I wished more than anything on this day I could peer into the box, hidden high on the closet shelf. The box that holds those special things that I get out once in a blue moon. The things that remind me of certain memories in life. A flower off a parade float when I was in the Fiesta Bowl Parade. An invitation from our wedding. Two tiny hospital bracelets, each with the names of two little guys that wore them shortly after birth. The typing almost looks hand done, but I’m sure it wasn’t. There’s also a few love letters from my husband that are meant for my eyes only..although I hope someday our men, daugther-in-laws, and grandchildren will sit in the floor and unfold each one. That they have nothing but time on that day…to think about the love we had during our married life on earth.
There is however one letter that is missing. That didn’t make it to my box of special memories. It was a letter from my dad. He had written it when I was in high school. I had lost my way….I was discouraged. I wasn’t quite sure what was going on between he and my mother but I knew the tension in our home was at an all time high. My dad spent weekends drinking and my mom did anything to be away from him. Often helping family friends at art shows just to get away.
I felt on my own and ran with it. I snuck out..drank…lied. Anything to not be home. Anything to not have my life.
A friend of mine asked me to go on a retreat with a group from church. I had not even prayed lately. Too ashamed from a girl that use to be so vibrant about my relationship with Christ. I hardly mentioned Him anymore. But since the weekend meant I could once again leave home I told her “yes”.
The retreat was not invasive…or embarrasing. I didn’t have to stand up and admit to everyone I was nothing but a drunken liar. So…odds were in my favor and mission accomplished.
The only adults were a couple who were the youth leaders at my friend’s church. I quickly noticed their relationship. So unlike my parents relationship, at that time…no major arguments…it was kind of strange. I studied them…I wanted to someday have a marriage just like theirs.
The last night of the retreat we were all sitting in the living room floor of this cabin. As a group we had formed a bond in a quick amount of time. The mood shifted though to a more serious tone from our leaders. They said they had something to give us, written letters from our parents. As each name was called..each of my friends reached for their letter. Each face focused…finding a corner..or somewhere nearby to read with a little more privacy. I waited for my name …but it didn’t come. I thought to myself, “ I probably won’t get one”..my mom is at an art show and dad isn’t going to do something like write me a letter.
Everyone was immersed in reading, or crying…some even laughing as their eyes danced on pages. Almost like they weren’t even there but were submersed into some other zone. My face grew hot…how embarrassed am I gonna be if I’m the only one without a letter? But just then, I heard my name. I reach for a plain white envelope with my dad’s handwriting on it. Only completing the third grade, made his writing identifiable to me…his daughter. ”Norma” was scribbled lightly, centered on the envelope. I paused..in disbelief..in delight..in awe…. and carefully opened the letter.
Out of the plain white envelope I pulled two pieces of school ruled paper, full of his beautiful writing and I was never so glad to see it. I began to read…and cry. I couldn’t stop, the now constant drip from eyes, to jaw, and now falling on my shirt.
He started with “I love you and I’m so glad God gave you to me and your mother”. And then he went on to apologize for not being the dad he intended to be lately. He felt badly for the way he and my mother had been fighting and said so.
I felt I was reading my dad’s heart that day. I imagined him sitting down at the dining room table, pouring over the two white school ruled papers. I imagined him with a cup of coffee…hot at first, as he tried to think of the perfect words. And then I see him hunched over, pen bursting to catch up with his thoughts and his coffee now cold. I see him crying..and I recognize a few smears on the paper.
That night..my life changed for the better. I couldn’t wait to jump into my dad’s arms when I got home. To apologize for the daughter I had been to him. I couldn’t wait to start brand new and see our relationship restored.
I always cherished that letter and cry to this day just thinking about it. My dad past away 17 years ago and I still think about him. Every father’s day, I wish to have the letter again…I wish to run my hand over it’s pages. I wish to read his words again. I wish to remember the new start we had when I came home.
I don’t know about you but I do know another Father who gives second chances. A Father who takes the ones that makes mistakes and wipes it away, kind of like those tears on the pages of that letter. I know my earthly father is in the presents of this Father. And I know, that even on this day, when I feel a little blue..I can run into His arms and He will wipe away my tears.
To all the ones with the imperfect parents..remember you will be imperfect too but it is only with Christ that we start again..that we can be restored..and that we can find the Words that will never fail us.
Happy Father’s Day and thank you for reading
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