Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

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. 

  

Thank You for the Trash, Lord

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I walked swiftly across my kitchen floor, and immediately the feeling of crushing particles were felt under my foot. I sighed to myself in a growing frustration, and thought, didn’t I just take care of this?!

Indeed, the day before I had spent a large amount of time sweeping and mopping my floors, and I stood dumbfounded as I stared at the large pile I had collected via broom in my kitchen floor. After less than twelve hours it had gone from clean back to being unable to walk barefoot without stepping on food. 

I felt livid, and the longer I looked at the abnormally large, crumb pile I felt my anger swell. But then it stopped. Because then I looked at the mound of mess in a different way. For some odd reason instead of seeing work for me, I saw proof of the life that lay before me. And it wasn’t one of constant sweeping. Well, it was. But it was also one of immense blessing. 

So as I swept the evidence of my children’s presence into a dustpan I thought of it just like that. It was a solid representation of the gift I had at my fingertips, and in my lap. Even if they were messy. 

And I said, “Thank you for the trash, Lord. It shows that we have plenty.”

Thank you for the sink full of dishes, Lord. It means we have enough to eat. 

Thank you for the rolled-up pair of discarded, men’s socks on the living room rug. It means I have a husband present here for me to love. 

Thank you for the ring around the tub, Lord. It shows I have happy, healthy children who are able to go outside to run, play, and get really dirty. 

Thank you for all the laundry, Lord. As I fold it into different piles I see how many children you have given to me. 

Thank you for a husband who gets home so late, Lord. It shows me how hard he works to provide for our family. 

Thank you for toys all over the living room floor, Lord. It reminds me that we are able to provide material possessions for our children. Even if sometimes we buy too much. 

Thank you for long, exhausting days with the children. It reminds me how blessed I am to be able to stay home with them. 

Thank you for all the repetitive days of cooking and cleaning, Lord. It shows me how blessed I am to be able to have the time and energy to serve my family in that way. 

Thank you for bills, Lord. Each month you show me how you can provide. 

Thank you when things do not always go my way, Lord. It reminds me that your way is so much better. 

Thank you for my messy home, Lord. It is messy, but it is mine. It is filled with toys and dirty laundry, but it is also filled with love. In fact, it overflows. 

Thank you for crumbs on my feet and cranky babies in my lap. It reminds me that happiness comes in all shapes and sizes, but the life you have chosen for me is just right. And I thank you for it. 

  

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.  

Why Mommy Says “I Love You.”

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I know I say it a lot, “I love you.” Sometimes I say it numerous times throughout the day. Some people will say it loses value if you speak it too much, but I think those people don’t know why I say it. 

I say “I love you” because I’m your mother, and for me the words just come. In fact, I don’t think I could stop them if I tried. When I look at your beautiful face the phrase just falls out, and it’s as natural to me as inhaling my required life’s breath. 

When I watch you run, when I watch you play, when I watch you sleep; I say it. When I watch you grow taller and more lovely before my very eyes, I say it. And even when you can’t hear me, I say then too. I have to say it. As your mom I have to say it. 

  
As your mom I am your biggest cheerleader and most loyal supporter. Even when you fail I root for you. Then I show you how to not fall quite so hard the next time. 

As your mom I would lay down my life to protect you from harm, and I would go to any length to defend you when you’re wrongfully accused. But when you are wrong I’ll let you know about it first. You might not like me then, but still I will say, even as you glare at me, “I love you baby.”

As your mom I will sacrifice my time, my body, and any semblance of a normal life that I once held. I will exchange it for a life with you. Gladly.

As your mom I will get angry sometimes, and occasionally I will say something I don’t really mean. But it will never carry the same weight of my other words. My every action will tell you how I feel. I will say, “I’m sorry,” and I will also proclaim, “I love you.”

As your mom I will lead you, guide you, and protect you, but I will also teach you that although you can depend on me, your true strength is found in The Lord. 

As your mom I will always, and I mean always, hold you when you are hurt. I will wipe away every tear, and I will feel it like it is my own. I honestly won’t be able to fix everything that causes you pain, but I will say, “I love you.”

And although my words won’t move mountains or make your life instantly better, they will carry a weight of truth that you will never know or understand. Until you become a mother, that is. Because when I say “I love you” it’s not just a phrase, and it’s not a compilation of empty words. When I say it, as your mother, I am simply speaking the volumes that my heart holds. 

You see, I could write on for years how much you mean to me, and my hand would never stop making the words to describe what lengths I would go to for you. But instead I say what just comes natural to my mommy heart when I think about you. 

I say, “I love you.”

And that is why.