Crash Courses In Connecting

 “Nature never taught me that there exists a God of glory and of infinite majesty. I had to learn that in other ways. But nature gave the word glory a meaning for me. I still do not know where else I could have found one. I do not see how "fear" of God could have ever meant to me anything but the lowest prudential efforts to be safe, if I had never seen certain ominous ravines and unapproachable crags. And if nature had never awakened certain longings in me, huge areas of what I can now mean by "love" of God would never, so far as I can see, have existed.― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Single dads have essentially two vacation choices: their own vacations solo or take their kids. Or no vacation; three options. Here’s what made it easier, we already had laughter as a connection. My child’s lifetime of inside jokes already existed.

She had this stuffed animal that looked like a cross between a bear and a pink pig, aka Pigbear. I’d play the part of Pigbear. 

Pigbear, in squeaky voice: “ One time, when I swam across the ocean…”  

Daughter: “You’re afraid of water!!”

Pigbear “ Right! Last week when I fell into the bathtub…” 

Pigbear was a delusional and grandiose story teller. He’s soft and cuddly which made him quite the travelling companion.

I looked on these trips as crash courses. Though road trips are a great vehicle for bonding this wasn’t my specific aim. I wished for the daughter to catch three things: An understanding of vacation and rest, to apprehend beauty and to glimpse God. If you get those you get me.

Beset by bugs in stagecoach and tent, sharing music, losing camera bags and patience, swimming in cold pools and natural hot-springs there have been plenty of adventures! The kid is grown up and adulting now; setting out on her own adventures. Now I get to glimpse her heart. A rich and delightful privilege for a father!  As Pigbear might say, “One time, I created the greatest meme of all!” Life!” 

 

Midnight Feeding

                                        Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

‘Sleep’ is the one word connecting every new parent. The crash came unexpectedly. Post partum; my baby girl’s mom unable to differentiate hallucinations and reality. None of us slept that night. In healthy situations its hard to come by.  Ours wasn’t healthy. My daughter had it rough that first year. Mom was hospitalized with psychotic episodes. I worked two jobs. Psych meds and the hospitalization meant breastfeeding was out. Coming home at midnight the one a.m. feeding fell to me.

Bottle feeding is a long process. My daughter was more about the sip than the swig. Feed than sleep, that’s the cycle. This night I’d lay her down; she’d start crying. Pick her up, she’d stop. Not normal, she’s sick.

 I lay down on the carpet, Sweet Pea on my chest. She is calm. Her frailty nestles in my arms; my frail self holding her. Both curled up in stronger arms. I speak to myself with a conviction I don't know I possess, “This is what love looks like. This is fatherhood.”

Coming to Fullness In The Love Of A Father

                                                      Photo by Jude Beck on Unsplash 

I have father wounds. Welcome to the human race, right? Of God calling Himself father Donald Miller says, “This, in light of the earthly representation of the role, seems a marketing mistake.” So went my childhood. Words spoken in haste. Doors kicked in rage. Hugs never given. Most of all the being away. My father’s issues were birthed in the present but conceived in the past. God is a loving father. To learn this has taken so long because unlearning is a huge part of the process.

Dads’ parents modeled dysfunction. Dad bought it but never owned it. So it was passed down again. The cycle continues or is broken. Faltering, falling flat; I’m a prodigal healed in the hug of the Everlasting father. 

Some of us wrestle to resist the hard wiring we come by. Can we flee pedigree? We want to be like our dad, or we don’t. In a sudden moment we realize it; we’ve responded like dad. This is both blessing and curse. For there are good dads and bad dads and a bunch of in-between. 

Did we get dad’s approval? Our father and the image of our father dictate who we become and who we fight against becoming. A father tells a son he is lazy; he grows up a workaholic. We can spend an entire life trying to please our father; even after he’s buried. The story of the prodigal resonates for a reason. Not because of the return of the son but because of the embrace of the father.

I go whoring and sew seed, running farther and farther from the father. Finding only hunger I come home. Expecting condemnation. Father has prepared a feast; killing the fatted calf. He absorbs the loss I squander. He delights in me; wrapping me up in His hug.  My Father is a safe place; I am sheltered, shielded, secure.

I can come to fullness in the acceptance of a loving (and perfect) father. I am not cowering. He is positively provoking me to be my best. This kind of fatherly love encourages a radical freedom. Even in light of personal failure. This is what I am learning. I hesitate to buy into my image of an earthly father. Conversely the heavenly image of father has me hungering for more of his image in me.