Piece By Piece: Hope for Forgiveness

Song lyrics are intense...Music has such a tremendous ability to affect us; whether it's the key, the tempo, the lyrics, the dynamics--music can reach us in ways nothing else can. I know that's why God made it. He understands that music accesses parts of our brains and our hearts that we shut down. It unlocks us, and it opens up floodgates.
Blogs/statuses based in song lyrics always strike me as lame. It's just a cheesy thing, to me (I'm not hating on it; it's just not my thing), and I very rarely do it. This time, though, "Piece by Piece," by Kelly Clarkson, has caught my attention, and ultimately, it has unraveled me, and forced me to deal with some issues that I'd rather ignore.
On those rare occasions where song lyrics undo me, I usually find that God has a reason for it.
Every day, I pray the Lord's Prayer. Every. Single. Day. And every day, I stick in one part: Forgive me my sins, Lord, as I forgive those who sin against me.
"As I forgive..."
Every day, when I pray that prayer, the same face comes to mind: My biological father.
Why?
I'm so done with him--I want nothing to do with him; I never want to see him again. I currently don't even know if he's dead or alive, and I'm not sure I want to. I don't even think I'd go to his funeral, and if I did, I'd probably slap his corpse.
That's some rage, right there.
I could handle his abandonment of me, before I had children...
When I had my daughter, he never visited. He didn't come to her funeral, and had the audacity to shed crocodile tears over the phone (I will say that there was an ice storm the day before her funeral, but he never even tried).
I've never had so much as a phone call about my son.
The last time I saw him, he was a shaky mess of a person (I will not call him a "man"). I actually felt intense sympathy for him at the time...I had just found out I was pregnant with my son, but chose not to share that with him.
Prior to having children, I thought I was over it. I thought I'd forgiven him, that I was healed.
I was wrong.
He abandoned me...when he had the chance to make it right, he beat me. 
I look at my son, and I think, How?
What kind of monster walks away from a toddler? Was I like my son? Did I giggle over Sesame Street? Did I yell "HUGS!!!"  and run to tackle his knees? Did I want nothing more than to sit by him, to cuddle on the couch and watch cartoons?
How could he reject that?
How could he reject my sister--a happy, bubbly grade-schooler who NEEDED her daddy? How could he just walk away?
I don't understand, and I will NEVER understand, and every day I look at my son, I think of how I will ferociously hold his hand until my very last breath...The lyrics in this song remind me that I am not my father...I am nothing like him, and that is a huge gift from God and from my mother...

"Piece by piece I fell far from the tree
I will never leave [him] like you left me
And [he] will never have to wonder [his] worth
Because unlike you I'm gonna put [him] first"

My mother worked her ass off, to take care of us, even after she met my stepdad (who, in spite of the mistakes that I think a lot of stepdads-with-no-previous-experience make, has been one of the greatest gifts that God could have given me). She worked full-time, kept me in private school, sent us to church, kept us presentable, and kept the roof on the house. She was (is) a beautiful woman who could have been out living it up in her mid-20's...instead, she did what mamas do: She put us first.
Still does, really...
And she loves that grandbaby....She sees the rewards of staying, of caring, every time he gives her that beatific smile and says "Meee!!!!!"
And so does my stepdad--the Man Who Stayed. He is the only grandfather (on my side) that my son will ever need to know. He IS "PawPaw," and I am incredibly thankful for him. 

Marriage isn't easy. David and I have had a few rough patches, and even though we're 10 years into this thing, we're still finding our way. We get angry, we duke it out, we get through it/over it, and we move on. Not too long ago, I looked at myself and said that I'd had enough....that I was finished. I said I couldn't do this anymore...
It wasn't a proud moment.
Suddenly, I looked at my son and realized that he is the same age that I was, when my parents divorced....I picked him up, and the tears ran.  I cried out to God that I would not see the cycle repeated. I took a stand for my marriage, for my family, and for my household. I love the man I married...I think I've loved him since I was born....that God meant us to be together from the minute we took our first breaths. Does that mean this is a cakewalk? NO. But nothing is valuable unless you've worked for it, claimed it, prayed over it, cried over it, and sealed it in Jesus. My marriage is worth everything to me...and his fatherhood over our son is worth even more than that.
The next lyrics in the song are what  made me cry the most, because Kelly Clarkson wrote them about her husband, and how he's not the kind of person her father was:

"And you know he'll never walk away
He'll never break [his] heart
He'll take care of things
He'll love [him]
And piece by piece he'll restore my faith
That a man can be kind and a father should be great"

David is nothing like my bio-dad.  He is kind...he is faithful...he loves his son, and he loves me. He'd never raise a hand to me...he doesn't berate me, or hurt my heart...Sure, he's messy, but he's mine, and I will keep him forever. I can't imagine my life without him...and seeing him with our babies has made me love him even more.
He's everything I ever wanted, in a father for my children. He is a great father.
And in watching him, perhaps I can move past my anger and rage with my own father...

Someday, when I pray for God to "forgive me my sins, as I forgive those who have sinned against me," I'd like to feel that peace that comes when you've truly, honestly let it all go, and forgiven someone for the deep hurt/anger/resentment. I think when that finally happens, a restoration will take place that will be a game-changer in my relationship with the Lord. My hope is that this is one of those things, that piece-by-piece, God makes real in my soul...that the more I repeat it, the more it will come to pass. Resentment is ugly, and I don't want to carry it around.  I don't hate my bio-dad, but I sure as heck would like to know why he did what he did, and why he is who he is. Everyone goes through hard times, but everyone doesn't let their hard times turn them into a narcissistic alcoholic that abandons their family. I don't understand why he's done what he's done, and I wish I didn't care so much. I wish I could turn it off, and pretend he's dead, a non-issue...but I guess that's just a way for me to abandon him, and to turn the tables on my terms.

Piece by piece, Lord...Restore my faith that a man can be saved...that forgiveness is attainable, and necessary...

Creaks and groans and memories past...

Every time I think I've gotten rid of the last thing of Hannah's, I find something else. It's usually an unexpected, takes-my-breath-away moment that causes the chaos that led me to the discovery, to come to a quick halt. There's always a pause--usually brief--where I stop and simply thank God for the blessings we have. Joy, for our family, seems to have grown up from a garden watered in tears.
Oh, that's so dramatic...quick, pass me a tissue...choke...
Seriously, though--the pain of losing Hannah makes the very presence of Jericho that much more awesome, and I mean that word in it's true definition. AWEsome. Anytime I have that sharp-inhale feeling (that can easily turn into a full-blown panic attack, if I let the fear reign), it is quickly quieted by lessons learned about being present....about embracing THIS moment, the one right in front of me...not the one we had...not the one in the future...and not the one where I wonder what could have been. THIS moment. Right here. Green/gold/brown eyes stare back into my own...a giggle escapes the tiny human that grew in my womb...I am overcome with the need to hug this little man...this little world-changer...
It's not glossing over the past.
It's embracing the miracle of now.
It's understanding that she is in my future, in Heaven, with my Savior---with the One Who has carried us through it all...
It's laying down the ever-present fear...turning off the news and the feeds...It's faith, it's hope, and it's relying on Jesus.
This Jesus--I sometimes think I am the worst representative of Him. I swear, I can be extremely disrespectful, I mess up constantly, and I'm known to be linguistically lethal when so inclined. But in my heart of hearts, I hope no one ever questions the simple fact that flawed as I am, I love Jesus. Seeing Him face-to-face is the greatest desire of my heart, and always has been, even when I was so angry that I wanted to look Him in the face long enough to scream at Him. He's the only true constant in my life...He's my Best Friend, and He loves me for who I am...and for who He made me to be.
Trusting Him at this stage of my life is a whole new ball game. I'd imagine that parents that have lost a child have a much harder time doing this, than most? I don't know; it's just way too easy for me to personalize every news story with "it could be him...That could be my son..." The news is overwhelming to me,  and I don't think that's going to get any better. It freaks me out. God is bigger than the worst of my anxiety, and for that, I am grateful. I find reminders of His magnitude everywhere I look. Psalms 8 comes to mind...I find tremendous peace in looking at His hand in nature, and I'm so excited that warmer weather is here! The outdoors is the best therapy in the world.
Anyways, I started this blog out about things that belonged to Hannah. The last remaining thing (I think, outside of her memory box) is her rocking chair. It's the only piece of her furniture that I did not have removed from my house; we were so broke when we were pregnant, that our beloved rocking chair was $10 from our local Goodwill. I simply do not have the heart to get rid of it, even though it creaks, and groans, and is full of memories of not only her little life, but of Jericho's full, long, hilarious life.
I've dried tears, cried tears, rocked babies to sleep, played in, rested in, and prayed countless prayers in this old, creaky rocking chair. Tonight, it groaned its protests as I settled back into it, rocking Bug to sleep for the second time tonight...
This child brings me the greatest of joys, and teaches me more about the love of God than I could have ever thought...
That rocking chair...I don't know who had it before us...whose babies were rocked in it, whose tears were dried in it, or whose prayers were prayed in it...I do know that it is part of our family legacy, and that in spite of the sound effects, we will keep it until its in pieces...
And then I'll use it in an art project. :) (That's a reference to "Hoarders," LOL).