So I'm in the process of working on my next book; I like to call it a "poly-memoir". It is the true life record of four single Christian women called In Search of a Savior. I have some crazy sisters who are brave enough and Kingdom-minded enough to open their lives for the purpose of blessing someone else. I mean, we do live it to give it, right?
Anyway, as I'm gathering my data (from them) for the book I began to compare the notes of our lives. We started talking about our fathers...
Sister 1 was raised by her single mom and grandmother. On weekends, she visited her dad who apparently wasn't that interested in enjoying a father-daughter bond. Instead, he watched her develop into a beautiful young lady and when she was ripe at 16, he had sex with her during one of his drunken stupors. Later in life, older men became her "men of choice".
Sister 2 had dad in the house...her parents were a "common law" couple or as the old church would say, they were "shacking up and making babies". Let's just get to it...crack cocaine, alcohol and a perverted spirit caused him to treat her like prey. Another little girl with her innocence and childhood snatched away. Today, being playful or "letting her hair down" is still somewhat of a struggle for her.
Sister 3 shares that she had a "normal" relationship with her dad, but also that he physically abused her mom. Dad helped her with homework, picked her up from school, defended her to bullies and even taught her how to fight. He cooked, cleaned, was a good disciplinarian. Sister 3 goes on and on, but I noticed that while she spoke all of these wonderful things about her father, there was barely any emotion. Was the relationship really normal? I guess if normal is standing in the bathroom doorway watching your dad "shoot up" while you talked about your day, then yes, they had a perfectly "normal" relationship. She, today, has a great handle on things learned, but "limp noodle fingers" when it comes to things felt.
Well, if you read Today, I'll Make Lemonade, you already know that my dad was an absentee and an alcoholic. I spent years, mostly all of my life, resenting him for not being there, but after talking to my sisters, I wonder sometimes, "Was I better off without him?"
I rhetorically ask that question and when I answer myself back, there is a resounding "YES" that rings in my spirit. Don't get me wrong, I still do wish that my dad were around...he was a very kind-hearted man and I'm sure he could have taught me alot. But he was sick and he was not in position to deposit into me the strength and endurance that God has invested in me. Finding balance in the way I exhibit that strength is my challenge. Sometimes it seems like I'm too strong for my own good.
Simply put, my journey is mine and my sisters' journeys theirs, but we have all landed in a place where God proves, as always, that HE is the Champion Father. And being HIS, we acknowledge that we are not perfect women...but better.
