i could find it a bit of a cruel irony that i was born on a father’s day. i could look at the relationships i had with each my “fathers” growing up and rub at the scars they left behind. i remember the last time i accidentally used the word “dad”…i got in trouble for it. i had slipped up in front of my stepfather’s kids and was made to feel like i had “done it on purpose” to hurt their feelings…or something like that.
that was the last time i used it. i had no desire to call that man “dad,” anyway. for whatever reason, “dad” has a more personal connotation, while “father” gives me a bit of a disconnect.
no, i don’t get it, either. especially as i look at the other side… my Father in heaven. despite the absence and abuse of all my earthly fathers, i have come more to appreciate and cling to my “Abba” in heaven, and i call Him that a lot. yeah, it means “dad/daddy” in greek, but i get away with it because it’s not english.
i can celebrate Him for all that He is and has been and will be as my Father. He’s the only “father figure” i’ve ever had and will truly ever need. i’ve never looked for it in anyone else, and really never expect to find it. i will walk the aisle alone if i have the chance…not to be pitiful, but so that all may recognize Who is truly “giving me away”…
i’m not one to re-post pinterest-y things like this (though many of my FB friends are *eyeroll*), but this one represents truth to me. explore: