I wanted to write a blog about dads, my dad’s and how I
explained to my kids why there are and have been so many dads in my life. I
have had total of four. I grew up in
a world of much confusion in my home life. Questioning how one of the dad’s in
my life could stay the course. For most
of my life I thought something must be wrong with me, and therefore one would
choose to leave. However, as my life unfolded I began to understand. With understanding came the opportunity to speak to my own children about each dad in my life.
Dad number one was William Sutton. As I learn of his life
growing up I have forgiveness and grace for his removal from my life. I was
that little girl, looking out the window as her daddy drove away. I was his “Littlebit” a nick name for being
the runt of four girls. I never
understood until I was a grown up what his life looked like and the
circumstances around that parting.
However he had choices, he had money, he could have been a plane, but
his life got busy with a new wife, actually several wives and children that
followed. As a young girl I was left to
make up the stories of who he might be. To my children I said, “This dad did
not know how to stay in one family so he left.”
Dad number two. Even
with forgiveness and grace I have chosen to never post a picture or speak his
name. I never wanted any of my five
children to have the face of a man, who abused me, in their minds. I have stories that could fill a book. As I have gotten older, my heart cries for the
women and girls who have experienced the same at the hand of a man, who knew
nothing of how to treat a little girl.
The abuse and the damage were so traumatic that the state took us girls
from that home. To my children I said, “This
dad hurt mommy and important people made the decision to save me from this
daddy and removed me.”
Dad number three is Iral Dean. He was the dad I prayed
for. He was no prince charming. Not the
kind that my dreams would pray for. I dreamed
of white horses and a dad with a cape. He was quiet, thoughtful and a teacher. He had a heart that could receive this chatty
girl. He showed up. I did not grow up in this family, therefore I
did not know the unspoken rules that homes grow into. I spoke up; I sat in his
office chair when others grimaced. I told him he needed cooler
tennis clothes. I asked questions. I was awkward and silly and there that quiet
gentle spirit showing up and given me many seasons of a dad. To my children I said, “This dad did not have
to be my dad, but he chose to be that dad. “
Dad number four. God.
When I was seven years old, my Sunday school teacher put me on her
lap. She said, “Elizabeth there is a God
who wants to be your Father. No matter what happens in your life he is your
Father in Heaven.” I believed her. He
stayed the course. He came into my heart
that day. Alice Warren, that old lady
with gray hair and reading glassed wrapped her arms around me in love. She gave
me the gift of understanding a Heavenly Daddy. A little girl who had one dad removed and
another abusing. She shared one who I
could cling to when all the other dads made no sense. To my children I said, “This Dad is heavenly
and Holy. He will never fail you, and He
has carried me through each season. This is the Dad who sustains me. “
Father’s Day is bittersweet for many. Today it’s a day that I honor those who
passed through my life. Why? Because Dad
number four has poured forgiveness and grace into my heart. This is the kind of example of love that I have been able
to pour back into my own children. It
truly is a Holy kind of love, because on my own I would not be able to love
like this. There is freedom from bitterness when we choose the kind of
love that this Daddy provides. Often
people comment on my youth, my happiness, and my joy. People have made statements, “I am envious of
your life. You must have grown up in one of those perfect homes.” I grew up in chaos and confusion. Hurt and
harm. Yet through the love of my heavenly daddy that joy is what resides in my
heart.
Happy Father’s Day
