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...
Showing posts with label stepdad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stepdad. Show all posts
Friday, March 13, 2015
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Day #19: Disrespecting Your Parents
Today's blog topic simply said "Disrespecting Your Parents." It didn't say, "what do you think about ____?" or "what would happen if you were _____?" Nope--just "Disrespecting Your Parents."
So, here's my interpretation:
I try not to disrespect my Mom and Dad.
I have expensive dental work.
I'd like to keep it in place.
But seriously!!!
There are a few things in this world that I am proud of myself for. One, is the fact that I've never smoked. Anything. Not a thing. Ever.
Secondly, is the fact that I lived with my parents, and for the most part, kept it respectful, until I was 27 years old--when I got married.
My mom and dad are loud, funny, bold people with strong opinions. I am also a loud person with a strong opinion. This leads to heated discussions and a lot of frustration--I barely survived college (it's hard to watch your kid be an idiot!). But I love them, and I knew the rules: You live under my roof, you obey my rules, period.
Dad is Italian; Mom is adopted, and raised in Indiana. [Note: If you don't know this already, when I say "Dad," I'm referring to the guy that is technically my step-father. But "Dad-"hood is earned...and my biological father hasn't put in the effort, quite frankly, so my step-father is my Dad. Bio-Dad is referred to as such, or by his name (Fred) in this blog. That's not out of anger; my stepDad deserves the respect. My father keeps his distance by his choice.]
Dad chose us--he met and married my Momma when I was 8 years old, and my sister was 12. He had no idea what he was in for, but he has stayed, and for that, I am grateful. It hasn't been an easy road for him; the years have been rough, and he's had his struggles. But even though I question a lot, I do know that my Dad loves me. That goes deeper than blood.
Dad has dried my tears after bad concert performances; laughed at my jokes that weren't funny; fixed plumbing that I destroyed; and walked me down the aisle. I have beautiful memories with my dad, and I am eternally grateful that God put him in our lives.
As for Mom...I can't say enough. I can't say anything--there are no words. That's the relationship that almost never was, but let me tell you: There is no one on this earth that loves me like that woman. The further I go on my own journey of motherhood, the greater and greater my respect and admiration for her grows. I had no idea what she went through, until now, and I'm just starting to catch a glimpse. She's made of iron, that's for sure, and like iron sharpening iron, we have struggled with each other...and we have helped each other grow in many ways. She has been the single biggest factor in helping me become the person I am today, and in shaping the person I hope to be.
I hope to someday have her work ethic--her tireless, obsessed-with-excellence work ethic. She works with integrity-she IS a Proverbs 31 tough-as-nails kind of woman, even though it doesn't get recognized as often as it should. She is faithful, ferocious, sassy, crazy, and awesome. She's a force to be reckoned with, and that's an understatement.
There is no one on this planet like my mom, and if you don't know her, it's your loss. She's incredible. I've been around her more this year, than I have in a long time, because she watches my son for a little bit during the week. It's a big sacrifice for her, but I love seeing him with her...it makes me think of my own grandma, and how much I loved her.
I want JD to grow up loving my mom like I loved my Grandma M....who was also a force to be reckoned with!
I'm human. I get mad at my parents...I get mad at my dad's choices; I loathe his motorcycle. I get frustrated at the occasional miscommunication with my mom, and how things we say can get so misunderstood and misinterpreted. Anger is one thing, but disrespect is another, and that is one thing I do not do.
My parents are not on some kind of super-pedastal. No one knows your good side/bad side like your kids, and that's something I'm preparing for (can you ever prepare yourself for that?!?). I'm not delusional, and I'm not candy-coating them to make them sound like something they're not.
They really are incredible.
I didn't grow up like The Bradys. My parents loved Jesus, swore a lot, spanked our butts a little too often, made us do chores and homework, drug us to church, and bought our clothes on sale. They'd get mad and say terrible things, but they'd also teach us what the Bible said. They made sure we had a good education--I will never forget the times my dad tried to teach me algebra (sorry, Dad--lost cause!). Mom taught us to love music and dancing; my first dance was with my dad.
Our house was full of life and vibrance, strength through trials, perseverance and sacrifice. We have lived through a lot as a family, and we are bonded even more because of it.
I will never call my mother my "old lady," or my dad my "old man." I have said some dumb things to them, but never that. I feel like I have been a pretty respectful kid, in all honesty, and all things considered, I'm kinda proud of that fact.
Exodus 20:12 says "Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you." I believe that. In 2006, I went into congestive heart failure. My left ventricle pretty much stopped working, and my oxygen levels plummeted. There is no earthly reason I should have survived. I should have died, or at the very least, had a stroke.
I lived.
I was thinking about this verse one day, when it hit me: Maybe that's why I lived? Maybe my respect for my parents, the fact that I was obedient, is why God decided to let me live?
I don't know if that's true, or if that's arrogant to think....I have no idea. But it certainly put it into perspective, and it's something I'm going to teach my son!
Disrespecting the people who have given so much to bring you into this world, shows just how much of an unappreciative, unworthy jerk someone is. Our parents (even bio-dad) are deserving of respect for their lives, for their experience, and for the love they give us...God gave us to them (and most of our parents have dedicated us back to Him), so if He respects them that much, shouldn't we?
I love my mom and dad.
They're pretty freakin' cool. :)
So, here's my interpretation:
I try not to disrespect my Mom and Dad.
I have expensive dental work.
I'd like to keep it in place.
But seriously!!!
There are a few things in this world that I am proud of myself for. One, is the fact that I've never smoked. Anything. Not a thing. Ever.
Secondly, is the fact that I lived with my parents, and for the most part, kept it respectful, until I was 27 years old--when I got married.
My mom and dad are loud, funny, bold people with strong opinions. I am also a loud person with a strong opinion. This leads to heated discussions and a lot of frustration--I barely survived college (it's hard to watch your kid be an idiot!). But I love them, and I knew the rules: You live under my roof, you obey my rules, period.
Dad is Italian; Mom is adopted, and raised in Indiana. [Note: If you don't know this already, when I say "Dad," I'm referring to the guy that is technically my step-father. But "Dad-"hood is earned...and my biological father hasn't put in the effort, quite frankly, so my step-father is my Dad. Bio-Dad is referred to as such, or by his name (Fred) in this blog. That's not out of anger; my stepDad deserves the respect. My father keeps his distance by his choice.]
Dad chose us--he met and married my Momma when I was 8 years old, and my sister was 12. He had no idea what he was in for, but he has stayed, and for that, I am grateful. It hasn't been an easy road for him; the years have been rough, and he's had his struggles. But even though I question a lot, I do know that my Dad loves me. That goes deeper than blood.
Dad has dried my tears after bad concert performances; laughed at my jokes that weren't funny; fixed plumbing that I destroyed; and walked me down the aisle. I have beautiful memories with my dad, and I am eternally grateful that God put him in our lives.
As for Mom...I can't say enough. I can't say anything--there are no words. That's the relationship that almost never was, but let me tell you: There is no one on this earth that loves me like that woman. The further I go on my own journey of motherhood, the greater and greater my respect and admiration for her grows. I had no idea what she went through, until now, and I'm just starting to catch a glimpse. She's made of iron, that's for sure, and like iron sharpening iron, we have struggled with each other...and we have helped each other grow in many ways. She has been the single biggest factor in helping me become the person I am today, and in shaping the person I hope to be.
I hope to someday have her work ethic--her tireless, obsessed-with-excellence work ethic. She works with integrity-she IS a Proverbs 31 tough-as-nails kind of woman, even though it doesn't get recognized as often as it should. She is faithful, ferocious, sassy, crazy, and awesome. She's a force to be reckoned with, and that's an understatement.
There is no one on this planet like my mom, and if you don't know her, it's your loss. She's incredible. I've been around her more this year, than I have in a long time, because she watches my son for a little bit during the week. It's a big sacrifice for her, but I love seeing him with her...it makes me think of my own grandma, and how much I loved her.
I want JD to grow up loving my mom like I loved my Grandma M....who was also a force to be reckoned with!
I'm human. I get mad at my parents...I get mad at my dad's choices; I loathe his motorcycle. I get frustrated at the occasional miscommunication with my mom, and how things we say can get so misunderstood and misinterpreted. Anger is one thing, but disrespect is another, and that is one thing I do not do.
My parents are not on some kind of super-pedastal. No one knows your good side/bad side like your kids, and that's something I'm preparing for (can you ever prepare yourself for that?!?). I'm not delusional, and I'm not candy-coating them to make them sound like something they're not.
They really are incredible.
I didn't grow up like The Bradys. My parents loved Jesus, swore a lot, spanked our butts a little too often, made us do chores and homework, drug us to church, and bought our clothes on sale. They'd get mad and say terrible things, but they'd also teach us what the Bible said. They made sure we had a good education--I will never forget the times my dad tried to teach me algebra (sorry, Dad--lost cause!). Mom taught us to love music and dancing; my first dance was with my dad.
Our house was full of life and vibrance, strength through trials, perseverance and sacrifice. We have lived through a lot as a family, and we are bonded even more because of it.
I will never call my mother my "old lady," or my dad my "old man." I have said some dumb things to them, but never that. I feel like I have been a pretty respectful kid, in all honesty, and all things considered, I'm kinda proud of that fact.
Exodus 20:12 says "Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you." I believe that. In 2006, I went into congestive heart failure. My left ventricle pretty much stopped working, and my oxygen levels plummeted. There is no earthly reason I should have survived. I should have died, or at the very least, had a stroke.
I lived.
I was thinking about this verse one day, when it hit me: Maybe that's why I lived? Maybe my respect for my parents, the fact that I was obedient, is why God decided to let me live?
I don't know if that's true, or if that's arrogant to think....I have no idea. But it certainly put it into perspective, and it's something I'm going to teach my son!
Disrespecting the people who have given so much to bring you into this world, shows just how much of an unappreciative, unworthy jerk someone is. Our parents (even bio-dad) are deserving of respect for their lives, for their experience, and for the love they give us...God gave us to them (and most of our parents have dedicated us back to Him), so if He respects them that much, shouldn't we?
I love my mom and dad.
They're pretty freakin' cool. :)
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