Fatherless to Fathered
There’s Nothing Worse Than Having a Father
I was about to turn eight years old. I lived in New Jersey and invited a bunch of friends over for my birthday party on January 29. On January 28, in the middle of the night, I felt a hand on my shoulder. My dad was shaking me awake. “C’mon, we’re moving.”
I didn’t understand. “What?”
“We’ve gotta move. Now. C’mon.”
We loaded up a truck in the middle of the night and left for Florida. My dad was always on the run. The police or FBI were after him, or someone wanted to kill him. What I cared about was my birthday party and all the kids who would show up and find an empty house.
My father and I took the truck down to Florida. My mother and sister took our car, but stopped on the way to visit family, so my father and I got there first. We went out to dinner, where my dad met this lady. They talked and talked, but I didn’t think anything of it. Later we went to a hotel room. I was still sad about the party and was missing my mom and sister. My one consolation was that it’s cool to stay in a hotel room with your dad. But then my father told me he was going out for the night. He said not to worry. He would lock the door behind him. I shouldn’t open it for anyone. And he left.
There I was, the day after my eighth birthday, alone in a hotel room. I tried to sleep, but was too afraid. Neon fingered its way through the slats of the plastic blinds, giving the room an ominous purple glow. Occasionally I would steal a look out the window, hoping I’d see my father returning, but at the same time hoping he never would. Maybe he wouldn’t. He had disappeared for weeks at a time in the past. What would I do? I didn’t have money. Did my mother know where I was? I tried to sleep again, but my brain would not shut down. I kept thinking about losing all my friends back in New Jersey, and what would the kids be like in Florida, and how could my father leave me here? That’s when I saw the ashtray. It had been sitting on the table the whole time but I hadn’t noticed it. I pushed down the blanket, jumped down from the bed, picked up the ashtray, carried it to the bathroom, broke it in the tub, took a shard of glass, and tried to slit my wrist.
I wasn’t successful.
Then I freaked out. I was hit by an insane fear that my father would discover what I had done and beat the crap out of me. So I crawled around the bathroom, frantically picking up all the pieces of glass and flushing them down the toilet. But I still spent the rest of the night imagining that if my father returned he would notice the ashtray was missing. This made no sense since my father didn’t smoke, but nothing made sense to me anymore.
The only thing that made sense was my pain.
And I decided that there was nothing worse than having a father.
An Abusive Father
It wasn’t the first time.
My father was verbally, emotionally, and occasionally physically abusive. He had no patience for and would not tolerate mistakes.
One time we were in a van and he said, “Would you hand me that?” as he pointed at a pile of stuff. I grabbed what I thought he wanted and gave it to him. I guessed wrong. He wanted the map. He was furious. He told me how stupid I was, how bad I was.
Another time we went with another family to play mini-golf. The adults were at one hole, kids at another. My little sister was taking about twenty strokes on one hole and still hadn’t made it. I told her there was a limit. We had to move on. She started crying. My father came over with his putter, swung, and took out my legs. He walked away telling me how stupid I was, how bad I was.
I despised him.
When I was eleven, he left us and never came back. I decided that was the best day of my life.
Years later I learned he suffered a heart attack in a hotel room and died. I would never have to see him again. There was now competition in my best day contest.
I know that’s not what you want to hear the week of Father’s Day, but it’s the truth.
The Last Thing I Need Is Another Father
After growing up with an abusive father, then living fatherless for years, I encountered Jesus for the first time. I started reading the gospels and was drawn to Jesus, but then ran into something I wasn’t expecting. Jesus called God, “Father.”
Uh oh.
Not expected, not cool, made me feel a little sick inside. Why “Father”? Anything but father, please. I thought the last thing I needed was another father.
I was wrong.
The Thing I Need Most Is Another Father
Turns out the thing I needed most was another father.
God became the father I was living without. He is, “A father to the fatherless … God sets the lonely in families” (Psalm 68:5-6). And unlike my earthly father, he is one who promises to always be with me, never leave me, and be available in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1).
God also became the perfect father I never had. He is “gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love” (Psalm 145:8).
I found that “father” wasn’t just a word in the Bible used to describe God, or a theological concept to be believed, but a reality I could live in. God actually started fathering me, and it changed me.
It also gave me an model to follow when I had kids of my own. I was legitimately afraid to have children because I had no idea how to be a good parent. But with God’s example I’ve learned how to be a good father.
So … I don’t know what kind of father you had, but I know what kind of Father you have.
Perhaps, you grew up without a dad, or, like me, with a dad who turned “father” into a four-letter word you try not to say and would prefer not to hear. If so, I understand, and I’m sorry. And there is good news for people who have been burned like we have. God is a perfect father, who loves us and invites us to be fathered by him. His parenting will bring healing to our most wounded places, and will lead us to become whole, so we can be healthy parents who lead our kids to become whole.
You have a father, a perfect Father, who wants to lavish his love on you.
1 John 3:1, “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!”