When I look in the mirror, I still see the little girl trying to be perfect to earn my father's love and affection.   I was never certain if he was going to hug me or smack me. Smile at me, ignore me, or punish me for reasons that I didn't understand, could never understand.  One day looking him in the eyes was a sure way to get accused of "being smart" . The next day, not meeting his eyes was a sign of disrespect.  I think I only remember one time that he bought me something himself, I was almost grown, 17 maybe? Christmas and birthday presents were always from Mom.  He bought me a bracelet.  I still have it.  I couldn't believe that he'd gotten it for me. It wasn't even my birthday or anything. .  Pastor Liz always says that "hurt people, hurt people." . I know that is true.  I'm trying so desperately to not pass on the pain patterns, the wounds  that I've received, on to my kids. I want to be a cycle breaker.  Learning to trust in God as father, that he loves me, wants me, has only my best interest at heart, all of these things are daily, sometimes hourly struggles. But I want to get there. I have to get there. Because it's not about me.  It's about teaching my dear little ones that if everyone else in their lives fail them and let them down, God will always be the Rock they can build their foundation on. Build a life on. He is worth living, and worth dying for.

There is a phrase both in the book "The Shack" and in another book that I'm reading. " That we can only trust God to the degree that we are certain of His love for us." I finished reading both books, because I so much hunger to know God as a father. But the very word, "father" makes me flinch inside. It's not a term of endearment to me, but one that conjures up images of pain, anger, shame, and a longing so deep that I feel like I'll never touch bottom. My prayer for the last, idk, few weeks, month, has been for God to reveal His love to me so that I can learn to trust Him. And for Him to please, please not give up on me.  And I want him to help me to remember in the darkness what I have learned in the light. . .

Of hugs and making beds

My littlest guy is a perfectionist.  Or maybe OCD.  To the extreme.  He made his bed yesterday and again today.  I heard him yelling at his older, bigger brother to "get off my bed, get off my bed." . I have no idea what might have happened if his brother hadn't have listened, but I was frightened.  I saw him on the bed several times, making it "just right" . It was already made better than what I would have done.  He had the edges of the covers lined up straight on the bottom of the bed. Who does that??!!  ☺.  So, I'm sharing about the little guy today.  It's amazing, isn't it, how we are such imperfect people, imperfect parents and our children love us anyway? Last night, I suppose he was getting tired because it wasn't his bedtime yet, he told me that he and I needed to go to my bedroom and get under the covers and snuggle. . . I felt my heart melt. When my children, who see me sometimes at my frazzled worst, love me anyway.  An unexpected, "I love you, Mom", a hand hold, a wet, slightly slimy kiss on the check.  Time stops and the whole world seems to hold its breath for that one precious moment.  I wonder, does Father God feel that way, we we come to Him, very immature, broken emotionally and sometimes physically, and worship Him anyway? There is nothing more I can think of that makes me happier than my children's unconditional love and trust.  And that's what He wants, our trust. Our willingness to obey and love Him. Because like our children, we don't always see the bigger picture of why things happen.  Things that may have been set into motion even before our birth. That shape our lives, our future, our family.  Sometimes, we just have to take a deep breath, and let go. And fall into the love of the Father. Trusting that He won't let us go, He won't let us fall.