Happily ever after

Lately, I've been telling God, "I don't know how to do 'happily ever after.' Can You please teach me how to do 'happily ever after'?" I mean, that's why we read this crazy fairy tale or watch this crazy movie called life: to get to the "happily ever after." That's why we endure the quest, the conflict, the battles, the secret identities, the bewitching, the scheming villain, and the rescue from the knight in shining armor: It all leads up to the "happily ever after."

But what do I do when I get to my "happily ever after"? I feel like all I've known up to this point is the quest, conflict, battles, bewitching, scheming, and rescue. Now what? And why is this making me feel so darn insecure?

I think I know why. In recent posts, I've talked about my ex-mother. Now I will talk about my ex-father.

I think a major part of my healing has been trying to accept -- as my therapist calls it -- the fact that my ex-parents weren't really parents to me. I don't think I was raised by two people who cherished me and bent over backwards to give me wings to fly and protect me healthily in the process. I think I was raised by a live-in maid and a professor.

While the live-in maid would whisk away my toddler ex-sister for some quality girl time with auntie, the professor would whisk me away to a local university so he could study how I communicated in foreign languages. Yes, I definitely feel like I was treated like a lab rat. I have an audio recording of the professor and his professor talking to me, interacting with me, trying to get me to speak to them in Hebrew or maybe even Spanish. I spoke English. I drew pictures. Even when I was 5, I was an English-speaking artist. I was not a native speaker of Hebrew or Spanish, and I honestly don't care what linguistic theories they were trying to prove. So, yes, I was used. Not realizing it until I was in my mid-30s kinda sucks. But I realize it now.

I think it was further proven that my ex-father, the professor, didn't cherish me by the way he favored my ex-sister instead of me. When I would go to bed at night as a child, I rarely remember anyone tucking me in. Once in a while, my ex-mother, the live-in maid, would take a break from washing dishes and chitchat with me for a bit on my bed before literally squishing my body into the mattress in an attempt to make me drowsy. (Don't most children get sung to sleep, or at least a bedtime story or something? Seriously, what kind of redneck-Hispanic way of saying "good night" is that?)

But the professor would sit on my ex-sister's bed, and I think he would pray and read the Bible to her. He cared about her. He cherished her. He nurtured his relationship with her. And now he still has her. It makes sense that God saw all that and allowed the professor to reap what he sowed into me: nothing.

Isn't that when a little girl is supposed to learn that she's supposed to enjoy an intimate time with a human male at night? Aren't you supposed to process the events of your day with a father figure who wants to make sure you're sailing through life OK? My ex-sister got to experience this. Why didn't I?

I guess I'll never know. I guess I'll never know what prompted my ex-father to overtly reject me. My ex-mother knew this was wrong, and she told me that she had told my ex-father this was wrong, but it didn't change his mind, and it didn't change the situation.

One core belief I formed about myself that was etched very strongly on my heart was this: I will always be replaced by someone younger and cuter than me. This belief has bubbled up from time to time in a very painful way, and working through it has been surprisingly liberating, especially since I've discovered that I actually WON'T always be replaced by someone younger and cuter than me. People actually WILL accept me long-term. I feel robbed.

I've seen lots of fathers play with their children. I've even seen macho Hispanic fathers comfort and/or kiss their children in public. They don't do this because they want to spoil their children. They don't do this because they're weak men. They don't do this because they're overgrown children themselves. They do this because they love, cherish, and value their children. They do this because they're FATHERS.

A father is supposed to play with his children, not study them. A father is supposed to roughhouse with his children, not lecture them. A father is supposed to provide support for his children, not let dirty old men violate them in a church building. Seriously, if some sicko is making passes at your daughter, you beat him up in the church parking lot so the entire world can see how valuable she is to you. OK, so maybe my thinking that is a bit warped, but if your daughter's purity is threatened, roll up your sleeves and fight for her like a man. That's what a father is supposed to do.

A father is supposed to tuck in his little girl at night, tell her how much he loves her, and tell her a bedtime story. This is how she will learn how to experience, handle, and enjoy "happily ever after."

But what about me?

"Therefore you shall keep the commandments of the Lord your God, to walk in His ways and to fear Him. For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and springs, that flow out of valleys and hills; a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive oil and honey; a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, in which you will lack nothing; a land whose stones are iron and out of whose hills you can dig copper. When you have eaten and are full, then you shall bless the Lord your God for the good land which He has given you... And you shall remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you power to get wealth, that He may establish His covenant which He swore to your fathers, as it is this day." (Deuteronomy 8:6-10, 18)

I think in the Bible, God instructed the Israelites to do "happily ever after" by simply fearing Him and remembering Him. I think He was saying, "Hey, when you come to this place that I've prepared for you, and you see all the cool stuff, and you're stinking rich, you'll be so tempted to think that you did all that yourself. Nope. It was Me. Who's your Daddy? Don't forget your Daddy." The Israelites learned how to worship God in the wilderness. When it was time to enter their promised land, they needed to continue to worship Him. That's exactly how you're supposed to do "happily ever after."

So, in order to heal me, God has had to Father me Himself. He started tucking me in at night about three and a half years ago, shortly before I started my "Kairos." Our bedtime routine has varied a great deal since then. But lately when He's tucked me in, He's told me to pull the covers over my head so that I won't get burned. (He's a consuming fire.) I think I usually drift off to sleep somewhere in the middle of our conversation, but He doesn't seem to mind. The thing is, He shows up every night. Because He's a faithful Father. He sings over me and comforts me. Because He's a loving Father. He doesn't lecture me, but He talks to me. Because He's a Father who's also my Friend. He's affectionate with me. Because He loves His little girl. Yes, I'm 37 years old, and God interacts with me as if I were 5 years old. But I think He does that on purpose. (And I don't ever want Him to stop.)

I understand now more than ever why I've heard some pastors say, "God doesn't want to use you; He wants to know you." God definitely uses the circumstances of my life to bring me closer to Him and to help other people come closer to Him. But He definitely doesn't use ME. He doesn't abuse me. I am not a lab rat to Him. I'm a daughter whose company He enjoys.

I think I'm OK now with watching my Father kill the fatted calf and throw a huge party for the prodigal son who comes home. I don't think I pout in the fields and whine about "You never did that for me" anymore. I think I'm OK now when my Father says, "You're always with Me, and all that I have is yours." (That's in Luke 15.) I don't think I see Him treating other people differently than I see Him treating me. I don't see Him tucking in my sibling in the room across the hallway while I'm left alone in the dark. I see Him tucking me in, too, and I don't hear Him comparing my siblings to me. I hear Him wanting me. Finally, Somebody wants me, and it isn't in a creepy way. It's in the way that my soul has been aching to be wanted all along: Somebody won't reject my intimacy.

And they both lived happily ever after.