I have been considering my thoughts about this particular blog post to be selfish or self-seeking so I kept stopping myself from writing it. I try very hard to analyze my own motives in an effort to refrain from self-righteous and selfish behavior. Even as I write these words, I ask the Holy Spirit to guide me so I don’t gain from them any pity from my readers who’s big hearts may be drawn to feeling sorry for me. However, I feel led to share my very real thoughts and emotions over the circumstances I now find myself in the midst of. I knew it was coming I watched as it drew closer and closer. I allowed myself to feel hope and I wouldn’t allow myself to dwell on any possibility that could shatter the hope within me, so I had every opportunity to prepare myself for what I knew was going to happen but instead I refuse to face it. Then ready or not the inevitable took its rightful place and here I am in a kind of dream-like state of all-consuming disbelief and in the in-escapable knowing, I think it’s almost like shock yet I am cognitively and rationally still very much here. I know God’s Word says, 1 Thessalonians 4:13 but we do not want you to be uninformed, Brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. I have not lost hope and I’m not angry. I don’t feel like a victim of life’s hardships. Still I ask myself, what’s wrong with you? Everybody goes through this at some point in their lives. And it’s not like it was a shock or surprise, he was 79 years old after all and because of his heart he already lived long past the doctors estimates. I guess even those who are given time to prepare for this, still find they were not prepared or ready when the time finally came. Not long ago I was sitting by his bedside and he said to me, “please don’t be mad or hate me because I don’t want to be here anymore”. I was shocked to hear such words from the man I considered to be strong, proud, honest, rock solid and unbreakable. He couldn’t wait to meet Jesus he said. I smiled at him and said, “Daddy I couldn’t be mad or hate you for that, if I had a choice I would rather be in heaven with Jesus too”. They say it’s rather common for girls to be daddy’s girls. As common as daddy’s girls may be, I wonder if every daddy’s girl feels as though they are the exceptionally rare kind of daddy’s girls? I want to say, “no you don’t understand, I’m not the average daddy’s girl, it’s much, much, more than that, so much more special. There is no statistic for the special bond that daddy and I had. Daddy was my mentor, my safe place, my protector, my wise counsel, my most honest critic, my disciplinary, my preacher, my hero and my friend. He taught me how to defend myself, he always went to battle for me when an authority over me wouldn’t listen. Like the time he told the school principal and school counselor to put boxing gloves on me and the girl who had been harassing me for over a year and then put us in the gym until we work out our differences. Speechless at first, one finally spoke up and said we can’t do that Mr. Anderson! In which my dad replied then don’t call me when my daughter kicks that girl’s butt in self-defense! He told them he would guarantee that his daughter wouldn’t start the fight but she had better finish it and he didn’t want to hear a thing from the school about it. He taught me on the way home that most the fight was in the mind so I needed to intimidate her by staring her down while putting down my books slowly taking off my jacket my watch my rings etc. wait until she came at me and then take her down. He was absolutely right and it just so happened that so many had seen the fight, not one person picked on me the rest of that year. Another time my science teacher wouldn’t let me bring my Bible to class to show there is another view on how we all came into existence. I told him I believe in creation and won’t answer test questions or write essay stating evolution is fact. He said he would have to flunk me. My dad agreed with my viewpoint so once again he went to school. This time I didn’t get to hear what my dad had to say but I was told my Bible is welcome in class and we would also look at creation as a possibility of how we came to exist. I remember growing up bragging about having the coolest dad in the world. Until high school anyway. Once I hit 13 I didn’t think anyone understood me. Boy did I put my parents through some heartaches. A stage in my life I am not proud of. I never thought I knew everything or even more than my parents. I knew my parents were wise and experienced I just didn’t think they understood me at all. They sure tried, oh how I hated disappointing dad. I can still feel the impact my emotions had on changing the naivety of how I saw my dad the day I found out he wasn’t perfect. He was human and could make mistakes too. I think how I felt at that moment is interestingly similar to how I am feeling now. Crushed but not broken, disbelieving yet understanding, unavoidably knowing and still unchanging in my respect and adoration of the man. My mind drifts to the time I had major surgery and spent a week and a half in the hospital. Daddy came every morning as my husband left for work and he would read the Bible to me, walk the halls with me, watch TV with me and nap with me until my husband arrived after work in the evening. He would leave for the night but always return the next day. The entire time I was in the hospital he was by my side. Music was a common love between us and daddy sure love those old church hymns. We sang at church, at the ministry we worked for, and all our big family get-togethers were karaoke parties in reality! It became somewhat of a tradition. Daddy never held back when I asked for his opinion of a new song I was working on. Even when he knew my feelings could be hurt he was honest. He was just as honest when asked about my writings. I always wanted his opinion because I knew he would be truthful not sparing my feelings with sugar-coated confusing answers that never seemed to directly answer whether it was good or needed work. I have come to believe, that as a direct result of who my daddy was as head of the family and as a father to me, I more easily understood what the word of God meant in being adopted into God’s family thus gifted with the right to call God Abba, Father. Romans 8:15 For you have not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out, “Abba! Father!” I can imagine some girls having difficulty seeing Father God as dad if they either never had a dad around or if the didn’t have a gentle, loving dad in their lives. I can’t always say that I felt my dad was gentle and there we’re often battles while growing up. The thing is I can’t seem to remember very many bad times. Daddy gave me the tools to understand and have faith in a loving, merciful, gentle, patient, good and kind Father God just by being everything a dad is supposed to be for me. Over the years I have found myself praising God and thanking him repeatedly for blessing me with my dad. For quite a few years he would tell me that I was the one that would take over the Bible classes and Ministry part of the company we worked for once he was ready to retire. I always told him oh no, no, no I’m not a preacher, I’m not learned enough or skilled enough and I don’t know enough of the Bible. He refused to give up on me and he insisted that I come and sit in on his classes. He mentored me on how to teach, the kind of Heart one needs to effectively minister to people, all the responsibilities that we take on as we minister to people and that we must understand our duty to be accountable to them. I would watch daddy as he ministered to people, as he sat by their hospital beds, as he went out of his way to pick them up, drop them off, to assist them in any way he could, sometimes even staying the night at the facility they were staying at just so they would be comfortable. I don’t know how many times he was woken up in the middle of the night and in moments heading all the way to work because somebody needed something or their heater went out, etc. Daddy I’m going to miss you so much. This life, this world feels empty and I just don’t know how to live it without you. The superhero isn’t supposed to die. They may get battle scars and deep wounds but they heal and always come back. What happens when the superhero dies? When there’s no one there to protect and keep watch? What is going to happen to my world? I want to scream, cry, throw something, sleep, mostly I want to go to heaven too. Knowing daddy is in his Fathers Glory, pain free, sorrow free, resting in the peace and Love of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, doesn’t make it so easy that the heartache eases. No not even a little. I am so happy for dad. I’m just selfishly sad for me. I’m in a dark- light existence now and I don’t know, will it last forever? This life is not appealing as everything now seems dull and bland. How do you tell your heart to say goodbye?
Daddy I know your in heaven,
and I know your finally at peace,
wish you could send a little,
peace down here to me,
daddy I feel all alone now,
I find it really hard to breathe,
dark light is all around me,
making it hard to see clearly,
daddy have you seen Jesus,
I bet He made you feel right at home,
I bet its warm there in God’s presence,
here everyday just seems so cold,
even though I miss you daddy,
I would never pray you back,
this fallen world can seem so heavy,
you had your fair share of that,
you ran your race fought the fight,
you sure held on with all your might,
drawing strength from the love that you have inside,
daddy I wish I could hold your hand again,
see your smile and hear you laughing,
oh what I would give to just hug you tight,
you finished your race,
now I have to finish mine,
daddy will you think of me some,
as you walk golden streets in heaven,
could you send some prayers my way,
that might help me make it through the day,
oh daddy what’s it like to sing,
with legion of angels accompanying,
I can almost hear the majesty,
daddy could you sing one for me