Do We Really Need Dads?

I try to write solely about my experiences and myself. I conscientiously do not talk about my family in immense detail, as I know people who know my family might read this blog. Today, I am writing about my dad, because it is 2:30 in the morning, and I have spent all week denying that Father’s Day is today. Moreover, for self-preservatory reasons, I need to divulge. If you are someone who is in Atlanta who knows my family, just pray for us. And if you do feel the need to comment please do so here. Do not ask for more details and feed your gossip demon. Recognize that when someone shares with you, you are experiencing a moment where someone who trusts you is being vulnerable. Do not be the wolf to this sheep, be a fellow sheep and if you can be a shepherd.

All holidays pertaining to my father, I do not celebrate. I do not wish him a Happy Birthday or acknowledge Father’s Day. As of recent, my father and I are consciously estranged. Now, I made this decision recently. I do not call him. I do not text him. I do not email him. He has minimal to no knowledge of what I do, where I am, or who I am. The distance between Houston and Atlanta is so great that it is easy to pretend he is not there. In order for some understanding to be had, you need to understand some things.

Around age 12, I realized my father had no interest in my life. Not only did he have a massive disinterest, but also in no way did he attempt to hide it from me. The only moments where he did show interest is when, I did something he could brag about to his peers. I remember having to beg him to come to recitals and concerts. Senior year of high school, I was nominated for homecoming court (which was a MASSIVE deal). Friday night, you are supposed to walk the field with your dad. Two Sundays before, my family is eating Chili’s, and I ask my dad if he could walk me down the football field at half time during the Homecoming Game. He looks up and effortlessly says no. If it were not for my mother’s intervention, I would have walked alone. Sadly, comparatively, this is not the worst thing he has done to me.

You would think as an adult that, I would be done with all of this…nope. Even in adulthood the ramification of my interactions with my father, affect me. God has healed so much of my brokenness; there is still much more to go.

Since, I was a child; I could see myself as a mother before a wife. I knew I wanted to adopt, but I did not know if I could handle marriage. Often my saying was, “I don’t need a man”. Having a husband antagonize me seemed more of a burden and less of a blessing. God used college to do some work on my heart towards men. He is still working on it now.

So to the question of “Do We Really Need Dads?” My answer is yes, but we need ones marked with humility and love for others more than self.

  1. We need dads because girls who do not have them are stunted in their development with men.
  2. We need dads because boys who do not have them are given many incorrect views of what manhood looks like.
  3. We need dads because God gave them a role in the family to fulfill.
  4. We need dads because moms and dads are meant to be partners in this journey.
  5. We need dads because…because…well, because we do.

One day, I will choose forgiveness; I will choose reconciliation; I will choose love. However, today is not the day.

Father, forgive me. Soften my heart.

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Here in this Place

If you read through a couple of my blog posts (like the previous one) or have a heart-to-heart conversation with me, you will know I have had my lot of daddy issues. From hating the man to ignoring his existence to being here in this place with him, I have struggled greatly with the way that I relate to him, but all of that has taken an interesting turn recently.

September 17th, my and my dad had a conversation, where I let it all out. Many times, I have unsuccessfully attempted to do so. All ending in failure and frustration, but at the end of the conversation I said something to him that gripped both him and I. He often makes references to being the spiritual head of our family and how I should respect that. He talks about how he is without honor in his own home. Knowing God, intimately and personally, I take offense to both statements. One, because I honor him. My lifestyle brings honor to him. I am an African-American women, who has graduated from college with honors and without loans. I moved to Texas to work with people I have never met in my life and did extremely well. I was accepted into one of the top seminaries in the nation. My whole life revolves around how I can please the Lord. The one time I was drunk (and before some of y’all get ya panties in a bunch I realize bad choice), I kept screaming, “I’m so sorry, Jesus! Jesus is so ashamed of me.” So, the no honor thing just pissed me off. More than that I hated it, because that scripture (Mark 6:4) was used in a way to belittle me. And they did. I felt so little, but worse than feeling little I felt insignificant. I felt like everything God created me to be was pointless. And folks, that is a hellish place to be. But back to the conversation. I ended it with this phrase,

“If you want to have a relationship with me, you need to pursue me! Because that is exactly what God did for us. He didn’t ask me to meet him halfway or to pursue him. Because, HE is my Father and HE wanted a relationship with HIS child.”

After letting the tension settle, my dad agreed. He FREAKING agreed with me. I went into my room that night and bawled. I turned on a song called When I am Afraid by Laura Hackett and just cried. I don’t know why I was crying. The conversation ended as good as it could, but it was just one of those where I was overwhelmingly (and frighteningly) emotional. I haven’t thought much about it until today. Because, I realized something: I am worth pursuing.

I jokingly boast with friends that I am awesome, but oft-times I think of myself in relation to my deficits. I look at my left hand holding on to all the things that I assume make me lesser than some fictional other person. The biggest of them all being my body. Not simply just weight, but health issues that are out of my control. I would focus on them and just imagine, “How in the world am I going to present this to anyone? I’m so ashamed. Why would anyone even waste their time?” But in this time off I have had the time to concentrate on the abundance in my right hand. Oh my GOD (literally to God), the perspective. I don’t want to list them off, but the ways the LORD has blessed me far outweigh the pitfalls of being me. And it didn’t see that. I never noticed that and for that reason I am worth pursuing. Let me tell you why this is important.

I am the WORST at liking guys. I pick out guys based on my deficits. I say I don’t have a type, but I do. My (previous) type are nice guys with terrible decision-making skills. Typically, he is a well liked guy in a group of people, but he makes really really stupid decisions. More than that, I have always pursued these “nice-ish guys”. But I am not a tyrannosaurus looking for a partner so I don’t miss Noah’s Ark. I am a woman and I am awesome. I ain’t no Halle Berry, but let me tell you something Halle Berry ain’t no Tosin Akande. GOD has brought me to a place in our relationship where I am understanding myself a whole lot better, because I am understanding HIM a whole lot better. I am worth being pursued. I am worth being pursued because if God pursued me, then a man (the right man) can too.

I can’t believe that took 23 years to figure out.

So, if you are wondering about me and my dad. He is actually pursuing a relationship with me, but pray for me y’all. My heart very easily falls back into the bull it did before. I have forgiven my father. Forgiveness is a purposeful decision, but reconciliation is a whole new battlefield. Can I ask the readers of this blog to leave a prayer for me in the comment section or a message on Facebook that my heart would just soften towards my dad and I would just give him a chance. The way God is constantly giving me chances knowing I am a screwball.

Lord Jesus, here I am in this place. It is such a funny process walking with You. I always ask You to take me deeper than I could ever wander and You do. By the way, I meant physical location wise. However, this is much better than I had in mind. I never seem to know my destinations, but I get there and then everything just makes sense. I don’t ever think I said this before, but thank You for pursuing me. Thank You for thinking me worth the journey from perfection and holiness to sin and folly. Thank You for always loving me even when I never noticed and even when I didn’t love You back. You are so good to me. Thank You for this amazing journey. The past six years walking with You have been epic. Thank you for this month of reflection and recharge. Whether You send me to Mozambique or Sevilla or to Iran or Venezuela or to remain in Houston or return to Atlanta, thank You. My trust is in You alone, and as long as You are in my heart then I am home. I love you and Amen

Father Who Art on Earth

No matter where you lie on the feminism spectrum, from a bra burner to Mrs. Cleaver, there is something in women that gnaws for the affection of their father. I attended a wedding on Friday. It was beautiful. Many moments in the evening took my breath away, but only one made me shed a tear. It was when the bride danced with her father.

I forgive my father for what he has done to me and my family. I forgive him because God did that for me. I don’t even hold him accountable to me for what he did. I have (forcefully) surrendered it all to God. What do I do with these desires for a father though? I have never danced with my dad before. I don’t rest my head on his shoulder. I don’t – and never had – someone to teach me how I deserve to be treated, loved, heard. Forgiveness doesn’t wash those feelings away. Is part of forgiving my dad accepting that I have lost a father?

I know I should go to God for everything, but how does God give me those memories. Perhaps, I will never have them physically. Maybe all those moments are spiritual moments I have with God. In prayer, when I am without words, I tilt my head back and look up to heaven. Other times, I will have a worship song playing and will dance. I am dancing with my Father.

So much of the way I am is because of my father. I don’t date at all. I could say that I think a man is handsome, but I will never ever approach him. I dread getting my heart broken. I want to avoid that experience as many times as possible. Also, growing up with an unfit father, I have dealt with a warped and hateful attitude towards men. I wanted to use them. I want them to know a woman’s pain. Sometime’s I wanted them to use me. I let them use me sometimes. I felt so poorly about myself in relation to men, that I would settle simply for a guy to acknowledge me. Sadly, even if it was an insult to my body, my morals, my beliefs, or my intelligence. I hate them sometimes for no reason. I question them unrelentingly and attempt to make them feel as small as I have felt.

My father has made me feel so insignificant sometimes. I am a trophy in my personal triumphs; I am a whipping post for all his failures. I have not reconciled with him. I have forgiven him. He does not see the error in his ways. What makes it more difficult is that he is a proclaimed Christian. How can two Christians see two different Christs? How can this man know the Bible and not love his family like Christ loved the church? Is it terrible, that I want to stop at forgiveness? I don’t want to reconcile to him, because I don’t really love him anymore. I don’t love him as his daughter. I strive to love him with Christ’s love, but most days I am indifferent. I already know the answer to the last question. Christ’s blood allowed for our forgiveness, but his Resurrection is the way for my reconciliation back to God. If such great lengths could occur for reconciliation, what else can I do, but reconcile with my father…these are the moments when being a Christian is difficult. Let me write on something less emotionally grueling.

I rarely drink at all. After some time it becomes easy to avoid a drink, but I remember contemplating getting wasted once. It was after my father kicked me out of the house. I wanted to feel nothing. I didn’t want joy or sorrow. I just wanted to feel void. I wanted to feel empty and purge all the emotions I had. My dad didn’t deserve my tears. I don’t drink though. I knew if I did it once, I would like it. I would like not feeling like myself for a while. I would like not having to remember my father and his failures. I wouldn’t have to remember my blood father hated me enough to kick me out.  However, what I forget in those moments can haunt me double as I fall into sobriety. Being emotionally prone, I set stipulations on when I drink. I need to be emotionally stable. I don’t need to feel pressured. I only drink with one or two other people with me. I have set up these guardrails, because any other way would lead to destruction.

I still have a long way to go with my dad, but thank you Jesus I am so much further than where I was.

Celebrating Good Men

Sometimes, the one ends up representing the many. That’s what happened to me. For a long time one man has represented all men for me. I made an idol of loathing men. I hate their power. I hate that God asks me to submit to them. They are so untrustworthy. They manipulate people. Men, they want me to stifle my voice. They want me to feel like I am nothing; so they can feel like something. They did that to me. However, it was not men, it was man, a man, my dad.

However, this post is not about him. It is not about the multitude (like five tops) of guys that have made me feel so small. This is an apology and a celebration of the men who have put up with my craziness over the past several years.

Tonight, I dedicate this post to the men who have prayed for me. Who have actively just lifted me up to Jesus. For the men who don’t simply see me as a woman, but as a sister, their sister in Christ. Thank you men so much. I don’t know what in the world the Lord has as your reward, but I hope and pray it is something grand. There is something so endearing about knowing that someone is praying for you. I think it is because men and women cannot be anything, but genuine and vulnerable before the Lord. Thanks for mentioning me when you were at your most vulnerable. Thanks for mentioning to God. He heard, and He answered.

Thank you to the men who put up with my hurtful words and didn’t return them back to me. I have said some terrible things to you men. I probably still will (God’s working on that with me). I am never angry with you. Sincerely, I am never mad. I am my father’s daughter. I like to believe if I can take away your value I can ascribe it to myself. Please know that the venom I spew makes me so sick as well. You men are never ever the words I say. Please continue accepting my apologies and be patient with me. At sometime, I will get it.

Thank you to the guys that have been AMAZING LEADERS. Literally, a ton of my appreciation goes to this group of men. I remember conversing with God and stating, “God, how am I supposed to submit to a man? I don’t trust them and they all lead poorly” Literally, days later God sent a male leader that I respected so much. Without even knowing, he taught me how godly men lead. While, I never developed feelings for this man, I will be looking for the same leadership qualities in my husband. So, many times as an adolescent male leaders placed me in roles where women previously were, not at all thinking of my actual skill set or spiritual gifts. Seeing a guy assess that and then act on it was amazing.

Thank you to the sensitive guys, who have shared private moments with me. Who have opened themselves up to me. I know most people don’t accept it, but I do. It is beautiful and amazing. I live for those moments.

Thank you to the guys who smile at me or tell me I’m pretty. I like to believe I am, but it is nice to have someone else think that sometimes.

Thank you finally to my man. I do not think I have met you, yet. Please, know I am already thankful for you. I have prayed for you, and hold you in the closest place in my heart. I neither think of you as a perfect god or a fault-filled devil. You are human. You know life is harsh. You have made mistakes, but we all have. Christ forgave you. So how can I hold anything against you? So much of who I am right now is in preparation to one day be married. I am not learning a lot of housework skills (that will be split fairly). However, I want to be emotionally ready for you. I am dealing with my dad bags. While, I would love to meander around the dating world, I know it is not the best thing for me to do. Thank you for putting up with the first 10 years of crazy and tons of years more. Thank you for being an amazing leader to our big beautiful diverse family. Thank you for praying for me. Thank you for telling me I’m pretty, when appropriate (let’s be real here, some days I look awful). Thank you for having intimate moments with me, filled with secrets and jokes and whispers and tears and laughter. Thank you for loving me like Christ loves the church. I look forward to meeting you soon.

Thanks men, keep up the good work. Because there are tons of women just like me and worse who need some men to be GOOD MEN!

No Place Like Houston for the Holidays

It didn’t really feel like Thanksgiving today. I didn’t really feel like giving thanks today. I am thankful and everything. It is just hard to be so far from family during this season. I love my kids. I really do love them, but they don’t really feel like my family. None of them are old enough to comprehend the holiday season anyway or family for that matter. With our younger ones, I wonder if they think we are family or just friendly familiar faces.

I just don’t even know. Perhaps, Christmas will be better. Honestly, all I want to do is just get out of the house. I don’t know where I want to go. Perhaps coffee or a walk? I just want to for a minute remove myself from this life. I don’t feel like anything around me is very real. I go back home in a month and a week. I am not overly excited to return. I am glad to see my family. I miss my mom and sister and brother. They literally are my favorite people in the world. It scares me that their lives still go on in my absence. It is hard to feel important when life occurs without you. In the same sense, my life is going on without them. I am not excited to be reminded of my severed friendships. There are friends, that I want to want to see me. There are friends who I want to move mountains to have a coffee with me. That is how I value their friendship, but that is not the way they see me…and I have to get over it.

This is the first time since I moved that I wish I was home. Then, I think of my kids. I bet they wish they weren’t here too. Not because it is Thanksgiving or Christmas, but because I am not their mom. I am someone they will forget once they leave. I am someone who loves them and tried to take care of them, but will eventually fade from their memory. I don’t want to fade. The hardest part of this job is not the day-to-day, it is reminding yourself how you have no control over these children. It is remembering that no matter how terrible the situation that brought them to you (and I promise you it is heart wrenching) these children still love their mommies and daddies more than you. There will come a time where my life and my child’s life will separate and they will never meet again.

As much work as they were, I wish my future kids were here. I loved them so much. I still feel like I mourn over them. I think of my future linebacker and future doctor all the time. I stare at their photos in my room and wish they were mine. I wish our lives could have intersected when I was able to care for them in my home. However, I do not regret for a moment knowing them. One day, I want my kids to be like them. I want their spirit to shine like theirs. I wish I could have sat around the table with them. More than anything, I wish I that I knew they were okay. I wish I could hug them and tell them, “I love you.” I love them. I love them. I would do anything to see them again.

And with a great relief of breath, she knew that most of her words had come out.