It
is fitting that I should write this story on
Valentines Day, for this is a story of two
broken hearts, healed and mended, then melted
together as one--in an instant. This is a
story of True Love.
Anyone who
comes from a broken family understands the
pain of divorce. I was twenty-seven years old
when my parents divorced. While some people
think that a person shouldn't be "affected"
by such things once they are adults, I can
assure you--I WAS! I was shocked when my
parents divorced, and I had no forewarning of
this event.
On the day
that my dad told my mom that he was moving
out, I felt a great anxiety in my spirit, so
great, in fact, that I told my husband,
"Something is terribly wrong in California. I
want to phone home." Considering the fact
that I was three thousand miles away on a
remote island in Northern Canada when I felt
this anxiety, you can appreciate that I was
deeply affected.
Pain and
Confusion Ensue
Pain and
confusion became constant companions as I
tried to "understand" what had happened: What
right did he have to leave my mother? Whose
standard was he using to exercise his right
to leave her? What had she done that was so
terrible that he could not live with her? I
had questions and I asked them of nearly
everyone around me. I asked God the same
questions, and in so doing, I realized that
my own life was in quite a mess. I searched
the Bible for "the answer" to all my
questions about my dad. Since he had been a
Baptist minister at one time, I felt certain
that he would know and obey what the Bible
said about such an important
issue.
About two
years after the divorce, the whole family
gathered in California for one of those BIG
attempts to bring reconciliation. I felt
certain that dad would listen to God's Word,
so I reached for my Bible and said, "Dad,
look at what God has to say about what you
are doing."
Before I
could find the carefully selected passage of
scripture that would straighten this mess
out, he stood up and loudly cursed me, the
Bible and the whole family. Then he walked
out. Needless to say we were all in shock.
The shock of that cursing lasted a long
time--eighteen years for myself, and twenty
years for my brother and sister.
Difficulty
in Letting Go
Eighteen
years is a long time. Think about it. It
generally takes eighteen years to graduate
from high school. A whole "lifetime" of
events takes place in eighteen years. During
those years, contact with my dad was minimal.
A card from him on my birthday, Christmas
cards, the odd phone call which always
stirred up the pain. Someone would hear about
something he was doing and he would again
become the topic of our conversation for
weeks. My mother never stopped talking about
him. She never let him go.
My mom
maintained her relationship with God
throughout this long painful separation. She
read her Bible, went to church, cared about
us kids and loved her grandkids. She worked
as a secretary and saved her money so she
wouldn't be a burden on anyone when she
retired. But, always, she was obsessed with
talking about my dad.
I would say
that most of our conversations about him were
judgmental. After all, we read our Bibles; we
knew what he had done was wrong. She had done
nothing that the Bible sanctioned as reason
for divorce. By the time of his third
marriage, we knew he wasn't coming back to
her. Still, his actions and their effect on
our lives were frequent topics of our
conversations.
After many
years, I gave up hope for my dad to ever be
reconciled to his family. I doubted he was
even a Christian. I felt he was a totally
lost, immoral, unstable, unsavory person.
That was a very dark time for me. Gradually,
I got used to the darkness in my own soul--it
seemed normal.
A Death
Sentence
Mother did
retire and she moved from California to
Canada to be near my family. She had missed
out on much of the growing up of my five
children, and she wanted to get to know them.
She bought a condominium two blocks from my
house and the kids enjoyed having "Gran" live
so close. One year after moving here, she was
diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's
disease.
Lou
Gehrig's disease was a death sentence. There
was no cure. There was no treatment. I spent
four months praying and asking God to heal my
mother. Finally, the answer came: "Help her
die." I accepted her diagnosis and did all I
could to help her.
I wish I
could tell you that I was a "good little
Christian" who praised and thanked God every
day for His righteous judgments, but the
truth is that I questioned God. I really felt
that it was unfair of Him to let my dad go
free when he was the one who had done this
great wrong to his family, and to allow my
mother to die this cruel death. Finally, I
asked God, "How do You see this situation?"
The answer He spoke to my heart would one day
transform all our lives.
About a
year after my mother died, I felt something
stirring inside of me--a desire to see my
dad. In the long eighteen years of
separation, I had only invited him once to
visit my home. During that visit I had tried
again--and unsuccessfully, again--to confront
him with the Bible. I had no reason to expect
that another visit would end differently, but
I honored that desire regardless and invited
him for a long weekend.
Attempted
Reconciliation
My dad came
armed with his own arsenal of justifications.
He knew what to expect from me. I hadn't
planned anything specific to confront him
on--I didn't need to, I had a whole list of
offenses I could whip out at any given
moment. So, the weekend
progressed--awkwardly, but
quietly.
I had no
idea that Spirit was about to move in on us
in a powerful way. I simply invited two
gentlemen friends over for lunch. They lead a
prayer group I attended and I hoped they
would "say something" important to my dad. If
not, it was a way to let others meet my dad
and see the man who had so wounded me.
We were
sitting around my dining room table when one
gentleman began telling the story of a young
soldier in Napoleon's army who had gone
A.W.O.L., been caught and was now about to
face the firing squad. This young man's
mother came to Napoleon and pleaded for mercy
for her son. Napoleon replied, "He doesn't
deserve mercy," to which the mother implored,
"But, sir, if he deserved it, it wouldn't be
mercy!" At that, Napoleon allowed the boy to
live. After telling this story, the gentleman
said, "I have no idea why I told that story.
It just came into my head."
God's
Answer to a Prayer
As he had
been speaking, I felt the strangest sensation
of heat come over my head and into my chest.
Without wavering, I said, "I know why you
told that story." I turned toward my dad and
gently said, "Dad, when mom was dying, I felt
that God was being very unfair. So I asked
Him what He had to say about the situation.
Would you like to hear what God had to say
about you and mom?" The room was very quiet.
I could tell that my dad was afraid to know.
But, after a few moments he indicated that he
would.
I felt the
heat increasing as I reached deep into my
soul for those words, "He said, 'I could not
heal your mother, because she would not
forgive. But I see the wounds upon your
father's heart, and I have pity on him.'" In
the moment I spoke those words, the power of
Spirit hit both of us "like lightening."
We stood
up, pushed our chairs back from the table and
fell into each others arms, sobbing. After
quite a while of crying and kissing, we sat
down again. Even the two gentlemen present
were crying! I realized that I could not
remember even one of my dad's offenses on my
"list." The whole list was erased from my
memory--and sixteen years later, it is still
gone!
Daughter/Dad
Relationship Redefined
From that
day on, my dad and I have had a relationship
that is far beyond mere "reconciliation" or
"recovery." We never had a relationship like
this before--ever! This is a totally new
relationship! We talk on the phone every
weekend, we plan visits around special
holidays, and we go to conferences together.
Where before my dad had been closed to the
"things of the Spirit," due to the wounding
caused by my own judgmentalism and legalism,
now he is hungry for more. Right away my dad
began having powerful dreams which he KNEW
were from God. He shares these dreams with me
and we discuss their possible
meanings.
In the 16
years since this story took place, my Dad has
become my very best friend and confidant. We
share our lives, our dreams and our entire
spiritual journey with each other. We love
sharing our story with others and many have
rekindled hope for reconciliation with a
family member from our candle of love.
Discover how you can manifest miracles in
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