a Father's love

As I sit in my father's home, typing from his computer, sipping his coffee, I am humbled at the goodness of God, at the mystery of His plans, at the grace which He extends.  Years ago there was little and big between my father and me... little grace, little forgiveness, little understanding, big hurt, big confusion, big anger.  And bitterness. Oh, the bitterness of my soul.  I didn't understand the leaving, the disappearing, the seemingly abandonment from someone so dear, so loved. And a chasm that I thought could never be bridged suddenly existed between us.

I've said often over the years that when my father walked out the door my idea of God walked right out with him. And I didn't know either of them.

Although one vanished, One pursued me, drew me close and no matter where I looked or how far I searched, He was always there. Always there.

The leaving my daddy did, led to me to my Father. The Father that will not ever leave. Never forsake. Never turn His face away.

I say I found Him, as if He'd been missing.  No, with His children, He is always there, always leading, always guiding.  Whether I knew it or not, my name was graven on the palms of His son's hands.  At the moment I realized I was His all along, I was across the country, miles from the place I called home and there I began to understand, to see my own sin and know forgiveness.  It was there He showed me my soul, let me see my own sin, how very far I had fallen short of His glory.  I saw my own heart and for weeks, I felt pain, saw only the darkness.

And the Father who never leaves, met me there, and most of all, He showed me the cross--the wooden beams who held the sacrifice that washed away my sin.  Jesus was the bridge my heart needed to be healed, the bridge that connected the darkness of my soul to the light of the Father. The bridge that by His grace will lead me home.  And by His death, the greatest chasm had been bridged.  The chasm between a sinful woman and Holy God.  And the peace that transcends all understanding penetrated my soul.

I came home and pursued my daddy, Monday after Monday sitting across from him at lunch. Seeing my eyes, my cheeks, my history sitting across the table from me. On one hand my heart burst with love for this man I knew so well and on the other my heart ached, mourning for the stranger staring back at me. We talked of horses and childhood and horses and never did we break the surface or come near the depths my heart wanted to go, even to say the words my heart uttered quietly I forgive you. The words didn't come.

Years later I would ask him to give me away; something I wasn't sure I could ask of him.  On his arm I walked down the aisle with forgiveness in my heart and on that day as he put my knight's hand in mine, in my own heart there was a letting go of what had been and a clinging to what could be. What covenant should be.

It wasn't until this past weekend that I realized it was in that moment on my wedding day that the cross that bridged me to my Abba, also bridged me to my dad.  The forgiveness I had been extended, the grace I had been given vertically, was one to be shared horizontally. For she who has been forgiven much, forgives much. And in that place, there was forgiveness and there was healing.  A chasm bridged.

This past week of thanksgiving, we packed up our little family and ventured to my father's house in the country to retreat, to get away, to count our blessings.  And there I found a treasure, a gift not anticipated.

Come Sunday morning, with snow falling we followed my dad to church. And like the land that was being washed in snow, blanketed in white, I stood with my father, washed by the blood of the lamb, blanketed in His robes, as white as the snow falling. And the years of wondering, aching for my dad, praying for grace, culminated into one grand humble moment in a little wood shop their church calls home, and with tears brimming together we sang in worship

Who am I?
That the bright and morning star,
Would choose to light the way,
For my ever wandering heart...


That the eyes that see my sin
Would look on me with love
And watch me rise again.
Not because of who I am,
But because of what you've done.
Not because of what I've done,
But because of who you are.


Because of what God has done, because of Who He is, there is grace, there is hope, there is forgiveness.

As we continued in worship once again there was little and big between us.  This time there were three little girls, our own little families, his sweet spouse and mine, and the big reality of one cross, a cross that bridges infinite chasms.  There was forgiveness, there was healing and there was restoration.

Truly a week of thanksgiving and the first gift in this season of giving and with it I am reminded of the true gift of Christmas. With gratitude we begin this season of advent and we prepare our hearts to remember His coming.  But it is not just a wee babe born in a musty stable that we celebrate. We celebrate the gift of His death, the wooden bridge, His grace and with it receive forgiveness, healing and restoration.

Surely he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his stripes we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have turned—every one—to his own way;
and the Lord has laid on him
the iniquity of us all. ~Isaiah 53:4-6