My Dad: The True Picture of Redemption

Never again will I celebrate an Easter without thinking of my dad.

The dad who:

-used to sneak out on Monday nights with me to get ice cream and let me fall asleep on his chest as we watch football.

-took me to the arcade to play air hockey.

-quit his job to be closer to my brother and me.

-went on my 3^rd grade field trip to the fair.

-took me out to breakfast on Saturday mornings.

The same dad who:

            -checked out on me emotionally

            -drove me to church with great reluctance and loud objections

            -left me alone to deal with my emotions when my mom’s health got worse

-expected that life in a family where one person had polio would not create challenges and extra responsibilities

-thought he was being a good parent because he provided food and shelter for his kids and wife

-the dad who often left me hopeless

The latter is the dad my mom and I left behind.

All of the above encapsulates the dad who has been reconciled to our family by the grace of Jesus.

I will never forget Easter 3 years ago when my dad turned to me at the end of service and said, “I’m glad you found this place, but I don’t think it’s for me.” I was devastated. I didn’t invite my dad to church expecting him to continue coming with me; I just wanted to spend a nice Easter with my dad. By this point in my life, I knew better than to expect that church would be important to him.

As the months went on, I became even more involved in this church. I joined the worship team for the weekends and began to use my voice in more instances than choir at school. I was on the worship team about one weekend a month and I invited my dad to come hear me sing on those weekends. He’d always encouraged my musical endeavors and even expressed a fair amount of sadness when I decided not to pursue music as a career anymore. If there was anything I could always get my dad to support, it was my voice. My invitations on these weekends were continually shot down. I knew that something big must have happened for my father to continue denying the opportunity to hear me sing, but it still didn’t make the rejection any easier. As a glutton for punishment, I continued to invite my dad.

In the mean time, I realized that my dad didn’t need me to continue pushing this Jesus issue, my dad needed to see why the choices my mom and I made to sever our family were important, necessary, and beneficial for the growth of our family as a whole. My dad needed to see how I’d been transformed.

You all need to know that I spent years of my life resenting my dad, both for valid reasons and misunderstandings. (I will not go into any of the details here, they are now irrelevant.) Not once did my dad cease to love me with his whole heart, I know that now, but there were years in my life that I believed otherwise. I could not logically or emotionally understand how my father could come out of a horrible family structure and into my life as a parent, make an improvement on the way his parents treated him, and call it good. I couldn’t understand why taking care of the basics would make someone think they were a good parent. From a young age I have been programmed to go above and beyond the minimal requirements, I know this is not shocking to any of you, this is what made it difficult for me to understand that my father truly loved me. His dedication did not manifest itself in the way I expected or wanted. Now, he will be the first to admit that he understands why I felt as though he did not care, and he has already apologized so very much for these points in my life.

All through high school, my family was truly in a toxic environment. By the time we hit my junior year it was time to separate. Anyone who has been around my family since this time can say that this was the best decision we could have ever made.  It’s what ultimately brought our whole family to redemption through the grace of Jesus. Even though I’m focusing on my dad’s story, my mother, myself, and even my brother were deeply changed by the fact that we were all torn apart.

My senior year of high school was one of transition and learning even more responsibilities. It was also the time of my most extreme resentment towards my dad. I would go months without speaking to my father, let alone seeing him. I walked through depression and anxiety and I tried to navigate the treacherous waters of divorce with my mother. Come to the end of my senior year of high school and this is what my family looked like: kind of happy because I graduated, but still begrudgingly taking a picture together.

My father was still going through his darkest moments at the time of this picture. Fast forward two years to the Easter I described above. My dad was still agitated and depressed but he was close to finally having a breakthrough.

I had breakfast with my dad at least once a month, sometimes two times a month, and conversation was no longer strained. We were comfortable again. We were returning to the days of football and ice cream. Three things dominated my world at this time: my mom, school, and ministry at my church. My mom was kind of off limits for topic of conversation. School was school and I really had not interest in talking about it. The thing I really wanted to talk about was my ministry at church. I had to develop thick skin while at the same time remaining vulnerable to my dad so he could see what this world meant to me. I began to see that the transformation of Jesus in my life was not something I had to apologize for or be ashamed of, but rather it was the most effective way to allow my dad to understand how I survived the heartbreak of losing my family.

My dad and I began to bond over these internal transformations and he started going to church with me. Week after week I would pick him up, go to church, and get dinner with him on our way home. Every week he had new apologies for me. He began to let me see what he went through all the years I resented him, and the few years we’d been apart due to the divorce. The father I’d always believed was inside came forth of his own desire and his own readiness.

My dad’s demeanor changed. He was no longer a grumpy, unapproachable man; he was a hearty, friendly, very chatty person.

He started going to church with me consistently in the fall and by the spring I was able to ask him to take a day off of work so we could talk to some of my students about forgiveness and repairing relationships with parents. I wanted my dad to help me show them that it’s never too late. My dad agreed to join me and, on an amazing Friday night, I watched him face his fears, admitting his shortcomings to a group of skeptical teenagers, and demonstrating his transformation. I watched teenagers who believe their parents don’t love them in the slightest develop empathy for their parents because they heard my dad’s story. I experienced their support for me because these were the teenagers that walked with me through my own darkness of believing this very parent did not care for me. We all walked on this journey together and we all got to celebrate the reconciliation my dad and I experienced that night and throughout that previous year.

Here is a picture of my family after my college graduation and after the reconciliation between my father and myself. You can tell that my family has experienced healing, especially my dad.

Currently, my mom and dad are dating each other, though I suppose they wouldn’t choose to use those terms, I’m not an idiot. When I left for school, I knew things would be all right because my father was there, because my father was different. My mom broke her legs last semester and I didn’t need to worry (as much) because the very church that my dad had been attending with me rallied around my family to offer support AND my dad was always there to take care of my mom. My mom and dad have continued to attend this church, together, and they have continued to demonstrate the love and respect I always knew they deserved from one another.

My pastor here in New Jersey said this last Easter weekend, “Dead things don’t stay dead when the resurrection comes.” As I was contemplating the story of my father, I knew that this Easter theme truly encapsulated everything I’ve seen in my dad’s life. We’ve come so far since that first Easter story 3 years ago.

I have seen my father go from completely estranged to reconciled, resentful to understanding, apathetic to concerned, loving in his mind to loving with his actions.

Jesus has died and Jesus is risen. My father is the picture of this redemption.