who's your Daddy?

This one is going to be hard for me to post, but here goes...

It was last August when God started breaking down the walls around my "Daddy wound," a wound I didn't realize was even there, or for that matter was incredibly painful, until about a year ago. I was never a daddy's little girl, never treated like a princess, never really looked upon with adoration and delight, which is something every single little girl LONGS for. Every little girl longs to be treasured and cherished by her father. I never had the assurance that if someone were to break my heart, let alone hurt my feelings, then my dad would absolutely kill them. I don't remember holding my dad's hand crossing the street. I don't remember being wrapped up in his embrace for big bear hugs or being kissed on the forehead. For that matter, I don't even remember calling him "daddy." These are but a few things that I missed out on and it's NOW that I'm realizing how much the lack of those little things hurt and hurt down to a deep, deep, deep part of my heart. I began to realize how much it hurt when I first caught myself staring at dads and their daughters, amazed at the love, amazed at the adoration, amazed at the delight, all the while my heart would cry on the inside because what I was seeing I didn't have. Within the past year, more so in the past semester, I began to learn what a special and unique relationship exists between a father and his daughter and how the quality of that relationship, or lack of, has detrimental effects on girls as they grow up to be women.. A father-daughter relationship has a level of delight and adoration that no other relationship has and it can been seen in the way a father beams as he talks about his daughter or in the way a daughter squeals in delight looking up at her father. There is no relationship on earth like a father-daughter relationship. However, no matter how much I learn about it and no matter how much I stare at it, I still don't have that relationship.

So, obviously, with my skewed experience of father-daughter relationships and how I view my dad, I have had an extremely hard time seeing God as my Father and the Father-daughter relationship that exists between Him and I. Most days it's extremely difficult to understand and experience the delight, adoration, love, and affection He has for me as my Father. It's hard for me to visualize how He desires to lift me up onto His knee and for me to talk to Him about my day, my worries, my joys, my fears. It's hard for me to know that He's looking at me, noticing me, treasuring me, cherishing me, with a look of utmost delight and adoration in His eyes because my dad never did. It's hard for me to feel protected because I never had a protective dad. It's hard for me to allow myself to be treated special because I was never treated like a princess. The list goes on. Point is, I've recognized the disconnect between me and God.

So back to last August. I started having a few friends pray about this wound and how it affects how I look at God. One friend prayed over and over again that He would show me who He is as my Daddy and that He's the best Daddy in the world. I almost wanted to run away when she would pray that. The title "Daddy" is entirely too intimate for me. "Dad" would have been ok, but "Daddy?" "Daddy" is the most intimate title for father that I can think of. It's only reserved for those really close father-daughter relationships. Definitely not mine. Even as I type it now, I slightly cringe on the inside, not nearly as much as I used to, but still slightly. The most intimate name I had for God at that point was "Papa," but not because I viewed Him as my Dad, it's the name I have for Him and that mostly stays between Him and I. Slowly but surely God started to break down the wall around that wound and around the instinct to cringe at the sound of "Daddy." With enough repetition and enough divine pursuit the fatherhood of God overwhelmed me. There was one Scripture in particular that really hit the core of my heart:

"Father to the fatherless, defender of widows---

this is God, whose dwelling is holy. 

God places the lonely in families;

He sets the prisoners free and gives them joy."

Psalm 68:5-6 (NLT)

Over and over again God has shown me and continues to show me how He is the best Dad in the world and that there is no one that can match His love, adoration, and delight. I've finally come to realize that my dad simply can't love me the way I long to be loved by a dad---only God can do that. He keeps surprising me by revealing aspects of his fatherhood through some other father-figures in my life and it's through that that He has brought some of the greatest healing. Like a father knows and loves his daughter, God knows the deepest parts of my heart and knows what brings the biggest smiles to my face and never fails to lavish those things on me. Of all the things that I've come to learn about His fatherhood, it's His delight that's truly astounded and captivated me. While I still struggle to understand it at times, it blows me away realizing that even my most feeble prayers and my weakest offerings of love overwhelm HIM and bring the greatest light of delight to his eyes. He is delighted and overwhelmed by the mere fact that I'm His daughter. My very existence excites Him. He protects me like a daddy does, He carries me like a daddy does, He notices me like a daddy does, He tells me I'm beautiful like a daddy does, He lets me sit in His lap like a daddy does, and He hugs me like a daddy does. It's in His very presence that allows to me to experience what I've missed out on growing up; it's the place where my innocence is restored and my youth is renewed. I was made to be a daddy's little girl to the greatest Dad in the universe. He's my Dad, He's my Daddy, He's my Abba, He's my Papa. While it's going to continue to be a learning process and a journey, I can rest in the fact that I'm a daughter of the Most High King.

homesick

I've never known what homesickness was because I grew up always wanting to stay away from and leave home. I was never one to cry when I left home, more like, I was the one sprinting to the car wanting to leave asap. Home wasn't really a home, so what was there to cry about or be homesick about?

That is, I didn't know what homesickness was until about 3 years ago. It was then that God blessed me with a home away from home, an adoptive home if you will, that showed me what home was supposed to truly be like. I learned how home was the place to run to and not the place to run from. I learned what family looked like. I learned what function and love looked like. I learned how home is a place of rest and not a place of stress. I learned that home is safe. And ALL of this was foreign to me. I remember sitting out on the back patio about to leave and I had tears streaming down my face because I didn't want to leave and I was going to every extreme to stall so I wouldn't have to. I felt stupid about crying and felt stupid that I was being so sentimental. That's when I was assured, "It's okay to be sad about leaving home, that's how it's supposed to be. This is what homesickness is." Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Since then, every time I leave that adopted home it's like God is making up for the 18 years of long lost homesickness. Not only do I cry but I'm terribly homesick for at least a week.

So over the past 3 years as I've continued to learn about homesickness, I've also learned more and more about Heaven as my home. It was this past January when God connected homesickness and my home in Heaven and the result was overwhelming and absolutely heart-wrenching. I remember driving back to Blacksburg after a weekend in SC and all of a sudden I started to absolutely bawl my eyes out. It started to hit me more and more how homesick for Heaven I was and how I long to see my Papa's face. I long to wrap my arms around His neck and bury my face in His chest. I long to sit in His lap and listen to His heart beat for me and to know that I never have to leave that for all of eternity. I long to hold His hand and walk with Him and talk with Him and listen to His voice forever. That is what I was made for and that is where I belong, at the feet of my Papa. I was created for a place that I have never been to or seen, yet, that is where my heart and soul ache to be. I've realized that my ache to be Home is beyond just wanting to escape the brokenness and pain of this world. My ache to be Home is even beyond the desire to be free from sin, to be in a place of rest and peace, to be in a place where there are no more tears and no more fears. I ache to be Home because I WANT TO SEE MY GOD! As long as I am here on this earth, my heart will always have a hole and ache that won't be satisfied until I am in the presence of my greatest Love. And boy, does it hurt.

There have been many days where I have longed for God to take me Home, for Him to take me from right where I am and bring me into His marvelous embrace. There have been many days where I would be perfectly content with dying in order to instantly appear at His feet and see all of His glory. Quite honestly, death sounds pretty darn good right now. While such a homesickness is a good thing, I'm reminded of God's purpose for me here on earth. As long as I am breathing on this earth, I still have work to do. I am here to shine His light, to reflect His image, to make His name known, to glorify all that He is, and to lead others to do the same. I am here to be His hands and feet and an instrument of His great and merciful love. I am here for those that do not yet know of His grace and mercy. As Paul says in Philippians 1:21-24-

"For me, living is Christ and dying is gain. Now if I live on in the flesh, this means

fruitful work for me; and I don't know which one I should choose. I am pressured

by both. I have the desire to depart and be with Christ---which is far better---

but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you."

I have to be careful of being selfish in my desire of leaving this earth. I am here because of Jesus. I am here because there are people who will die tomorrow and suffer eternal separation from my God and spend it in agony. There are people who have never heard of the hope that I live for. There are people, broken people, who are in darkness, have no light, have no life, have no peace, have no rest, and have no joy. My heart breaks for the brokenness of this world. I am here to bring Christ to the broken. 

In the meantime, it stinks to be homesick. But I praise God that I have a Home to be homesick about. My time will come when I will see Him face-to-face, He will wipe away the tears of joy from my eyes, and say: "Well done, little one, and welcome home."

brokenness

Earlier in the semester, I wrote a short piece about brokenness and the dialogue between God and I about it. So here it is!

Broken, wounded, and complicated have always been words that I associate with helplessness, uselessness, and just a negative connotation all around. It doesn’t feel like butterflies and rainbows when I’m titled with these words, more like a gut-wrenching pain that wants to deny it, but deep down knows how true those words are. Every once in a while the wounds and pain will grab hold and seem to wring out my heart making it known that my heart is littered with holes. Most of the time I do everything in my power to keep that brokenness buried and unexposed because if I don’t admit that it’s there, it will just go away and disappear right? Is there really a need to bring it out in the open and have the hurt smash you in the face like a cinderblock? Isn’t it better just to leave it alone, push it as far down as I can, and keep trucking on?

“But I care too much to not make you whole. I care too much to let you ignore it and have it linger with you.”

As much as I don’t want to process and surface wounds and brokenness, I find some kind of comfort in the fact that God does it for my good and that His purposes are based on His unimaginable care for me. As much as I don’t want Him to reach into my heart, yank out the wounds and pain, and lay them out on the table for me and the whole world to see, I know that His painful healing process is by far much better than if I were to ignore the rips in my heart and continue to keep it suppressed. His healing process is such a tender and careful process and He knows very well exactly how every hole in my heart got there and its condition ever since. He knows exactly what hole needs filling when and how. He even sees and cares about the holes I don’t even realize are there because I’ve suppressed them so much. Many times I don’t know I have certain wounds until He fills and heals them.

These wounds were the hidden things of my heart, the things that the outside world didn’t see and I hoped never would see because the world can’t know that I have struggles and aches. All I wanted to the world to see was composure on the outside, the reputation that I “have everything together.” This is partially why it’s such a terrifying thing to have my deepest wounds and scars exposed; however, it’s also extremely difficult to face it personally all over again. It’s as if I’m re-living what I’ve been trying to blot out for so long. I had once thought I had escaped it once and for all by burying and ignoring it. I had once thought I had control over all of it. I had once felt on top of the world because I felt like I had achieved something in burying it all, like I myself had defeated it. This sense of my own prideful achievement is always shot down the moment God reminds me of the gaping holes in my heart, when He reminds me that something isn’t right. Many times I have cried out:

Why, my God, why has the hidden hurt resurfaced? I was doing just fine before, why is my heart broken all over again?

 But oh so gently does my God answer:

“My own heart is broken beyond your understanding; it hurts me to see you hurt. You can’t do this on your own for only I know your heart’s true condition and needs. Let me heal what only I can heal. Let me fill what only I can fill. Now is the time for this to be taken care of.”

What a realization it is to see that there’s nothing I can do to truly heal myself. Only my God can be the true Jehovah-Rapha, The Lord Who Heals. Who am I to think that I know what’s best for my heart that is not my own? And I rest in the fact that I don’t have to put on a front for the rest of the world. I don’t have to have the appearance that I’m perfect and that life is skipping through daisies because, quite frankly, we’re not called to live a peaceful-sailing life. Jesus Himself said that there would be struggles and suffering, but to have courage. The saying goes: “Jesus doesn’t promise a smooth sailing, only a safe landing.” All I have to do is let God do His own healing in His own time. I don’t have to live under the pressure of hiding brokenness and when the temptation arises to believe that I am useless as a broken being, God whispers to my soul:

“I use broken things. I don’t use perfect things. It’s in broken things that My power is seen. ”

What a great God I have that would use the world’s broken, hurting, and wounded to shine His light to a broken, wounded, and hurting world, that He would use the world’s rejected to build His kingdom.

exhale

Ah! Sorry it's been so long and that I've been the worst blogger in the world. When it comes to writing things, such as blog posts, I'm so OCD about my words and thoughts having to be written out exactly perfect. I'm so word-oriented that I think of what I want to say and then repeatedly go over the millions of ways I could say it. I always want my words and thoughts to be organized and make some sort of sense, and when I can't gather the focus to actually put thoughts together, that's when I give up on writing about them all together. But I've realized that maybe I need to let go of that OCDness and just let words flow on their own, and this post is my attempt at doing so. Bear with me.

A little over a week ago I finished semester number 6 out of 7 of my college career. The instant that I turned in my 745am final, I made a 2 1/2 hour beeline down to South Carolina, which is like another home and my go-to place if I'm in DESPERATE need of some solid time with God and/or sanity. The minute I stepped across the threshold of this refuge, I exhaled the breath that I didn't realize I had been holding all semester. The second that the semester had started, I had taken one huge breath, lowered my head, and hit the ground running...I had known it was going to be the busiest and most difficult semester of my college career. Now, as I stand on the other side of that semester, I look and reflect back on what the semester entailed. Even though I am SO GLAD that the semester is done (because it was in fact the hardest and busiest semester and even more than I thought it was going to be), I can't help but praise God over and over again because of how so very faithful He was and the many things He helped me to learn. Sure it was tough and trying, but oh how God refined me during that time. The next couple posts will be about the biggest lessons I learned throughout the semester and I promise there won't be a month gap in between posts :)