me His promise, a smile and squeeze. I was 25 when I saw He was near. I now have a ‘daddy’ my heart calls home.
You turned to me, Abba, and saw I was here. You took me in your arms and held me near. My hugs were not too simple and my smiles were always just right for you. You turned to me, Abba, and saw I was here.
Turn to me, turn to me. Abba, I’m here.