Hello Fellow Travelers,
Our pastor has been doing a series on our testimony. One Sunday he said a phrase that caught my attention:
“The story you tell yourself is as important as what you tell others.”
Dr. Glenn Young
Daddy’s Girl
A daddy’s girl, I knew my dad loved me fiercely. My father was a modern-day Renaissance man: a perfect score on the SAT, student council president, president of the chess club, and quarterback on the football team, who earned a full scholarship to Yale as a math major. A computer programmer, he read the dictionary for fun, wrote poetry, loved crossword puzzles, and painted in his spare time.
He was also bipolar.
I never knew whether he would be the philosophical dad who would spend hours on the back porch talking with me about issues of the day, the volatile dad who could fly into a rage at a moment’s notice, the fun dad who would take me for late-night ice cream runs, or the depressed dad who could barely get out of bed.
I knew he loved me, and he was proud of me. I still remember a time when he heard a song on the radio that I sang at a talent show. He looked at me and said, “I liked your version better.”
Yet his gift of sarcasm could make me feel microscopic sometimes. I was clumsy and would trip or knock something over, and he would laugh and say, “Nice job, Grace,” (a sarcastic form of graceful). He would then tell people that he paid for dance lessons for 9 years so I could walk and chew gum at the same time, but that he had failed. He meant to be funny.
I was my dad’s beloved child. He loved me, but he wasn’t trustworthy.
My Salvation Story
We did not go to church when I was little. My dad didn’t believe in God. Answered prayers were a coincidence, the result of scientific law, or the fruit of networking. His parents were dismayed at his lack of faith as they grew up staunch Methodists. My great-great-great-grandfather was a circuit rider preacher who helped begin the Swedish Methodist Church in Texas.
So, my grandparents would take me to VBS and church with them whenever I visited. One day in 4th or 5th grade, a woman on a TV puppet show led the prayer of salvation, and I accepted Christ.
A Bipolar God
Without realizing it, the story I told myself was of a bipolar God: a God that I needed to placate, a Renaissance deity I needed to impress with my accomplishments. This capricious God could make sarcastic comments that made me feel so small one day and praise me when I got it right. Oh yes, God loved me so much that he gave his Son for me, but he couldn’t really be counted on. What mattered was what I did.
The Dad Whisperer
My parents divorced when I was in college. Dad wrote me letters at least once a week, often enclosing a fun poem. Here is a sample one. The title is A Nonsense Rhyme (To be read aloud)
We spoke often on the phone or in person. In our family, I became the dad whisperer. If someone needed something from Dad or for Dad to calm down, they came to me.
He got remarried and that marriage dissolved as well. In 2005 we went to my cousin’s wedding and he fell, breaking his femur. As a result of smoking for over 40 years, his COPD became so severe he could no longer breathe without oxygen. He came to live with us for six months, and then we found a small house to rent for him in our small town. He was never able to drive or get around well again, so I took care of him while raising my three children. To say that was a difficult part of my story would be an understatement.
During that time, I claimed Zephaniah 3:17 as my life verse.
The Lord your God in your midst,
The Mighty One, will save;
He will rejoice over you with gladness,
He will quiet you with His love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.
I pictured myself climbing up in my Heavenly Father’s lap to let him quiet me. I tried to listen to his song for me as I struggled to take care of my earthly father.
Restoration
“And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpillar, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you.”
Joel 2:25
I will always be grateful to the family of First Baptist Church Kilgore. The Brantley class and the rest of the church welcomed my father with open arms. My dad did eventually surrender to Christ and got baptized in a friend’s pool. The church family’s love and acceptance played a huge role in his decision. He even taught Sunday School a few times, something my mom could not imagine when I told her.
Thankfully, my children never knew the volatile dad that I did. They loved Grandpa Ed. He kept his quirkiness, but his moods stabilized. He whittled, filled out endless crossword puzzles, and still read the dictionary for fun. We spent hours talking during those five years before he died.
New Stories
I know that the story I told myself of a bipolar God was a false one, but it still lingers, as does the story that I need to be a God whisperer or His caretaker. God is slowly helping me replace those stories.
Shortly after my father passed away, I tripped and heard “Grace” in my head, and thought about how much I hated that nickname when the Lord stopped me. You were the embodiment of my grace to your father as you took care of him. It is a beautiful name. I started crying. Now I smile when I hear that nickname.
Omnipotent God needs nothing from me. His grace is enough. I don’t have to do anything to earn His love. God is faithful. He is my rock and will never change. That is the true story I need to tell myself.
What is your story?
So my question to you is, “What is the story you tell yourself and is it true?” Take some time to think about that this week.
Upcoming Travels
I tried some different types of podcasts this past week. On Monday, I prayed Ephesians 3: 14-21 over my listeners and on Wednesday I had a guest share a devotion: my husband! If you missed them, you can find them here.
Help me choose!
I hope to release the Advent devotion, Traveling with Sorrow later this week. I will send you an email about this audio devotion when it is ready.
Thank you for taking this journey with me!
Christine
The background music is “Piano for Meditation” by Praded
This is a lovely piece and invites me to take another look at the human faces I project onto God. Thank you.
Oh Christine - this is extraordinarily beautiful and so powerful. What an amazing reflection. Thank you so much for sharing your story, your dear dad - and, oh, all those photos are precious and wonderful! - and your revelation your Heavenly Father of how He loves you, as He created you, and His reassurance of how beautifully you honoured, loved and daughtered - your piece makes me think that should be a verb!- your dad. Above all, thank you for your sharing your story of true grace! It’s an honour to have read it and it’s resonated deeply - I’d love to discuss it with you more. Really looking forward to the Advent series, too.