A Father to the Fatherless

Psalm 68:5, “A father to the fatherless...”

I remember the first time I read that verse to Haden. “Do you believe God will be your father now that your daddy is in heaven?” He nodded his head with tears and doubt in his eyes, but he held on to hope.

I wondered if those beautiful brown eyes with flecks of bronze would ever again be full of joy. I wondered how my 14 year old would adjust and learn to live without his daddy. I wondered if I was capable of raising him on my own. And now that boy with so much doubt and despair in his eyes is a young man in Kenya serving children with joy and confidence. I scan the photos he has sent me and stand in complete awe. God is so good! He has transformed my child into a servant, and I am blown away by the joy not just in his eyes, but in the eyes of the children he has been pouring into. How did I ever believe I was raising Haden on my own? Every step of the way, God has been leading and guiding. He has made the path straight and although I have failed several times along the way, God never has.

“A father to the fatherless…” Never has there been a truer statement.

Growing Up Without Dad

Why does it still hurt so badly? The tears that stream down my face seem to be excessive. Shouldn’t the emotional pool that holds my grief be empty by now? Surely I have wept enough. But watching Haden break down in blubbering sobs is more than this mother can bear. He turned 17 yesterday—a young man. When Woody died he was a child of 14, and today it hit him that he is growing up without his dad. “I just want a dad!” he cried into my shoulder as I held his trembling body. “I’m growing up and I just want him here to see me!” There was nothing to say. No words to soothe away the pain. I just held him and tried to keep my tears at bay. He needed me to be strong for the two of us, although I felt as if I were being crushed beneath the weight of his sorrow.

It is wrong. There is nothing right about a boy growing up without his father no matter what the circumstances may be. Yet there are so many who are be it through death, divorce, or desertion. And yes, God is our Heavenly Father; however, that does not take the place of a dad’s hug or a seat in the bleachers. It is difficult to see God’s hand in a situation that seems hopeless. Nevertheless, we keep pushing forward with faith knowing that someday eternity awaits and finally the tears will run dry and there will be no more pain or sorrow. For now though, we struggle through unmentionable grief and the harsh reality that sometimes a boy’s earthly father won’t be there to see him grow from a boy to a man. It is wrong, but it is reality.

Today I mourn Haden’s loss more than my own, and though I wish there were some words of wisdom to bring us both comfort, there aren’t. This is one of those times we plow through the pain and wait for God’s comfort to heal our brokenness. Until then, I will continue to wonder just how many tears remain in my emotional pool of grief.

There to Catch Me

Tomorrow it will be five years since we lost my dad. This is a blog post written over four years ago to honor him. It seemed fitting to post it again today.

“Kim Annette, you need to come down from there. You’re high enough.” I heard my father’s voice call up to me. I turned my head to search for him, and found him standing on the ground below, about twenty feet from the tree in which I was climbing, making my way steadily to the top.

“It’s okay, Dad. I won’t fall.” I shifted my focus back to the tree. There was another branch, slightly smaller than the one that I now grasped, just about two feet higher and to the left. If I stood up straight and reached with my left hand, I knew I could reach it. Then I would be able to pull myself up until I was standing on the limb that I now held onto. I took a deep breath and stretched up until the fingers of my left hand curled tightly around the branch. Got it! Now, for the right; but just as I grabbed hold with both hands, snap! Suddenly I found myself hanging upside down.

Somehow my feet had swung around until I was hanging from my toes. The branch was on the top part of my foot and my toes curled up, keeping me from falling.

“Kim Annette!”

“I’m okay, Dad!” I started to reach up in order to grab the limb I was hanging from. As my hands reached it, I dropped my legs below me, and then, crack! This time I fell to the ground in a heap. I lay on the ground for a moment, trying to catch my breath. My dad slowly walked over until he was standing over me. 

“Well?”

“I’m okay,” I responded weakly.

“Then stand up and come inside now.” I rose slowly until I stood beside him. “You’re lucky.”

“Yeah, I know.” I reached over and curled my fingers around his index finger. I knew he wasn’t happy with me. I hadn’t listened to him and as a result, I had fallen hard to the ground. He didn’t say a word but kept walking. He knew words were not necessary.

I now look back upon that memory and as a parent I appreciate the anxiety he must have felt as he watched his 40 pound ten year old in the canopy of an old oak tree, farther above the ground than he would have liked to have seen. But at the same time, he respected the independent, fearless spirit that took me to the top of that tree. And although I had fallen hard, it didn’t stop me from climbing more trees, and eventually climbing through mountains. Yes, I had fallen, but his complete lack of anxiety gave me confidence to continue striving. There was no fear. Even through the fall, I felt serene because my daddy stood close by ready to come to my assistance if need be.

Isn’t that what a father’s love should look like? Was my dad perfect? No, but no one is. I forgave him for his imperfections years ago, because he forgave me for mine. Now, however, I feel a little more fearful about the stumbles I may take in life, because my dad isn’t standing nearby to pick up the pieces. I must remember, however, that my heavenly Father has always been with me, and He will knit me together with unconditional love every time I fall.

Weary

I am weary. When will the storm clouds clear? When will the ache in my heart dull? When will the tears stop flowing?

Yesterday while driving through the neighborhood, a young couple sat in their driveway supervising their three young children. It brought back a flood of memories—the years we spent raising our three young children and how we cherished our time together, playing, laughing, loving. “Why can’t we go back?” I sobbed. I wanted to turn back the hands of time and relive those years with Woody by my side. I wanted another chance to live and laugh with the love of my life.

Tears. They have a will of their own. They sting and stab at my eyes. I cannot control them. Grief is an unpredictable monster devouring everyone and everything within its stead.  It consumes and confounds. And I find myself floundering within its menacing grip. Why can’t I escape? Why does it persist for so long?

I know God is with me, but even David—a man after God’s own heart—occasionally felt abandoned and alone. I am well aware of that emotion. I am living that reality. It is difficult, at best, to recognize God’s loving hand in the midst of such deep sorrow. Yet, I continue on in faith knowing that eventually I will once again distinguish God’s perfect presence in my life.

Losing a Father and the Jenner Debate

My children lost their “daddy” on Mother’s Day. For three and a half weeks I have watched them mourn in various ways. I have seen the grief overwhelm and numb. I have watched carefully from the sidelines trying to determine when to step in and help them process their loss in a healthy, constructive manner. Losing a parent is difficult. It redefines your reality. It brings up questions of identity. A void has been left in my children’s life that may never be filled. Hunter will not be able to call Woody for advice on how to propose to his girlfriend and then how to be a responsible, loving husband. Haley will not be able to wait in anticipation while her daddy interviews a prospective husband and then years later, walks her down the aisle to entrust her life to another man. And Haden will not be taught to drive and shave and countless other things by his loving father. Yes, I lost a husband, friend, lover, constant companion; but my children lost their hero.

While walking through the dark I have only been slightly aware of my surroundings. I have ignored the news and the events happening around the world. I have been too concerned about my own sphere of influence. My focus has been on my children and ensuring that this trauma does not define or destroy them. Pulling my head from the sand yesterday, I was made aware of the fact that Bruce Jenner is now Caitlyn Jenner; and apparently everyone has an opinion on the matter. Some people are downright shameful in their behavior. Being someone who does not have any association whatsoever to Caitlyn, I have no opinion. I am too troubled by my own life and safeguarding my recently downsized family that I haven’t the energy or time to bother myself with the personal struggles of a complete stranger. I am wondering what is being neglected in the lives of others that they have so much time to devote to saturating social media with sentiments which will be instantly criticized by someone else who has even more time on his or her hands. Why, people, are you squandering precious moments on something that will most likely never affect you when I am sure there are people living with you who need your opinions more than your countless followers?

If you are going to concern yourselves in the whole Bruce/Caitlyn debate, then please consider the people who matter most in this event—six children who just recently in a very public way lost their father. Kylie, Kendall, Brody, Casey, Burt, and Brandon Jenner just lost a father who, regardless of how well he did the job, was their hero. This has to be a confusing time for them whether they publicly admit it or not. Can we demonstrate a little compassion for these young people whose father, in a sense, has died? When I consider my own children and what they have just endured with their father’s death, the one thing that has been a tremendous help is hearing the stories from countless others as to the quality of the character of the man whom they knew as “dad.” Such positive feedback has aided them as they process their loss. I cannot imagine what it would be like for them if every day they had to read degrading comments questioning their father’s integrity. The Jenner children can no longer identify Caitlyn as father. Yes, one may argue that technically he is still part of their lives. But Bruce himself no longer exists. He was living a lie. How is that reality any better than a physical death?

As someone who has just had her life reprioritized by a very tragic incident, I ask you to focus on what really matters. Does a stranger’s sexual identity have anything at all to do with you directly? How will it affect your spouse and children? Is the whole fiasco distracting you from remembering who or what is truly worth your time? What if your spouse slid down a mountain as you stood helplessly to the side and left you a widow and your children without a parent? Would Jenner’s gender really matter? Please, for the sake of all that is truly important in your life, voice your opinions where they will be relevant—with your family, not your Facebook friends.