Her Broken wing

I remember back as a little girl, the first time my dad let go of my hands. He said, “Go, I‘m right here.” I trusted him. I jumped into the deep waters and swam. He watched me intently with his big beautiful and loving eyes. I was the center of his attention. The world had stopped for a brief eternity.   

I remember…   

My first day of school my dad walked me up to my class, and said, “Go, I’m right here.” There he let go of my hand, kissed my head and walked away. I believe I saw a tear.  My heart was beating so fast. But I trusted him. I knew he would be waiting for me.   

When I was nine, my dad held me tightly until the doctors wheeled me back into the procedure room to sew up my head from a tragic injury. My dad said, “Go, I’m right here.” I still remember him reluctantly letting go of my tiny hand. Oh, I did not handle the separation, for I saw my dad cry. I felt my heart swell.  I knew I was loved.    

Then life changed…Some months later something happened, my dad had to go. Through the heartbreaking devastation of divorce, my dad took my hand and said, “I must go, but I’m right here.” My trust was shaken that day. Obviously if I had tried harder, my daddy would not have gone.   

So my days grew dark and long… the days became months and the months became years. I was learning a new life without the structure I had known, albeit not that great for my parents really were not cordial. I was learning to live out of a new identity of that of my previous Daddy’s Little Girl, I began looking to fill a void deep within my heart. I wanted to be the center of someone’s attention. I wanted back what I had as a little girl.   

Trying to fill the past with something of the present is like putting a square peg in a round hole. I just doesn’t work. For God says, “Press toward the goal…” (Phil 3:14)—- not … hang out in the past…   

But the pain was too great for me… So I continued to fill the void with things not of God…   

Near the end of my father’s life, I plummeted into total despair. I held the pain of his death like a trophy. I could not let go. For letting go would mean… acknowledging my sickness, my victim mentality and meaning that I would have to become real with myself. To release my dad to my Heavenly Father, I would have to release myself as well. No more “Oh poor pitiful me….“seeking sympathy of others… living in the chaotic world I thrived in that kept it acceptable for me to use drugs. After all, look what I had been through…To trust–we must take a risk…for others are going to fail us… I am going to fail others.   

Letting go, would mean–Dad saying, “Go, I’m right here.”Letting go, would mean–Abba saying, “Go, I’m right here.”  

 Today, I am able to jump into the deep places of my life and immerse in the warmth of the surrounding embrace of love…For I am the apple of my Daddy’s eye.  

Beautifully Awkward     

This entry was posted on August 6, 2010 at 12:39 pm and is filed under Uncategorized with tags journey, Philipians, Trust. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.