Growing up, I can remember it was every little girl’s dream to be the apple of their daddy’s eye. She wanted to dance as a little girl with her feet on top of daddy’s’, as he swirled her round and round as she giggled with squeals of joy. At her sweet 16 party she would dance with her daddy first, and then her date as her daddy looked sternly over at the young man as if to say, “that’s my precious jewel” and “I’ll take you out if you hurt her.” We would dream of the day we would get married and daddy would walk us down the aisle and shed a few tears as he handed her over to the man she would marry as he looked tenderly down at the daughter with pride and unconditional love as he lifted the veil from her face. At the reception the traditional daddy-daughter dance would have all eyes watching and brimming with tears. I’m sure a lot of girls had all or part of those dreams come true.
I, for one, was not one of those girls and it would take years to undo the damage of a societal and dream/fantasy filled mind ingrained by magazines, books, television shows, and movies. When it came time for a decision to have children, I never wanted a little girl because I never wanted a little girl to experience the hurts of this world. To me, being a girl was hard, some days too hard. Seemed like I had the whole world stacked against me and no matter the choices I made, my efforts were never good enough and no matter how hard I tried I could never garner the love and affection I craved. The “prize” for me was a scarred heart with a fortress built around it.
In my grown-up girl world I would still see movies, or read books filled with lies about how daddy’s loved their little girls or by the end of the movie the relationship would be restored. The last time I spoke with my father, he was drunk, and the conversation wasn’t pretty. So after I heard enough I wrapped up the conversation by telling him the next time I saw him I would be dancing on his grave and then I hung up the phone. As fate would have it, that was the last time I spoke with my father. He died shortly thereafter and I can’t say as I grieved over it. I was actually happy he couldn’t inflict his pain on others any longer. There would be no restored relationship.
Now, that would all seem so very dark and depressing if that was the end of my happily never after. But this is just the beginning of my happily ever after. I am not defined by the circumstances of my life. The enemy cannot win by telling me I was not the cherished daughter I always wanted to be, unworthy of the love of my father, because that is a great big fat in your face lie. My Abba Father, the Daddy of all daddy’s tells me I am adored, loved, redeemed, and renewed. I’m precious, worthy, and chosen and I am His. He thinks I’m all that and more. He took my broken heart, bound up my wounds and sealed them with His love.
The unconditional love of our God is fathomless and once it gets inside you, you can’t help but see things through His eyes. Love allowed me to reflect on the demons that haunted my earthly father and forgive him completely. I can’t take back the last words I ever said to my father, no more so than he can take back the words he spoke, but in love and forgiveness I can press forward into the life God has planned for me.
Best part about this whole dance of life? God gave me a whole world to dance on. He’s been dancing with me since before I was born and He’s dancing with me now and I have no doubt about the dancing we’ll do when we’re face to face as He swirls me round and round and I giggle with squeals of joy. I wonder if He’ll let me dance on His feet?
Blessed to be Broken 