r e f e r e n c e : original post
q u o t e _ c o m m e n t : Flute Player
a b o u t : maybe dialogue
r e f e r e n c e : original post
q u o t e _ c o m m e n t : Flute Player
a b o u t : maybe dialogue
r e f e r e n c e : original post
q u o t e _ c o m m e n t : Biochicklet
a b o u t : maybe dialogue
Image: Geo Sans
~
imperfect
god created man
in his image
~
childhood trauma
my primary source
of guilt and pain
my family and church
our innocence lost
~
righteous rage
he was a jealous god
insecure, uncertain
fear trumped love
anger overruled compassion
~
reconciliation
forgive me father
I forgive you god
for all our sins
we’re only human
_ _ _
B L O O D L I N E S
Purging an old covenant. First memories of my dad. Small prairie church in the 1970s. Our family fills an entire front row.
My father is 38 (anxious). He has 5 children under eight years old and his wife is carrying their sixth child. He is trying to sell the family farm.
Squeaming, screaming. Church feels unbearably long for children and parents (there’s no peace on earth).
~
W O N D E R
I’m three years old and staring at a church bulletin. A line drawing of an adult Jesus. For the first time, I notice a nose isn’t the smudged dot from my drawings. My eyes trace and memorize this new shape.
~
T H U N D E R
When home, my dad yells, snarls. We weren’t still and quiet enough. His belt swings hard against our bare flesh. We all taste the burning sting and shame of fear, anger, pain.
I close my eyes unable to block my older brother’s terror. His anguishing bone chilling howls of horror. I still see your purple watery face. You are only six.
Instilling a fear of god. Subconsciously, I start hating going to church (anxiety) — and I grew up resenting my father’s authoritative power. We did not understand each other. We lived and spoke different languages. I ended up focusing on what my dad wasn’t.
~
C O N T R A D I C T I O N S
Identifying, processing. This trauma was extremely difficult for me. My dad wasn’t a violent man. He was soft-spoken. He always cared for us, was always there. He was hardworking and sombre. And I can vividly remember each and every rare time he genuinely smiled — or lost his temper. Both very rare.
~
I N N O C E N C E
It’s been 10 years since our family’s last Christmas with our father. Even though he never said it, I know he loved me. It was difficult for us to give and receive. We both had trouble with emotions.
Different views, perspectives. Time has helped with understanding. Maybe it wasn’t fair to judge my father. Maybe meaningful relationships can eclipse one traumatic moment.
Today, I open my heart to you dad. I apologize for the walls I built. And I forgive you for your old trespasses. I’m ready to live and love you freely. Peace to you — and peace to me.
+ + +
L I N K S:
walking outside
my three year old daughter
~
interested
I asked
what’s forgiveness ?
~
it’s love daddy
~
Image: Geo Sans
treat others
as you’d like
to be treated
~
expectations
dangerous assumptions
we fix on others
~
how could I
possibly know
what you needed
~
your body
your vagina
our love entered
our dead baby
exited
~
as a man
was it wrong
to lust
after you
~
you
needed
closeness
~
without
sex
~
now
I understand
~
when we lost
our son
we lost
each other
~
we were shells
empty
hurting
voids
~
different ways
of grieving
disconnected
us
~
our raw pain
forced unrealistic
expectations
upon ourselves
~
feeling
emotionally abandoned
unable to help
heal
~
I’m sorry
I let you down
when you needed
me
~
I’m learning
to forgive
myself
~
mourning
our silent baby
our hospital room
together
~
to say good-bye
I asked for a blessing
from a man of faith
~
no soothing
comfort
just guilt
for not practicing
~
you could be anybody
our church
doesn’t know you
~
I have engraved your name on the palms of my hands
~
insincerity
grudgingly
walking through
a ritual
~
forgive me father
I know not
what I do
~