By Kristina E. Waters-Ulrey, Inspire Contributor
Father of the Fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation. (ESV) Psalms 68:5
I am comforted by the reminder that God is here. He doesn't just rule from up high, He is my father, all that I imagined and hoped for and so much more.
My parents divorced when I was six, and unfortunately, I have few good memories of my father. By the time I was 13, there was no communication with him for months on end. The conversations were sporadic and odd; sometimes he would tell me about his religious conversion, other times he was in a drunken stupor - and then we had conversations that would focus on his dreams for me. The constant in our relationship was that my father always controlled it.
This relationship, albeit at times nonexistent, shaped who I was. My emotional barometer has two measures: Sunshine and Torrential Storm. I always question myself and worry about everything. I am grateful that Mom brought me to church, and even when I didn't want to be there, she fought hard on that matter - she prayed, she enlisted her friends to pray for me, she encouraged me and gave me biblical direction. I have faith that God will use me.
I believe the statement, "Only God knows how much it hurts" is slightly erroneous; Mom knew too. She has been a shoulder when I needed one, wept for me after drying my eyes, and above all, encouraged me to forgive and let go. She promised by doing so, I will be a better, much happier person.
Today I received one of the bad calls from my father. He told me he wished I was never born, that I only cause him problems along with a myriad of other hurtful things. I apologized for any errors on my part, and when I spoke in exhausted anger, I apologized again. He hung up on me. I wept. I was heart-broken by things that he said to me. Then I offered it up in prayer. I asked for forgiveness... and the strength to forgive. I called back and my stepmother made false allegations against me and when I finally spoke to my father the conversation was calm, but the response was cold.
When my husband came home, he found me with red, puffy eyes and mascara-stained cheeks that he tried to clear. After listening to me, he was upset at not being able to do anything to make me feel better. I told him what he could do, what I needed. I needed him to soothe me, to encourage me to forgive and let it go, pray for me and for Dad, and take me out to eat because I didn't feel like cooking.
By the time dinner was over, I felt better in my heart. My husband told me he was amazed that I still wanted to pray for my father after all the things he had said to me. I was encouraged - not because, "Yeah, I'm a good Christian," rather because I saw Mom in my actions. The struggles she had with my childhood, the Christian values she instilled in me are there. And the father I always wanted, the love I always craved - it had already been provided and had always been there. Today, I just received an extra special dose.