Father

This post contains information that I've probably already written about, but I feel the need to repackage it here. Thank you in advance for reading.

"In this manner, therefore, pray: 'Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.' " (Matthew 6:9)

The fact that God is a Father is probably one of the most healing and the most painful truths simultaneously. Or maybe the pain occurs during the healing process. At any rate, several decades of having God's Father-heart misrepresented to you can certainly take its toll on how you relate to Him.

So, God is my Father, which means that He guides me... you mean, like the earthly father that I used to have? I hope not.

When my earthly ex-father gave me my first driving lesson, he did it at night. His reasoning was, "Well, she's going to be driving at night, anyway." No abandoned parking lots. No pre-training. No pep talks. Just a moment-by-moment leisurely terror drive through the dark streets. My ex-sister told me later that he was exasperated at how I didn't even know how to use the blinkers. That's, uh, because, uh, he didn't tell me how to use them.

When God my Father teaches me how to do something, He might wait till it's dark outside. Trials are dark and scary. But He's patient with me, and He shows me how to use all of the equipment that I have available to me. He makes sure I've got access to the Manual so that I can find what I need. He gives me positive reinforcement, He lets me ask questions without making me feel like an idiot, and He lets me have as much repetition as I need for the truth to sink down into all the layers.

So, God is my Father, which means that He provides for me... you mean, like the earthly father that I used to have? I hope not.

When my earthly ex-father was unemployed, he didn't roll up his sleeves and tell a potential employer, "Hey, I might be overqualified for this job, but I have muscles. Can you please give me some work so that I can provide for my family?" He sat on the couch, watched It's a Wonderful Life in the middle of the summer, and cried because he missed his mother-in-law. And he called a relative and asked them if they could spare some money. I don't think those are scenes that an insecure little girl needs to absorb.

When God my Father provides, He keeps His little girl calm while she's waiting for Him to provide. He creates something out of nothing. He lets His little girl soak up His strength. He reminds her of all the times in the past that He came through for her. He keeps her encouraged, and He reminds her that He can be trusted.

So, God is my Father, which means that He loves me... you mean, like the earthly father that I used to have? I hope not.

When my earthly ex-father would tell me that he loved me, it was usually in Hebrew, and it was usually mumbled, as if he felt obligated to say it but didn't really mean it. When he would show affection, it was extremely awkward and a bit physically painful with very rough hugs and kisses. When he would help me, it was usually because my ex-mother told him to, and sometimes he would unintentionally be extremely unhelpful. One time, I made a special trip to another city to meet them so I could pick up some of my belongings. They were packed inside a U-Haul truck that was supposed to remain loaded during their move. Unfortunately, my belongings were packed deeply inside the truck, and my earthly ex-father was unable to access them. He blamed the people who helped him pack. I basically had made a road trip for nothing. I cannot begin to express how frustrating this was for me.

When God my Father tells me that He loves me, He means it, and He's also The Expert in showing me that He loves me. When He shows affection, it can be dangerous, because He's a consuming fire, so He can't get too close. But He's also the most gentle Person in the universe, so He's also The Expert in showing affection physically without actually burning my skin off. When He helps me, He gives me exactly what I need, exactly when I need it, and He makes a way for me to find it. Or sometimes He simply drops whatever I need right into my lap. He's cool like that. Sometimes when He and I hang out together, He initiates the hangout time, and I can hear an ache in His voice, almost as if He's begging me to hang out with Him. But He's the God of the universe. He doesn't get lonely. He's not desperate for companionship. I don't think He's technically begging, because He's already the richest Being in the universe. Uh... have I mentioned that He's the God of the universe? and that He actually wants to spend time with me? He isn't afraid of expressing His infinitely deep yearning for me, and I'm choking up just thinking about it.

So, God is my Father, which means that He communicates with me... you mean, like the earthly father that I used to have? I hope not.

A couple of years ago, I started to read someone else's blog post that looked interesting. It was about hearing God's voice. The author of the post wrote something like, "If I want to communicate something to my child, I'm not going to write it in German so that they wouldn't understand it! That would be silly!" I immediately thought, "No, that's exactly what my father would do," and I stopped reading the post. It was probably a very good post, and I know it was definitely communicating a very important truth in a fresh way. (I should probably find it again and finish reading it.) It just stung to read it because that is almost exactly how my earthly ex-father would treat me. Growing up with a linguist dad was an overpowering experience that I still can't completely hide from. (People who don't realize that I don't have a relationship with him anymore will still talk to me about him. "Hey, your dad probably speaks that language, right?") I longed to just speak English at my house, because that is my native language. Instead, we had all kinds of miscommunications. I think on at least one occasion, I swept the floor because I thought that was what "aspirar el piso" meant. Sorry, I didn't know he told me to vacuum the floor. That's why I swept.

God my Father doesn't freak out when I can't hear Him or understand Him. I think He knows that His voice sometimes has to go through several filters and soul-layers to reach my spiritual ears. On top of that, He sent me the Holy Spirit to help me understand Him. God makes sure I know what He's saying, and if I miss it, He communicates it a different way. Or He often just waits until I get it.

So, God is my Father, which means that He's in charge... you mean, like the earthly father that I used to have? I hope not.

My earthly ex-father was a micromanager, which might explain why I resent being micromanaged in the workplace. He criticized the way I blinked. He criticized the way my lips don't touch each other when I say words that begin with the letter "M." He criticized the way I would say, "you guys," because people who live in Texas are supposed to say, "y'all." He made fun of me for wearing socks indoors instead of going barefoot. When I would read or draw, he would walk up to me and push my head several extra inches away from my book or sketchbook because I was supposedly hurting my vision. Because he had perfect pitch, he could hear me playing a wrong note on the piano from the other side of the house, and he would sing the right note to me from across the room until I would play the right note.

God my Father is all-knowing, so He already knows the minutia of every last teensy, tiny detail that has ever existed, that still exists, and that will ever exist. He is perfect, but He isn't a perfectionist. He doesn't criticize every fiber of my being or every tiny aspect of my life, because He created all of it. When He shows me something about myself that I need to change, He does it in a way that gives me hope, that makes me feel good, that maintains my dignity as a human being. He's gracious. He doesn't expect me to get every jot or tittle of everything 100% right all the time. He understands that I'm not a flawless machine. I'm a person, so I'm organic. I flow.

"They looked to Him and were radiant, and their faces were not ashamed." (Psalm 34:5)

This past weekend, I sang in the choir at my church. I made lots of mistakes. But God my Father didn't yell at me for making them. He didn't patronize or belittle me for being imperfect. He simply enjoyed my company, and I enjoyed His company. I looked right at Him and totally dug His presence. We simply shared our life together while people watched.

God is my Father, which means that He guides me, provides for me, loves me, communicates with me, and is my Lord. (Among other things, of course. I was just trying to stick with the flow of my post.) He and I have a relationship together. I talk to Him. He talks to me. I slip and fall. He picks me up and fixes me. I'm needy. He's the One who meets my needs. I'm clingy. He's really the only One who can satisfy any of my desires anymore. I'm lovesick. He's the One who loved me first and aches to spend time with me. I'm ruined for Him forever. He's the One who wanted it that way from the very beginning.

Last year, a relative who doesn't know me very well lectured me for not talking to my earthly ex-father anymore. The relative told me that I would miss him. Uh, I think the relative was assuming that all fathers have good relationships with their daughters.

Growing up with a Pharisee father was kind of like growing up with an undercover prison warden. (Wait. Something feels wrong. OH, BUT WE LOVE YOU. YOU CAN'T EVER ESCAPE. GET BACK IN YOUR PLACE.) He was harmful to me to the point of blocking me from God altogether. I don't think it's wise to just give band-aid advice to all broken relationships. That won't work for everybody. (Hey, Luke Skywalker, you should talk to your dad. Oh, you mean the ruthless villain who chopped off my arm? Sure, I'll give it a whirl. I MUST TURN YOU OVER TO MY MASTER, THE EMPEROR. HE IS YOUR MASTER NOW. OR IF YOU WILL NOT BE TURNED TO THE DARK SIDE... YOU WILL DIE. IT IS YOUR DESSSSSTINY...)

Maybe I went about writing this post the wrong way, but my intention wasn't to point to every single earthly father and say, "You're parenting the wrong way, because you're not exactly like God the Father." Technically, nobody could possibly ever measure up to God the Father. He will always be The Best. What I'm saying is that when our earthly parents accidentally (or on purpose) hurt us, God can heal us just by being Himself. Because He is the perfect Father. And He's also the perfect example of how to be a father.

Tomorrow, I will try to write another post with another Star Wars reference. Wait... DO. There is no try.