The Father Factor (Four Years Later)

Dear Ones,

I write this letter to you today in absence. Not literally, as you are downstairs right now and I can hear you playing "zoo" with all your stuffed animals (side note: you run a really expensive zoo. I just heard Dana charge Cora $105 to get in. Those better be some wicked cool monkeys). No, I am within speaking distance of you, but my thoughts are so, so far away. They have been for the past couple of days, and they will be for about the next five.

In five days it will be four years since your Papa died. And that is why for these days here, your momma has a hard time doing anything but resorting back to being his child.

Don't get me wrong, you are still taken care of. I am completely capable of feeding you, clothing you, breaking up the all-too-frequent fights, and generally just loving on you like I always do, but it is mostly just me doing the same things I always do with you and hoping that I can fool you into thinking I am here. Because really, I'm not. Not so much.

Kiddo's, I miss my Dad. I miss being his daughter. I miss having his love, as no one left here on earth will ever love me in the same way that he did. There is no replacement for him, only this void he left behind. There is only me desperately recalling everything about him for fear parts of him will slip away when I'm not paying attention.

You and me, we talk about him a lot. You all know about his love of rosebushes and birds, his passion for serving the men at the Mission, his crazy running ability, how he gave the best hugs ever, and how him and Jesus were the best of friends. Most days I am able to freely talk about him and the man he was without shedding tears, and am glad this is the case because I never want you to be afraid of bringing him up because you think it makes me sad. It doesn't. It makes me so happy to be able to remember him aloud in a way that hopefully will let him live on past March 18, 2009, and settle permanently into a part of your heart as well.

But there are times when I do let you see me cry over him. You are well aware that I miss him, and you know how very sad I am that he is not here. And in these vulnerable moments of mine that you share with me there has taken place so many conversations about cancer, and what happens when people die, and heaven, and grief, and God, and for that I am grateful. There have been times when you ask me about God letting Papa get sick and die, see me get sad and shed tears, and hear me profess my faith and love for Jesus all in the breadth of a few minutes. These moments are priceless. I've found that life experience can go a long way, so much further than me trying to stand in someone else's shoes and attempt to explain what loss looks like.

My prayer for you used to be that you would never have to experience the pain that comes with surviving the death of a loved one. But this is my prayer no more. Of course I will always pray for your health and safety, and the health and safety of those you love, but my prayer has gotten bigger as the years have passed since Papa died. My prayer now is that when you do face death, and face the grief that takes your legs right out from beneath you, and when you feel a hole ripped into your heart knowing it is incapable of ever being fully healed, that in that place you will find God.

But it's even so much bigger than that. What my prayer for you is not for you to reflexively turn to Him and blindly assume that He will carry you through your pain. No, not even close. I want you to fight to find Him. I want you to battle Him. I want you to get angry with Him, and ask Him tough questions. I want you to doubt Him, and think His plan for this life is all wrong, and wonder how a seemingly good God could allow such bad things to happen to those He supposedly loves. I want your anger towards Him to consume you, and for you to shake your fists and stomp your feet and demand to know, "Why!?!". I want you to go through this war, because I believe... no, I know He can take it. He will allow Himself to become ugly to you. He will understand your defiance. He will not back away from the ferocity of your bitterness. He will honor your anger, and your questions, and your doubt. And when you beat your hands against His chest His arms will be pulling you closer. When you scream in His face His eyes will never leave your own. When you turn your back to Him He will never stop waiting for you to turn back around. And when you finally do, the tears falling down your cheeks will collide and become indecipherable from the ones running down His own.

My prayer for you today is that you do face hardships, and trouble, and overwhelming loss. Because hopefully this will lead to the answering of my biggest prayer. And that is that you learn to love Jesus. Not just because I do, and not just because that's what you've been taught to do, but because that's what you have found is the only thing you can do. And because it is the only thing that makes sense to you in this world full of wrong. And because you have fought your way through to feel that way. I want you to own your love for Jesus because you have been in the trenches with Him, and He has shown to you who He is, and you know you cannot go on another day without having Him become your very own.

So, for the better part of the next week, as I continue through the motions of being your Mom, as I miss my Dad from the depth of my soul, and as I fight my own battle once more against the "why, Lord?'s", I do so knowing where I will end up, and so very proud of the fact that I have won my way there. When you need me, you can find me smack dab in front of my Lord Jesus, praising His holy name, and loving Him for the rest of my days.

All the fighting? It was worth it. Worth it, worth it, worth it. But don't just take my word for it.

"I love those who love me, and those who seek me, find me." Proverbs 8:17

Love always,
Momma