i miss him. his birthday is this week.
“You’re still his daughter, ya know,” she said.
“yes, i know.” the right answer.
{“no, i am not so sure.”—the inward truth.}
if I am honest with myself, i haven’t truly thought about that stinging, heart-piercing question–“you are still his…(?)”– and consequently, it has faded away. losing a parent feels vulnerable. there is a hole, a gap in the ceiling of my family. i am exposed. i am grown up. there is a break in the safety net and one less person, a very important person, a father, to tell me who i am.
my dad used to parade my brother and i around the cubicles of his office. “this is my daughter! she is a wonderful photographer…here, just look up her website real quick.” **so embarrasing. i rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders. his coworkers graciously nodded in approval as they looked at a few pictures…”nice to meet you.” …then onto the next cubicle. it was awkward and i felt shy standing there, hearing my dad brag about me to people that didn’t know me. plus, it’s cute to brag about your 3 year old, not your 23 year old. nevertheless, i endured the requirement of being “shown off” once again in order to earn a subway sandwich & mountain dew on his lunch break.
and while once i was so embarrassed by his pride, i miss being introduced as “ray’s daughter.” i realize now how enormously profound it is to my security to belong to someone. who am i now if he is not there to tell everyone who i am?—his daughter, his pride and joy, his first-born, “the best photographer in the world,” “the most beautiful girl in the universe,” “he better treat you right, no one hurts my katie.” i feel like those “truths” about who i am have gone with him; buried with the pinewood derby cars and aviator sunglasses, more trinkets in his casket.
i walked away from his body and his funeral flowers and hymns and prayers believing i could not need him anymore. i was going to do life without him and without his words. without his pride. i was determined to be really good at it. yes, of course, i would miss him. but missing him would feel like being cozy inside while it’s raining outside…heart-warming and life-deepening. {see! i really did have it all planned out!} but instead it feels like a raw wound. i would do anything to just hug him one more time, or have a chance to say goodbye. and instead of not needing him, i find that i am desperate to claim who i once was—who i still am— in his eyes. am i really good at this? am i really beautiful? am i really someone to be proud of? “yes.”—because your daddy said so. i need to know my father’s love is a true constant, unquenched by death.
and the good, the gospel, emerges once again, up out of the deep anger, pain, loneliness, doubt, and resentment surrounding my dad’s death to learn one more sanctifying thing: if it was that important for me to belong to a man; a man who had secrets, who had faults, who had enemies, who had sins stacked up against him, yet i wanted to be owned by him, bragged by him, loved by him publicly, how much more profound is it to belong to a perfect God? my original father, who created the idea of “me” and carefully designed me, an ultimate lover, my friend, my ransom.
i have learned that everything does not happen for a reason as i once so confidently claimed. but i have also learned that “god works for the good of those who love him” and assigns a reason in the aftermath of the storm. he will not let our troubles happen in vain. and in this case, my sanctification is in this: the pride of human love is only a shadow, a reflection, a taste of what god feels towards us. i am who i am because of what god says about me. he puts the stars, the sunsets, the mountains & valleys to shame when he brags about what a grand creation i am. how could my security be shaken in the understanding of that? and he feels the same way about you! “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” 1 john 3:1
he loves us like a dad; and nothing, not even death, can make a proud father’s love un-true.
“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away. If one were to give all the wealth of one’s house for love, it would be utterly scorned.” song of songs 8:6
{A gift for my dad a few christmases ago. left: decorating for easter. right: my first prom}
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{We try to send praise report and prayer request cards with return envelopes every year with our christmas cards. Filing bills on a saturday, his writing caught my eye within the white and black. Tears stained the paper as I read all the things my dad praised and prayed for. Such a treasure to have my dad’s feelings about life encompassed in a list, now hung on our refrigerator.}
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{some photos of my dad & i; a nice delivery from the mailman last week–thanks mom!}
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