Chapter 2 ~ Abba....Daddy...

I was an adult before I realized the dysfunctional nature of our family dynamics.

Now, don't be too harsh here, we all have some dysfunction in our families, no matter what our level of good.

If nothing more than the way you set your silverware at the table when your family eats dinner. I mean, c'mon, who thinks... "knife, fork, spoon...or was it fork, spoon, knife" every evening before you eat. Ok... my best friends mom did.

We may need another blog post to address that...

Now, back to the story...

My father was a drunk. A happy drunk, but a drunk none the less. Why he drank could be debated over and over, but the reality is, he did not go through a day without alcohol. He worked 5-7 days a week at General Motors, often taking alcohol in his thermos to drink while he was working. That is not a good thing. But it helped keep his hands from shaking.

But, I have more good memories of my father than negative ones. I remember getting up on Saturday mornings to do something special with my dad. Fishing. Hunting. Just a drive outside the city to play in the "country". We'd get lost in the woods that surrounded my father's friends home. He'd drink, we'd play. When he was done drinking, we went home. As I got older I "learn to drive" occasionally.

Over time I began playing school sports and my summers became filled with my favorite past time, baseball.

My father and I grew apart. I guess it's natural, kids grow up and go away. It is the way God intended us to live. That doesn't mean you loose touch with or no longer love your parent, it's just that the relationship goes a much different direction.

Mine, well, it went to a distant relationship. For many reasons, of which I won't list here, seeing and talking to my father got farther and farther apart. When we moved to Indiana, I spoke to my dad via phone, but he didn't like "jabbering on that thing", So, we spoke to each other less and less.

And then...

Parkinson's...

I decided that since my dad was failing I would purposefully connect more often. But, not wanting to talk on the phone much and the slow deterioration of his speech made it difficult to communicate on the phone.

So, I went back home to Michigan, picked my father up one Saturday morning (kinda like old times) and we went to breakfast. We talked for about 3 hours. He told me stories of growing up, stories of him and my mother, some funny, some not.

He told me war stories, something he would never do when I was younger. The day was good. Very good. I still have fond memories of that day.

Then, time crept along. I got busy with my own children and began getting more and more involved in the community.

Years came and went.

Now, my mind flashes back to the next longer conversation I had with my father.

"Dad", a lady from the hospice will be stopping by today. A home health agency will be visiting as well. We need to get you some therapy or a better way to take care of your health issues."

There were lots of grunts, groans, tears and misunderstandings that day.

I had helped many families on this path, today I felt like I had to "be the strong one" and get dad some help. And did I mention, my mother was in the hospital where they had amputated a toe and part of her foot.

Today we are still fighting that same battle, her ongoing health issues plague her life and invade her peace.

But let's get back to my memories of dad...

Things were much different.

Dad didn't speak clearly enough to understand. Grunts, half-words and pointing was the mode of communication.

I cared for my dad for seven days, and had to return to Indiana for work, family and ministry obligations.

He died on the eighth day.

I still have fond memories of my father. I am sure it masks some of the dysfunction I experienced as a child, but I'll take the good memories.

Some don't have any good memories.

That's what makes this chapter difficult for some.

I had a lady in one of my Bible studies who had a very poor relationship with her father. It was abusive. She had, and still has some trouble with the ideas in this chapter.

Sad...

I don't know where you find yourself in your prayer journey. My prayer is that this book, conversation and blog posts will help you grow or keep you on a growth path. What are your thoughts about calling God "Abba", "Daddy".

Mine are different. Maybe better. Maybe not.

As I read this chapter a very special memory came to my mind. It is the one I look to from time to time, when I am down, for inspiration.

When I was a child, especially if we had company at our home, I would sit on my dad's lap and listen to him talk. I would occasionally put my ear to his chest and let his voice vibrate my ear.

I know this part of the memory should be negative, and when you hear it, you may even have a struggle with it.

My mind still has the memory of that sound, and as I reflect on it, I can still smell the smoke of his cigarette. Memories are powerful.

I imagine God that way, minus the smoke smell.

Just as warm, fond and soothing.

I do have one difference.

I wish I could hear God's voice as clearly as I did my father's. I wish my ear would vibrate to the sound of his speaking.

But... it's not that way.

It's why I spend time with the Scripture and books about the Scripture. It's the way he promised us he'd speak.

I am not even sure I could handle God's voice speaking directly to me. There are many spots in the Bible where it was not as pleasant as my memory of my father's voice.

But... it is meaningful. Even more so the more I walk with Jesus.

I miss my father's voice, but because of the Savior, and my ability to speak to him at any time, in any place, I am assured I will hear my father's voice again.

It's a wonderful memory and a glorious future I have.

All because I can pray...

Father....Daddy....Abba...

I hope you are encouraged, challenged, stretched and inspired by Max's writing.

I know I am.

And it's my fifteenth time reading this book.

What are you thinking? Wanna share?