I’ve actually had this blog on my heart for a few weeks now.  I’ve hesitated writing it because of how personal it is.  I know most of my stuff is pretty personal, but when it involves other people, I tend to not name them and try to be a little vaguer.  I do this to be more respectful and not hurt feelings.  However, I really feel like God wants me to write this one, so here it goes.

I first need to preface it by saying that I love my dad.  He isn’t perfect and isn’t always what I need or want in a dad, but through the years I’ve learned to love him for who he is instead of being mad at him for who he isn’t.  I love the times we spend together fishing, shooting pool, listening to music, and playing cards.  I love the memories I have of him singing to me when I was little… “Amanda, you light up my life.”  I hated it then, but I love looking back at those moments.

It’s also not my intention to spill his tea, so I’ll just say this… My dad had a rough upbringing.  I don’t know everything, but I know enough to know that he didn’t repeat everything he endured and for that, I am so grateful.

However, one of the first things I learned as a Christian was that I had no idea what real love was.  I knew the love I felt as an aunt toward my nieces and nephews.  I knew the love I felt toward my family and friends, but I had no idea what it felt like to receive real love.  And if I’m being honest, I still struggle with it from time-to-time.

Another thing I learned as a Christian is that we often reflect the image we have of our earthly father onto our Heavenly Father.  That means that if I feel unloved, unwanted, or unseen by my dad, then it’s very likely I feel unloved, unwanted, and unseen by God.  But that couldn’t be further from the truth.  I mean, God wouldn’t send His only Son to die for our sins just so we could have the chance to spend eternity with Him if he didn’t love us.

My brain knows that.  My heart… is stubborn.

I guess for the longest time, I’ve felt like I don’t have an example in my life of my Heavenly Father’s love.  But then God reminded me that I used to.

One morning, I’m having my coffee and talking to Jesus when I decided to spend some time in worship.  So I pulled my YouTube playlist and went to a fairly new song that I felt like listening to.  When I clicked on it in my playlist, I noticed a comment referencing a line that reads, “Like storytelling with my grandpa.” I didn’t remember ever hearing that line in the song before so I listened to the song waiting for that line to come up.

The line came and suddenly a scene flashed in my mind. Not a movie scene, but a memory. I was a junior in high school and my grandma had recently fallen off a step ladder, breaking her knee. My mom had asked if I’d be willing to move in with them and help out until my grandma was back on her feet. Of course, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

During this time, my grandparents would let me use their car to get to school or sports events. I’d also run their errands, whether it be food or medicine. We were really helping each other. Then one day, I took my eyes off of the road and side-swiped a metal bridge railing. The internal freak out began immediately. I drove a friend home and panicked the whole way back to my grandparents ‘ house. I was so scared of my grandparents being mad at me, but there was no way I could hide it.

When I got there, I walked into the house and broke down. I cried like a little baby. My grandma felt so bad for me. She hugged me and sha-sha’d me, but she never once gave me any assurance that my grandpa wouldn’t be livid. (Looking back, I don’t think I ever saw him even get a little mad so I don’t know why I thought he’d get so angry.)

My grandpa was in constant pain, so he spent most of his time in bed. My grandma went and told him what happened, but then he called for me to go see him. I went to his bedroom and stood by the bed. Crying. Snotting. He asked me what happened, and I told him. He asked how bad of shape the car was in, and I told him. It was still functioning fine, just with less cosmetic appeal. And I just kept crying. He asked me why I was crying, so I told him I was scared that he would be mad at me. And I’ll never forget what he did next.

He laughed. It wasn’t a big belly laugh, but he laughed. And I just looked at him, still crying and snotty, confused. His response is not something I remember verbatim, but I do remember the gist. “Oh sweetheart, it’s ok. Pawpaw’s not mad at you. I love you so much! Don’t you worry about that car. It’s just a car.”

And I felt like God said at that moment, “That’s me. I love you so much! Your grandpa wasn’t perfect, but the love you felt from him is the love I want you to feel from me.”

Commence the sobbing. Then, in the middle of said sobbing, another memory flashed across my mind. This one post-dated the first, but it was a very clear picture of how I was seeing God.

I was a senior in high school. We had a hurricane threatening to come our way. Hurricane Lily, I think. Most of the ladies in my family decided we should leave to be safe. So, we loaded up and headed north to Shreveport. It ended up not being necessary, but whatever. Road trip!

Anyway, on our way back home, my sister asked if I would come spend the night and babysit so she and her husband could go out with some friends. I always jumped on any opportunity to babysit, because I was a new aunt and loved every second of it.

Well, one night turned into two. Two nights turned into three. Three nights turn into a week. One week turned into two. All the while, my sister and her husband were getting used to having me around. I was their live-in babysitter, helping with chores and everything. And no one was calling to check on me. No one was wondering when I was coming home. Noticing that, my sister said I could stay as long as I wanted.

Another week or two went by and I was running out of clothes. Eventually, I went home to grab what I needed, and my dad was the only one home. I walked in, told him hi, went grab what I needed, and headed for the door. That’s when my dad said (again, not verbatim), “So you’re just gonna come get your stuff and move out without saying a word?” I turned around, shrugged my shoulders, and said, “Well, I’ve been gone all this time and no one called to check on me or see when I’m coming home, so I didn’t think anyone would care.” He shook his head and turned back to watch whatever was on tv. Then I walked out. And he let me.

Now, I have been a Christian for almost a decade. I’ve processed a lot of pain from my past and have received plenty of healing. But God was reminding me of this memory to show me that’s how I’ve been looking at him. I still see Him through the lens of my dad in that moment. Like he doesn’t care about me.

Again, I love my daddy and I know that he loves me. But I also know that he doesn’t always know how to show it. And it’s because of that that I don’t always see when God is showing it because I’m so used to not seeing it from my dad. Or when I do see it, I see disappointment instead because it doesn’t look the way I expect it to. So, now, it’s almost like I’ve stopped looking for it.

Hmm. That’s new. It’s almost like I’ve stopped looking for it. When I started to write this blog, I thought it was to show people that, sometimes, when you think you’ve never had an example of our Heavenly Father’s love in your life, it could be that you had one, you just didn’t see it for what it was. But now, I’m thinking it’s more than that. I feel like now, I was supposed to write this blog to remind people, and evidently myself, that the evidence of our Father’s love is always present. We just have to choose to look for it. And we can’t stop looking.

Because the minute we stop looking is the minute we miss out on seeing it.

For those interested, this is the song…