Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

To the Mom Shaming Your Kid on Facebook

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I fell asleep last night with peace in my heart and a bit of pride for the fact that my son was smiling as he kissed me goodnight, even though he had been crying when we first laid down to say our bedtime prayers. I mean, I knew the Holy Spirit had a lot to do with his change in demeanor, especially following our heartfelt intercession, but yeah, a lot of me felt good for myself too. I felt like a good mom. Which was awesome, since I feel like I fail at it on the daily!

A large majority of the commentary you’ll see about parenting teens and preteens champions tough love. It states that kids today need to toughen up, that they need more discipline, and that they need to face the harsh realities of this world so they can be high-functioning, productive adults. I get it. I am a Gen-X’er, after all. A latch key kid. The generation that had zero hand-holding while we transversed the neighborhood or woods without supervision. I’m tough! I also thank God I’m alive when I think back at the stupid stuff I did that almost got me killed, that my parents were clueless about. But alas, this isn’t a blog about the pros and/or cons of helicopter parenting. It’s about being a good parent. So what is that exactly?

Yes, it’s disciple. It’s teaching your children to respect authority, to listen, and to learn from their mistakes. To work hard earn their reward. It’s provision and meeting their physical needs. Yet, it’s so much more. If I had to sum it up with one word it would be pretty easy. I’d base it upon the best role model father I know. God, My Father. So, who is God?

God is so many attributes rolled into one, but the one that stands out to me as His daughter is love. And that’s what I thought of last night after holding my twelve year old.

The Lord said, “it matters to you because it matters to him. That’s how I love you.”

My son had been working for days on a digital art project, and as he neared completion his program screamed for more storage capacity. In a rush to delete the unwanted stuff and make room, he accidentally deleted his project. He had not saved it. It was gone forever. Even The Cloud couldn’t help. He tried to put on a brave face, but I could tell he was disappointed to have lost all that time and effort because of a mistake.

I was at a crossroads. I could say, “I bet you learned your lesson about hitting save!”

I could state what was obvious to me. “It’s just a drawing. Get over it! Do another!”

Or, I could walk in the fruits of the Spirit, the model my Father in Heaven gave through His Son. Patience, kindness, gentleness, love. I could allow him to cry, to let it out. I could hold him, listen, offer advice, and love him through the disappointment that was a big deal to him at the time.

Or, I could post a picture of him crying and upload it to Facebook, I talking about how this generation needs to grow a backbone, learn responsibility, and work hard for the things they want!

Maybe I’m being a little over the top with my particular scenario, but sadly I see pretty similar stuff a bit too often for my taste. I see it over and over, these posts where a mom shames their child publicly on social media, toting the virtues of making your kid learn the hard way. I just don’t believe that’s the way.

A majority of the time it is parents who claim Christianity as a basis of their life that are the promoters of tough love, but I don’t see that Christ walked that way. God certainly isn’t up there punishing us for our missteps. He allows us to fall to the consequences of our own stupid actions, but He never puts us to shame. That’s the other guy. He’s the one who forgives us, the Dad who picks us up, kisses the booboo, and holds us tight, counting our tears. He’s the one who took all our mistakes on His own back, paying for them in blood, and certainly didn’t put ‘em up on a sign in the public square to get likes and shares from the angels.

When your child messes up, you can lovingly guide them to the truth, the consequences of their actions, and the way back to the goal at hand, or you can let them learn their lesson on their own. Sadly, years down the road, the lesson they may have learned is a skewed version of what a father/mother should be. They’ll carry that version into many aspects of their life, such as how they see the Father Heart of God, how they parent themselves, and how they deal with shame and self-doubt when they fail as an adult.

I want my children to learn grace! I want them to know loving kindness, compassion, mercy, and confidence that they can move forward in imperfection, growing as they go. They can learn from mistakes (because they will, without an “I told you so”), but not feel like those mistakes define them. But most of all, I want to model the love I see in Him. And I just don’t think social media shaming is it.

Did You Know This About Your Husband?!

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I was mopping the bedroom floor with our brand new mop. Man, it was so dusty in there! I’ll start by saying, I was the first one to use this mop. I bought it two weeks ago, and when I pulled it out this morning my husband exclaimed with surprise, “I forgot all about you getting that!”

That kinda sets the theme for this story, y’all.

Back to the bedroom, it was so dusty because my husband rarely did the floors in there. Important to mention, at this point, is the fact my husband sweeps the living room and kitchen floors every single day. We have three children under eleven in the home, all day every day. He homeschools them. They eat about a billion meals a day at the bar, dropping a tsunami of enough crumbs to feed the state of Rhode Island. He does plenty of housekeeping. Remembering this as I mopped our dusty bedroom tile helped me mop with a happy pace rather than the rage against the housework moms can get while they pick up after other people. I mean, seriously, no one executed tasks like a woman!

As I went about my mopping my mind zigzagged through an off-day to-do list as it usually does. You know what I’m talking about, ladies. You have this one day, and you have a list of things you want to complete. The only question is, what gets crossed off and what gets moved to the next day.

Toilet paper, my brain shouted, like a dog who sees a squirrel. We needed it. I’d have to go get it. Why hadn’t my husband offered to go get it?! He knew I worked tomorrow. He knew I hated running errands on my last day off!

Like I had shot a mental arrow, he appeared through the doorway. “Babe, stop. You gotta work tomorrow. You need to chill.”

“That reminds me,” I replied, “I was wondering if you could go get some toilet paper from the store for us? I have been to the store the past two days, and my goal is to not leave the house today.”

“You betcha,” he replied happily. “I forgot we needed some.”

As I finished the last section of tile, already looking forward to reading a book in my favorite corner, I laughed to myself about men and women. In case you haven’t figured it out, we are way different. The problem came when we, as women, assume our men should be like us.

I remember it took me some time being married to learn this truth. Men do not think like women. Not at all. I know there are exceptions to all rules, so to speak, but for the most part, women are better at task completion and multitasking. Sorry, fellas, who may have gotten this far, if you’re offended, but this is how we ladies see it. Lol. We remember the things. We lay in bed at night thinking about the things. Meanwhile, hubby is snoring softly. Know what I’m saying? Point is, women remember things like needing toilet paper, sweeping dust bunnies out of the corner, or calling the cable company about last month’s bill.

I’m not sure why our brain, for the most part, works so differently from our male counterparts, but knowing my Heavenly Father like I do, I know it’s with good reason. I think of my tendency to sweat the small stuff, and how my husband’s chill and nonchalant manner, while sometimes exasperating to me, also helps to keep me anchored towards a kingdom mindset. When my anxious thoughts of things of this world want to run rampant, my spouse is the steady buoy of my mental storm. He’s the steady truth to my sometimes cray-cray, so if he forgets to try out the new mop, he’s forgiven.

One key I’ve found to a happy marriage is not expecting my husband to be like me or to be who I think he should be. He is who God made him to be. In times past, when those differences have been bothersome, I either pray to the One who can change a man’s heart better than me, or I have responded to my husband with love, patience, and understanding. In turn, he responds to me in love and service. Plus, I try and remind myself what’s really important in the long term. Is it a healthy relationship with the man I love or a ball of dirty socks in the floor? Is it always being right, or being humble and happy?

Every day in a relationship we are faced with how we will respond to the action (or lack thereof) by our partner. Yes, there are big issues that warrant discussion! But there are hundreds of tiny, insignificant matters that must be recognized as such so they don’t build up and become big issues. Often when faced with a small nuisance, I can combat that by recognizing my own faults and remembering the many, beautiful sacrifices my partner makes in our relationship.

He’s not like me. He doesn’t think like me. But that’s ok. He loves me. He loves me more than I’ve ever been loved. He takes such good care of me! He protects me, and he would lay down his life for me. If I ask, he does it. He waits on me hand and foot. Y’all, I’m blessed with what I consider to be the best husband and father to my children in the world. If I need to remind him we’re out of toilet paper, so be it. Plus, would I really want to be married to the male version of me?!

Have You Accepted It?

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Grace. That’s what we’re going to talk about today. We’ve all heard of it, and if you’re a believer in Jesus, then you have accepted His grace over your life. Or rather, we should.

I wonder sometimes how much we have truly accepted His grace, His forgiveness, that covering that rescues us from death, while simultaneously giving us new life. That’s the kicker, you know. New life! His Kingdom, His will. On earth as it is in Heaven.

As I continue on my journey on earth, drawing closer to Christ, my “work in progress” as I call it, I continue to pick up knowledge and maturity for my walk. I’m discovering how I can live a new life, with a kingdom view, where I try and carry the fruits of His Spirit as I abide in Him.

Wow, that sounds like a lot. So, let’s try and make it simple. Dumb it down, if you will. I’ve always been a fan of the For Dummies books. Maybe we could call this Grace for Dummies, and I mean that in the most loving way possible. I’ll admit I’m the biggest Dummy when it comes to matters of infinite importance, but hopefully by humbling myself to the fact that I don’t know it all, I can grow a bit smarter, if you will, every day.

I started my journey by reading the Bible every day, and in following the teachings of Jesus, and the wisdom of New Testament authors, along with the Holy Spirit’s guidance, I have started to see some things more clearly. Like, grace, for example.

Grace is given freely. It’s a gift to the undeserving (us), and it’s not because of anything we’ve done, so no one can boast about earning it (Ephesians 2: 8-9).

How can you tell you’ve accepted a gift? Like, truly accepted it? I don’t mean like when a coworker gives you something at a work party you’ll never use, but you thank them kindly, and later put it in a box in your closet to forget about. I’m talking about the kind of gift that changes your life.

Y’all, we recently bought large, long shelves for our garage, and they are awesome. They allowed me to organize all the Christmas decor I bought, that I really didn’t need, and I was able to look at my newly neat garage without my left eye twitching. I could easily say those shelves are life-changing. At least in the world of my little garage. So, when I talk about grace, and how it changes you, I’m referring to what the recognition of grace in your life does to transform how you see others.

Accepting the gift of grace should change you.

It changes how you see yourself (hopefully, forgiven and worthy), how you see others (also worthy of the Father’s love), and how you see the world (as a temporal venue, with eternal souls walking around in need).

Think on that for a bit.

When someone hurts you, do you harbor a grudge? Hey, I get it! When someone hurts me or makes me mad, I stew about it for a while. But what I try to do is extend grace. It’s a daily thing, but when I find myself reliving my anger towards someone (and thereby giving it power to negatively affect me), I am quick to remember His great grace. I surrender my anger and offense to Jesus, and I remember the mistakes and sins He has died for on my behalf; then I extend grace.

Freely given. And now may we freely receive.

I look around at the world and the reactions of the humans around me. I wonder, do some react in rage and vitriol because they haven’t truly accepted grace for themselves? You can’t give what you don’t have, right?

How many of us say we believe in forgiveness of our sins, yet on a deeper level see ourselves unworthy of entering His presence with peace and joy? Maybe we think we’re not holy enough, that our prayers can’t go high enough, or we’re withheld the blessing of God because of our actions. In that case, we’re living by the law, and the fact we can never adhere to it fully. We will never achieve that level of righteousness on our own.

Through Jesus, we can, though. We can be perfect because He is perfect. That’s a hard concept to grasp. It’s not that we’re claiming perfection on our own merit, but rather through walking and abiding in His perfect presence and great grace. We become one with Him. Imagine if you held two fingers together and they fused into one piece of flesh. He in us, us in Him, together with the Father in Heaven. Yes, I know, this is cosmic stuff, but it’s also Biblical. Through Him and in Him we have our being, our new life, and the fruits of our life should reflect that.

We forgive because we are forgiven.

We are supposed to be the salt of the earth, but we have lost our saltiness when we give off a sour taste by our actions of anger, malice, and judgement. When we walk in peace, love, gentleness, and meekness, we are exercising grace.

We have one enemy, the evil one, and towards one another (regardless of political leaning, skin color, nationality, or status) we should be walking as one who has accepted grace. We have been freely given His grace, and now we should model that grace to others, thereby showing the light of His love.

So, today’s homework is this. Ask yourself, “am I forgiven?” Believe that you are. Think of the worst thing you’ve ever done. Accept that great grace covers that. Then, approach every person and situation with that in the back of your mind. Humble yourself. Remember that pointing out the shortcomings of someone else doesn’t make your own sin disappear. Only His bloody grace does that. And only His grace can do it for others! But the application of that grace begins with us. We are coworkers with Christ, given authority here on earth to lead the lost to the shepherd. We will never lead them by condemnation, but we will point them to forgiveness by grace through our love. But without it, we are just a clanging symbol.

The Thing About That Last Baby

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“It’s like someone flips a switch,” my husband mused. “One day they’re little and cute, everything they do adorable. Then you wake up and they’re grown.”

We sat together on the front porch, sipping on our coffee in the shade, as a cool breeze blew making the morning pleasant despite the beating sun. I nodded my agreement in the quietness of our conversation. Our daughters all still slept, and in the stillness of early day, before their raucous laughter filled every crack, my husband and I talked freely about every topic from Old Testament prophets, to why Publix bakery could do no wrong in our book of sweet treats. I pondered his most recent observation, and I won’t lie; it caused my heart to whimper.

My five year old daughter was the most spirited, unique, and joyful child I had ever encountered. I’m sure I am partial, but each word from her mouth either made my eyebrow raise, jaw drop, or body convulse in laughter. A trip alone to the store with her brought the kind of content to inspire a sitcom. She currently hung in the balance between innocence and childhood discovery. She teetered in that very special place of believing in fairies, but more importantly, believing her daddy hung the moon. Her cheeks still held cherub-like chubbiness, her fingers without the lines of grown hands. Her head was larger in proportion to her body, her appearance the last of toddling giggles before Buddha bellies disappear and real childhood takes shape. She was still the pint size that made piggybacks possible and rocking in your lap a thing. Her frame was the perfect makeup for early morning cuddles, or late night hideouts under the covers. For now, at least.

Like a switch, my husband had said, and no thing could be more true. Having watched my other daughters spring up as the years rolled by had given me an educated insight, but had done little to block the blow of it happening again. Perhaps it was different this time because she was the last. The last baby.

Preschoolers, you see, have their own unique language as they’re transversing the land of phonics and annunciation. L’s are W’s, and pronouns are very little understood. Grammar unheard of, plural possessives erroneously uttered, but it’s cute. Eventually you have to correct them, but for the most part you smile, locking away in the memory banks of life that particularly adorable way they say words like pasketti (spaghetti) or aminal (animal). My own mom always reminisced over my requests for pale nolish on my toes. Nobody tells you, though, that one day your kid suddenly describes a banana as yellow instead of lellow.

One day they eat the crusts off their sandwich or they go to bed without kissing you goodnight. One day they smell like baby powder, but the next thing you know they smell like B.O. One day you’re nourishing them from your breast, but before you even have time to mentally prepare, you’re shopping for your daughter a bra. It’s crazy how that happens.

My husband’s words on the front porch interrupted my thoughts, “I soak up every bit of her being little as I can.”

I nodded some more. I think I even whispered, “yes” in agreement.

It seems, life was like a river. Sometimes the water level was low, but other times it threatened to overflow the banks. Sometimes you could sit lazily on the side, watching the ripples of the calm current, reveling in the way the sun reflected off the water. But most of the time, I reckon, it seemed like the river just flowed. Certainly faster than I preferred. You had to hang on to the raft to not fear the rapids, to enjoy the ride no matter how wild it sometimes seemed. You had to take the time to picnic on the outer banks, enjoying the company of those God put in your boat. I mean, before you knew it, they were too big to fit inside. And yes, I’m totally thinking about my king-sized bed being too small as of late.

That afternoon, after our morning quiet, coffee and conversations, I took my youngest to the store with me. I buckled her seatbelt when she had trouble doing it on her own. I sat in my seat patiently, waiting for her to put her shoes back on in the grocery store parking lot, even though I had told her not to take them off. I pushed a stray, wirey curl back behind her ear, and I held her tiny, chubby hand as we slowly plodded through the crosswalk. The thing was, the switch hadn’t been flipped yet. So, I lived each moment not in dread of the passage of time, but in enjoyment of the journey that took me there.

Dads, Take Time With Your Daughters

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Dads, take time with your daughters. Take the time to play, the time to laugh, the time to give chase as they scream excitedly with glee.

Let go of adult responsibility, if only for a moment, and pick her up to spin her around. One day she’ll be too heavy.

Forget about the pending project. Start a new project of her choosing. One day she won’t ask for your help.

Dads, take time with your daughters. Take time to notice she brushed her hair. She took extra time with each stroke of the brush, smoothing her long, blond hair, just hoping you would notice how it glinted in the light. One day she may not care if you notice.

Take the time to compliment her dress, her new shoes, the way she partnered her pink, flowery shorts with that purple, mermaid top. She’ll use your example for measuring a future admirer. One day your opinion won’t be the one she seeks the most. Take advantage of it now.

Dads, take time with your daughters. Slow down and notice her smile. If it’s there, or if it’s not. Bring it out more often. Teach her the world takes notice at her laugh, it seems brighter and more hopeful when she smiles. Capture those smiles in your pocket. You’ll want to bring them out when the pitter patter of her feet no longer fills your home.

Take the day off. Take the week off. Take the time to invest in what really matters. It’s not a trip around the world she wants. It’s just you.

Put down your phone, turn off your video game, save the ballgame to watch later. Take the time to listen, really listen. What makes her giggle uncontrollably? What brings stars to her eyes? What does she want to be when she grows up? Tell her she can be anything she dreams to be!

Dads, take time with your daughters. Show them that time with them is precious. Set a standard their future husband will need to follow. Don’t leave an example to chance, or allow the example to be absence.

Let them know work is second, that a career is just that, but family is everything. Let them know they can achieve anything, but let them know they don’t have to do great things for you to know they’re great. Tell them they are priceless while they still have ears to hear your compliments. Let your loving, tender praise be the norm rather than the exception.

Dads, take time with your daughters. Take time to lead them, guide them, correct them, discipline them, teach them. Love corrects wrongdoing, but loves despite it. Let them know your love isn’t based on good performance, but because of your love you model such a thing. Don’t leave discipline to the teacher, the pastor, the coach, or just to mom. Because even in discipline they will see love, and then they will see grace. Give them the example of grace.

Dads, take the time to comprehend the enormous impact you have in your child’s life. Understand you are their rock, their strength, their protection, and their first glimpse of what true love really means. You are the goodness they will see in the world, or you are the emptiness they will carry. You are the initial builder of confidence and the example of how to understand true beauty in the long term. You fill a place in their heart than no one else can, and if you don’t insert yourself into their life from the beginning, they will hold that empty spot for the rest of their life, never knowing why they feel like they do.

Take the time, dad, to see the task before you. It’s not just breadwinner or clog fixer. Your role is actually one of utmost importance. The thing is, you can kinda do it, like halfway work at it, and she will be ok. She’ll still grow in beauty and knowledge, but with your presence and attention she will actually flourish. Take the time, dads, to watch your daughters bloom, and realize that you had a hand in the lovely women they will become as you nourish them with your attention.

Take the time, dad, before the time is gone.

When One Parent Has Already Passed Away

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Last night I sat on the couch in silence after putting children to bed, and as the stillness enveloped me I found my mind able to ponder the day. Though I tried to keep it occupied with mindless folly via Facebook I couldn’t help but notice the mood that permeated my thoughts, and as I sat in the dim living room with my husband I felt the fear creeping into my heart. I was worried about my daddy. 


All day I had pushed away any real concern. I had made it move over to make way for logical thought. I brushed over my emotions with my own nursey questions, and I had approached the entire happening of my father’s hospitalization with a medical mindset. It was a light stroke, or something like that since we didn’t really know, nothing to get up in arms about, but I guess after a full day of smiling strongly I was feeling a bit weak. 

This morning when I woke the reality of my dad laying in a hospital bed surrounded me, and I realized that even though my nurse brain knew he was stable, my daughter mind was worried about him. I couldn’t lose him. 

It didn’t matter that I knew he wasn’t knocking at death’s door. What seemed to matter was that I knew death came like a thief in the night, and ever since it had stole my mother before I was ready to say goodbye, things had changed. My perception had changed after we buried my mom, and I couldn’t pretend that the people I loved would always be with me. I knew that accidents happened, that sickness befell the strongest of individuals, and that once someone was gone you no longer had the luxury of picking up the phone to say hello. No matter how much you wanted to. 

My dad was going to be okay, my logical mind told me so, but my daughter broken-heart whispered the things I didn’t want to hear, the rampant, rambling thoughts I normally kept hidden way down deep. I knew the pain of losing one parent, and something about that hard knock opens your eyes to the gift of life still lived around you. And anything that threatened to rock that boat was a hard pill to swallow. 

I wasn’t ready to see my strong father lying weak in a hospital bed. I wasn’t prepared to watch him have difficulty swallowing, or to realize he couldn’t remember speaking with me the day before. I didn’t like the tired look in his eyes, and as I stood there looking at his heavy lids droop I just wanted to crawl into his lap like I did when I was little. I needed him to hold me more than ever. But his right arm was too weak. 

Even now I sit crying as I hold my own daughter in my lap, and I’m ambushed by emotion at the idea of my strong tower suddenly so frail. I realize I wasn’t ready to go visit my dad in the hospital, and the pain I still feel over my mother passing makes kissing his cheek and leaving his side even harder than it would have been before. 

My only solace at a world overcome by sickness and death is the strong arms of my Heavenly Father that hold me so tight when my earthy father is far too tired to do the same. Right now I know my daddy will be okay, and though this scared me some, I know he always will be. Our Abba Father holds him too. 

What I do know is that already having one parent who has died opens your eyes to what’s before you. It makes you appreciate the people still in your life, and hug them a little tighter than you might have before. It causes you to hold that embrace a little bit longer, and brush a kiss on prickly cheeks more often. You hold that sleepy gaze a moment more, and you linger for a minute before you walk out the door. 

It also awakens you to where you have been lacking, all the ways you’ve let life get so busy that you forget to frequently tell the people who are most dear to you, “I love you so much.” 

I’m glad it’s not too late. 

So you tell them that you care, and you decide to appreciate them more. You thank God for daddies, and for mommies too, for time and relationships, and for every moment you are given together. You thank God for Heaven, and especially that death never wins. You wait expectantly and patiently for a reunion that awaits like no other.  You see more readily the gift of one another, and you cherish each and every day that you are given. 

A Letter for the Dad Who Left Me

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Dear Father,

I recently came across a folder on my Facebook messenger that I did not realize existed. It was a message archive Facebook had filtered for me of people I was not “friends” with, and in this place I found a message from my Aunt Lynn, your sister. She wasn’t a woman I could remember, but her name was one my mother had mentioned to me before. In fact she had said we favored. 

Aunt Lynn had reached out to me, and since you left when I was just a small child of five I hadn’t seen her since before that. In her message she mentioned that you had spoken of my blog, and that surprised me since a Contact Page is easily accessible on my website, yet I hadn’t heard a word. But then I thought of all the things I had written over the years. Wince. 

A large number of my blog posts have mentioned you and your absence, and I cringed wondering what you had thought of my musings. I wrote those things with no knowledge that you would ever see them, but now knowing that you might I decided to pen this letter just for you. 

First off, my intention is not to hurt you. That would do neither of us any good. I don’t desire to “get back at you” or even “lash out” to try and make myself feel better. You see, the fact is that I’ve forgiven you. I’m not mad, and I haven’t been for many years. I came to a place where I had to realize some people aren’t made to be dads who are present in their children’s life, and that’s just how it is. 

But although I have forgiven you and I don’t wish you any ill thoughts, I do want you to know how your actions have impacted my life. I think it’s only fair that you know. I don’t know the complete specifics of what went on between you and my mother. I only know what I heard, what I personally remember, but most importantly, how it all affected me in the end. 

I don’t think people realize how their actions impact another, or even how it can serve like ripples upon the water after a hastily thrown stone. They don’t see that absence can impact just as much as presence, and that empty places sometimes leave hollow hearts. 

When my mother remarried and I decided as a young girl that I liked this new man, I watched him with a distrusting eye. I remember once pouring Elmer’s glue in his backpack so that he wouldn’t be able to leave like you had done. 

Because of your decision to go away a part of me always feared he would go too, no matter how much he proved his love for me. 

Did you know that even as a thirty year old woman, when my mother died, I feared he would decide there was no longer anything to tie us together?! Because of that deep-seated rejection I still carry to a degree, I irrationally was afraid my adopted daddy would be done with me. Crazy, I know. 

I don’t want to place my self-esteem issues on you, or even the string of failed relationships I experienced where I chased men trying to find one who loved me. I won’t try and put a Freudian twist on it all, or say I tried too hard to please a man who never really loved me over and over again because of some “daddy issues” I have. I just won’t do that. 

I’ll just say it hurt. It hurt when you left. When you left the first time, the second time, and even the third. 

It hurt when I tried to keep visiting you as an eight year old and you didn’t have time for me. 

It hurt when you gave up your parental rights so easily, although I know now that was God’s will for me. 

It hurt when I reconnected with you when I was twenty, but you let me drift back away. 

It hurt that you didn’t know me at all, or that your wife signed the birthday cards. 

It hurt when I called you to cry about Mom’s death, and you had no idea what to say to me. 

I don’t know why I sought your comfort so much at that time, but I did. 

And it hurts that as I write this that unwanted, unexpected tears come to my eyes. 

But we cannot undo hurt feelings anymore than we can un-break an overturned vase. Instead what I can do is tell you how the good Lord has used it. 

God showed me through the adoption by my Dad, Michael, how it feels to be chosen. It feels lovely. To be picked to be loved, that is precious. Dad has done a really great job. 

God showed me how He also adopted me into His Kingdom, and I was able to grasp more deeply the Father Heart of God. He showed me that despite any earthly hurt I could cry out Abba Father and He would be there.

He would never leave me. 

I guess you can see why that meant so much to me, and why now I cling to my faith so deeply. It could have gone the other way, but I’m glad it did not. 

I see now that every thing that has happened to me God has orchestrated. Did He want you to leave? No. I don’t think that was His design, but when you did He worked with it and He set into motion the many things in my life that would bring me back to Him. 

So the end of my story is a happy one. I don’t know if you’ve ever wondered or worried if I’m ok. And if you haven’t, that’s fine. My joy rests on no man. But if you do then I can tell you this. 

Although your leaving hurt me then, wounded me later, and impacted me in so many ways, it did not destroy me. I am fine. I am stronger, wiser, and quick to keep the flicker alive in my own daughters’ eyes. I have chosen a man who is a wonderful husband and father to our children, and I don’t take him for granted one bit. 

The thing is, I love you, and honestly, sometimes I think of you. I think of you and it makes me sad. So then I push those thoughts away. 

In Honesty,

Your Daughter

I Could Do This Without You, But I’m Glad I Don’t Have To

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Last night I lay rocking our youngest daughter to sleep, and when I was certain she was out good and hard I started to rise from the recliner. But then I stopped myself. You know how it is. The way her lips puckered out like the most beautiful pout ever, and the way her eyelashes curled all the way to the sky. I just had to take pause. I had to stop and kiss her. I kissed her lips, her forehead, her cheek, and as my grateful lips lingered I thanked the Lord for her life. 

And then I thanked Him for you. 

Gazing at the wonder of this child we had created together made me unable to not think about you. She was ours, and I was so appreciative for that, but I also couldn’t help offering my thanks for you. 

I never knew I could love something as much as I do being a mother. It’s my calling, and the job, although often thankless and exhausting, it fills me with joy. You know this. But what you may not know is how being your wife is the grandest thing I do. The fact that I get to spend my life with you and bring up our children together is the best gig on planet earth. I love raising our children, but it’s even better that I get to raise them with you. 

The thing is, I’m pretty good at it I think. I enjoy it, and I do a decent job even though some days I may think otherwise. I’m a pretty great mom, overall, and I love it enough that I could do it forever. If I had to I think I could even do it without you, just to be quite honest, but I’m so very glad I don’t have to. 

I could dig deep in your absence and provide for our children, but I’m grateful that I’m not in this alone. I’m blessed that I can share this parenting journey with you, my best friend, and not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for that. I’m glad that I have a partner to share the struggles, the sicknesses, and the tantrums. But I’m especially grateful to share with you the joy of watching our children grow in strength, grace, and personal relationship with Jesus. 

I suppose I could do it all without you, but I’m glad I don’t have to. 

I’m glad I have your wisdom, your strength, and your love. I’m grateful for your compassion, your discipline, and your provision. I’m thankful for a man I can not only share the hardships of life with, but one with which I can celebrate all its joys. 

I never knew I would enjoy being a mommy so much, but I also never knew the blessing it would be to my life to watch you be a father. I don’t wish to imagine raising children without you for you are a big reason I’m the mother I am. You inspire me, you encourage me, and your love it helps me to grow as a nurturer to our family. 

In truth I am the mother I am because of the father I share the job of parenting with, and our children are blessed for our team. I love raising our babies, but the greatest joy of my life is that I get to do it with you. 

Last night when I finally rose from the chair and deposited our youngest down to sleep I looked one last time at her face before going to bed myself, and I thanked the Lord again. I thanked Him for her life, and then I thanked Him for her father. 

Happy Father’s Day, my love. I’m glad I get to do this with you. 

  

Being Blood-Related Doesn’t Make a Man a Dad

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I feel very blessed on Father’s Day, and although I probably don’t make time for my Daddy as much as I should, I am fully aware of the special gift I have in him. After losing my Mother, and going through the wide array of emotions I felt trying to celebrate Mother’s Day as a mom but without a mom, I completely understand why a relationship with my living father is a wonderful thing. 

But it’s not just that. While nothing rocks your reality more than someone close to you passing on, I knew before Mom’s death that I had been given something very special in my Dad. After all, he was my second chance. He was my earthly manifestation of God’s grace. He was my own personal display of the Father Heart of God. 

My Dad isn’t my birth father, and while he is so many things to my life, the one thing he is not is a genetic contributor to my conception. But ask me if that matters when I go to buy Father’s Day cards. 

Or rather yet, ask me if blood-typing was of any importance when I needed someone to kiss my scraped knee after I fell as a child. Ask me if DNA held any significance when I had my first broken heart and I needed a strong shoulder to cry on. It mattered not one single bit. 

My biological (I almost hate to use the word) father did not possess the characteristics required to be a dad. He was unable, incapable, and unwilling to provide me the stability, guidance, and relationship that fatherhood entails. Put simply, he wasn’t meant to be a dad. He donated the sperm, but otherwise he felt his contribution to the whole scenario was complete. He didn’t want a relationship with me, and he was too selfish to even attempt one. Aside from any physical or emotional love, he also was unable to provide monetary assistance. Well, he probably could have, but he didn’t.

One of the worst things that ever happened to me was to be abandoned by my biological father, and for him to make the ultimate choice that I wasn’t worth hanging on to. But the best thing that ever happened in my life was when he gave up his parental rights and my Daddy adopted me. I was finally afforded the opportunity to understand the fullness of fatherly love, and that trumped everything!

My little heart had been hardened, broken, crushed, but my Dad taught me how to trust again. 

My biological father and I shared the same blood, but that was where our relationship ended. My Daddy had no genetic connection to me, but he was and is the best example of God’s love I have ever known. He chose me, he fought for me, and he adopted me into his family. He loved me unconditionally like I was his own, and he gave me every single thing I had lacked in my first, failed example of a father/daughter relationship. 

Blood doesn’t make a daddy, and shared genetics doesn’t do it either. A father is a man who makes the conscious choice to raise his child. He makes the decision to be present when they have their first softball game, to listen when they ask the tough questions, or just to hold them when they don’t feel well. A daddy provides for his children, not just financially, but also emotionally. He understands that raising a child is an investment, and that you must put love in to get love out. 

For me Father’s Day is a wondrous celebration. It’s a time when I am reminded that the world gave me a man who couldn’t be a father to me, but the Lord blessed me with a dad. I’m reminded that through the grace of God I was gifted with a man who showed me what a father is supposed to be, who showed me God’s heart here on earth. And for that I am beyond grateful. 

Happy Father’s Day Daddy! You were, are, and will always be the best. 

  

A Word for the Fathers and Fathers-To-Be

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I recently had a young girl on my mind, and though she is still very little, I found myself worrying for her future. Her father was absent from her life, and I wasn’t sure if he even saw her more than once a year. It wasn’t that he lived far away, and even though he and the girl’s mother didn’t see eye-to-eye, I couldn’t understand how that could be a reason to never see his child. Didn’t he care about her?!

See, that’s how my brain works. Maybe he does care about her. Heck, maybe he loves her even, but as the victim of a broken relationship with my own biological father, that’s the kind of thing that will enter my mind. I will worry for this girl’s feelings, for her self-esteem, and for her sense of worth. I will worry because when it comes down to it, I was forever wounded. 

And I guess that’s what I wish he could see, this little girl’s father. And it’s what I wish all men could see. I wish that they could see the power they have over their child’s life and future. Men have the power to destroy, and the power to lift up a life, but in the end it’s their choice how to proceed. 

I am fully aware that there are deadbeat moms out there, but thankfully my own mother was my lifeline during a tumultuous childhood. So many single parents are out there like my mom was, pushing to make their child’s life better, and as the daughter of one of those heroes my hats go off to them. But still…

All the hardworking single moms in the world will never be a dual-parent home, and while these single mothers work so hard to be both a mom and dad, in the end you still have a child left with an empty place in their heart. And that’s what I wish absent fathers could see. As a daughter with a hole in her heart left by her father, that is what I’m trying to get across. 

Single parents shouldn’t take offense to that fact. Single parents are trying, and are doing exceptionally well with the hand that they have been dealt, but they can never fully cover the void left by an absent parent. No matter how hard they try. 

My Mom loved me so very much, and I never doubted that. I also had the blessed opportunity to gain another dad here on this earth. This wonderful man adopted me, treated me like his own flesh and blood, and showed me how a father was supposed to love his child. But still…

Still I was a little girl, even when I became a big girl, and later a woman, left wondering, why did he leave me?

When a man becomes a father he forever holds a piece of the child he helped create, and when he decides to not be a part of that child’s life they feel like something is missing. If they’re like me they’ll seek that affirmation elsewhere. They’ll seek it later in life as the approval of man, or perhaps as the temporary healing they find provided by drugs or alcohol. And even as they hop from one man’s bed to another seeking love they will forever wonder, what’s wrong with me? 

Yes, there’s an exception to every rule. Some young women will be stronger despite your betrayal of them as their absent father. Some will strive for healthy happiness in solid relationships, and thank God, some will find healing early through the love of Christ. Some young women will succeed despite the past hurt you caused. But many will not. Too many will not at all. Do you really want to take that chance?

Look at the world of prostitution. Look at promiscuous women in and out of abusive relationships. Look at men and women alike suffering under the steel hand of addiction. Do you know what a majority of these broken people will have in common? Yes, an absent father. A father who gave them up. And they will be the first to tell you that they still wonder, what was so bad about me that I wasn’t worth fighting for? Why was I so easy to let go?

Maybe I’m way off base here. Maybe I’m just a wounded little girl who can’t let go of the father who gave her up. But what if I’m not? What if you have the power in your hand to make your child feel special, or to conversely, make them feel worthless? What will you do with that?

Over the years I found a lot of healing in my life through a relationship with the Lord, and I discovered the true meaning of love through the character of my Father God. And I’m so grateful for that. I’m so grateful for a mother who loved me, and an adoptive dad who is my absolute hero. But when I look back at some of the low points in my life I am all too aware of how Satan used my biological father’s rejection of me to bring me down. And I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. 

I’m so happy to know my daughters never doubt their father’s love for them. They watch our love towards one another, and they are given a wonderful example of family through this. I’m so grateful for that for them, but I am also blessed that their dad understands the power he holds in their little lives. He sees that his words of affirmation and love are molding their character, and I know he would never let them go. 

He also has a daughter from a previous, broken marriage, but she too is very aware of how much her daddy loves her. He shows her every chance he gets. Just because the parents romantic relationship is severed, this doesn’t mean the relationship with child should be too. See what I’m saying? 

Children need to know daddy loves them. They don’t need to feel like they got divorced too. It’s hard enough as it is. 

  
Men, you have a great task before you. You are molding future generations. You are making future leaders and healthy individuals that will contribute in a major way to society as a whole. But you have to take this role seriously and understand the ramifications of your absence. You don’t want to leave a void in your children’s life. 

Just don’t. 

For the fathers, and even for the future fathers-to-be, realize what you are capable of in this life. You are capable of building a child’s self-esteem in a way that no man can tear apart. That’s power! 

Or you can be responsible for forever wounding a life. 

So I guess my question is, “what will you choose?”


As side note I am in no way advocating for anyone to stay in an abusive relationship for the sake of a child. That’s a completely separate discussion than the one at hand. So please don’t confuse the issue or misunderstand. This post is for parents who make the choice to not be a part of their child’s life. Period.