Wednesday, June 5, 2013

A Journey of Forgiveness, Part One...



Since Father's Day is this month, I am reposting this series of 3 posts I wrote about my relationship with my father.  
If you can't wait to read the whole story, you can find it in the list of topics on my sidebar under
 "A Journey of Forgiveness".



It’s strange how the details of my surroundings at that moment are seared into my memory. The sun shone through the upstairs bedroom window of our tall yellow house, its warmth spreading across the quilt covered bed that Daddy told us kids to sit down on. He sat on the other twin bed facing us. The paint on the bedroom wall behind him was flat, minty green, scuffed. The closet door was ajar, the interior was dark. What I don’t remember is even more strange. I don’t remember the words he used to tell us he was leaving Mama and us. I don’t remember the expression on his face, or if he cried. Stranger still, I don’t remember my own emotions. I don’t remember if I said anything in response or if I cried. I think something inside my nine year old heart just went numb and shut down.

In a large family like ours, spending money wasn’t just handed out willy nilly. But that day, Daddy handed us kids some spending money and told us to walk the couple blocks to the variety store on the main street of our little town and buy ourselves something. I guess that he didn’t want us kids to see him filling up cardboard boxes with his belongings or driving away in our big, old Oldsmobile station wagon.

I remember the details of the sidewalk as we walked to the store, so I guess my head was hanging. The sun was warm on my neck and back. I felt like I should be more excited about getting to buy something and numbly picked out some modeling clay. I remember the smell of the clay and the way it stained my hands reddish brown when I played with it. But I don’t remember if I cried myself to sleep that night or not.

The next couple of years, the memories are all foggy with only a few clear memories bobbing up to the surface of my mind, rather like those red and white floats Daddy tied to our fishing line when he took my little brother and I fishing in the nearby river. Sometimes we’d spend the night camping by the river, me, my little brother and Daddy, sleeping in the back of the old station wagon snuggled together. I remember another overnight stay at a little apartment Daddy must have rented. One cold, rainy night, I was in the very same upstairs bedroom that Daddy had sat us in to tell us he was leaving. Unable to sleep, I leaned my head against the cold windowpane and stood there crying, straining my eyes as I looked out into the dark night in the direction that I thought Daddy’s apartment was. I cried and prayed for him to come home. I remember my youngest brother and I sitting together on the old wood floor of our enclosed back porch, talking together about if there was some way we could get Mama and Daddy back together. And I remember Mama standing in the dining room of the tall yellow house, talking on the black dial rotary phone with the curly cue cord that always got hopelessly tangled up, and telling whoever she was talking to that she’d take him back if he’d just come home.

The day Daddy drove up in the station wagon to pick us kids up for our Sunday afternoon visit with a lady in the front seat next to him, the weather was dark and gray. He told us that this was his new wife. I had seen her before. She and her husband had been friends with Mama and Daddy. So this was who he had traded my Mama for, I thought. (to be continued…)



still following,



11 comments:

  1. oh Elizabeth. oh. you have gone through hell... oh friend. just wishing i could hug you tight right now.

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  2. I've only read this first part of your story but I can imagine the pain, the rejection, the loneliness you must have felt. It would take a journey to get to forgiveness. I will read the rest now.
    Blessings,
    Janis

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    1. I'm so thankful for the journey God brought me through to forgiveness. It truly is a message of God's grace. Thanks for your encouragement, Janis.

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  3. This is hard to read, even knowing how God provided for you and how beautiful you are and the blessing you know today. There is still "pain in the offering" as the song says. It's such a privilege to call you my friend. And I'm so glad to know that this wasn't the end of the story God had for you. xo

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    1. Oh, Rhonda, I'm so glad we met as well and are friends and sisters in Christ. Hoping we can meet again!

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  4. It is always so hard on children, I see it in my own grand children. Who are ages 14 and twin 9 year olds. They know it won't ever work again but they 'struggle' with the change. (especially the little ones)

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    1. I always feel a connection with children when they are going through this, since I know how it feels. Praying for God's presence and love to be very real to your daughter and grandkids during this hard time.

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  5. Elizabeth. You took me there, back to when you were nine. So powerful. I'm going to read it as you post it--not skip ahead and read the entire thing.

    It says so much--the parts you can't remember and what you do recall.

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    1. I entered it in the Writer's Workshop contest at Guidepost but didn't win. If I would have won would I have gotten to see you face to face? I'd love that!

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  6. Elizabeth I am numbed by this and can't decide whether I have it in me to read ahead or wait. i am so sorry for your loss and pain. You tell it from such a deep and tender place. thank you.

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