Forgiveness does not change the past

Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future.
-- Paul Boese

Lately I've been working to get in touch with this inner child of mine, the one leaping with/living for joy and contentment somewhere deep within the folds of my Self. Folks from John Bradshaw to the late great Carl Jung have talked about this inner, divine child as the child in each of us who is our true, spiritual, unencumbered Self but who, somewhere along our childhood path, was wounded and, resultantly, developed a shell/mask/false Self to protect it from the blows to its inherently pure/good authentic Self. As we got older, this masked/unhealed kid who has a tendency to be co-dependent, get lost in crippling addictions, has trust and intimacy issues, and feels relentless emptiness/apathy/sadness took over our adult lives and dictated our responses in everything we did. My inner kid has been acting out/in for years, fighting to be heard and validated. It's high time I look at/after the little girl who resides in me.

I hadn't given a lot of credence to the inner child work. Heck, I believed whatever was going on with me at any given time was the result of a choice I had made and that was the end of it. But then I began to look at the choices I continued to make over and over and wondered why I made those same choices, especially when I knew I'd get the same results. There had to be a reason I continued to accumulate stuff, or a reason my spending was so undisciplined. There had to be a reason for these overwrought/inflated/out of control emotions. Perhaps I am responding as a result of some pains from long ago.

Inner child therapy posits that somewhere during your childhood, something happened that perhaps made you feel ashamed, guilty, abandoned, afraid/terrorized, unsafe, etc. and all of these feelings were the consequence of what parents and/or other caregivers did to you. Inner child work says that the feelings were happened upon you because your parents and caregivers themselves were wounded and parented you through their wounded Self. Ultimately, you feel the way you do, live the life you live because your parents didn't heal/know any better.

In my case, I can't blame my parents. They were absolutely awesome to the little chicky in me. They showed/gave me and my sister unconditional love, protected us from evils known and unknown, and made sure we had everything we needed to be smart, educated and well-cultured girls who would then become productive, contributing, and classy women. They have their flaws, like we all do, but, as parents, my mama and daddy should receive God's highest reward of "well done" when it's their turn to see heaven.

No, it wasn't in my home during infancy, toddlerhood, or preschool where the little one in me received her injuries/dents/scratches/wrongs. It was in my elementary, middle, and high school years at elementary, middle, and high school.

It was the wounded kids around me who wounded the kid I was.

I was the tall and lanky kid with thick glasses; the one with the large forehead and even larger nose; the one whose chin seemed as elongated and pointy as her legs were long. I was the kid who was brainy yet wacky/chatty yet socially clumsy/well-behaved yet sly. At school, I was that kid who didn't wear the "hip" clothes; my mother made everything we wore – except for the Girl Scout uniforms we wore on Picture Day. Because my mom was a teacher, my schools and teachers were hand-selected and on the 1970's rotary speed dial. That meant I was often the teacher's pet, did/could do no wrong, and got special recognition/praise that the other kids didn't get. The school bus stopped right in front of our house and the bus driver would wait patiently as mama wrapped us in our matching puffy coats or daddy handed us our matching ballet-inspired lunchboxes. I sat at the front of the bus because mama said Rosa Parks did; besides that, the loud kids who teased sat in the back and every day I could tell they were ready to pounce on the four-eyed, goofy, goody-two-shoes chick they believed I was. I'd keep my hood on and head down for the entire ride to school where I could then tuck myself near the teacher who would protect me.

… until we got to the playground. It was there that all those characteristics, peculiarities, and special treatments led to the teasing and ridicule. The playground was where they wouldn't share the ball/pick me for the team/play the patty-cake games with me/be my boyfriend/talk behind my back/let me in on the latest news. I'd return from recess emotionally battered and bruised and spend the rest of the day withdrawn and vowing to concentrate only on things academic.

… until I got to high school where it seemed all the kids around me were smart with little effort. They mastered chemistry and calculus. They spoke Latin and German. They would not be seen in the "shop" hallway. AND, they were cool! Everybody knew their names. They sat together in the cafeteria. They lived on the same side of town. They knew stuff about one another that was funny and things that were inside jokes. And my mom didn't know many of the teacher's in high school so for lots of the time I was on my own. By myself and an outsider.

I know most of this sounds like what lots of kids go through. Certainly my experiences were not much different from anyone else's; we were all impacted in some way by the things that other kids did to us or who we perceived them to be. And, after all, many people would argue, all that was a part of growing up AND I survived it. But, my survival was hard-pressed. I got stuck in some places, took what the kids said/who I believed they were at face value, and let all of it define/drive me. And I allowed my Self to grow into adulthood unexamined/flattened, never stopping to throw light on/set straight what I had come to believe about myself. Instead, I put on a Superwoman suit, went impulsively on my way, and set out to never show how hurt, inadequate, afraid, and shamed I felt.

And I'm so tired. This blue cat suit with the big a— belt is heavy. It also doesn't fit anymore.

In order to move forward today and begin to live in a more genuine manner, in order to recoup/rescue the lovable/trusting/optimistic/resilient/fun kid who's covered by layers of feigned adultness, I must begin to forgive the other wounded kids who lost their optimism/resiliency/fun somewhere along the way. I must forgive the teasing and ridicule of 3rd graders; the disparaging gossip of 6th graders; and the exclusionary practices of 10th graders. I have to see them all as God's babies who were also trying to find a place to fit. And while to my child Self they seemed to have found a place that ultimately kept me out, I have to realize that they were just as afraid and confused as I was.

I must also ask my little Self for forgiveness – forgiveness for leaving her behind and buying into the travesties that covered her up/changed her outlook/stunted her emotional growth. I have to apologize and let her know that at the time I just didn't know any better. And now that I know what I know, I can apologize to her, tell her I love her, always tell her the truth, give her hugs via affirmations, and, of course, never leave her again. That's definitely something she needs to know/feel. I can tell my little one a different/more accurate /much more righteous story than the one she got stuck on, and I can introduce her to and tell her about the wonderful opportunities she and I will get to experience now that we're getting free. I can teach my girl new ways of responding to/managing life's inevitable challenges. And I'll tell her all about God, how He loves us both so much, and how He's been planning for me to come back and get her for years.

I'm looking forward to reclaiming and being a cheerleader to the little one in me. I know she's fabulous because God made her that way. I can't wait to strip off the layers and see who she really is. I hope I didn't smother her; I hope she still knows how to breathe. I hope the light doesn't hurt her eyes and the air isn't too oppressive for her. I hope she didn't forget how to double dutch, sing off key on purpose, pretend she was Wonder Woman, or believe that butterflies were heavenly fairies.

I just hope she'll forgive me for taking so long.

One of the most painful lessons

One of the most painful lessons is learning how to appreciate the hush of winter, when more growth takes place underground than above ground, and there in quiet, unnoticeable ways.
-- Renita J. Weems, Listening for God


These days, I feel like a tree whose autumn leaves are strewn everywhere the wind has blown them. Some of the leaves I've shed are brittle because they fell so long ago and have lain on the ground for many, many years. Other leaves that have fallen are not as easily crunched for they just fell from me, though they are still just as fragile. And, while these leaves have fallen because I don't need them anymore – I'm preparing to make new ones – I'm tired of looking at them scattered about the ground. I need more than a leaf blower that/who will simply blow them into neat piles only for the wind to come along and rescatter them beneath my feet, keeping my roots (core/heart) from breathing and getting fresh air. The tree that is me needs something to gather those dry, colorless, and dead leaves; mulch them up; and make them into something usable, something that will provide sustenance for seasons to come and protection from the weeds that often creep up around me.

I explained the short version of this to a friend who offered that perhaps the "wind" in my analogy is God who is actually rearranging/reworking/blowing things around in my life to remind me that He has a purpose/plan/calling for me and if I just allow Him to/watch Him breathe my way, then I will see how any and all of this season makes good sense. Friend said that even those leaves that returned to the floor of my feet were lovingly placed there by the Wind for examination/response/resolution.

Don't you just love when people help you make sense of the madness in your head?

What I'm realizing more than anything right now is that all the leaves of my tree have been blown to the ground, I am bare/stripped, and it is in fact wintertime in my life. The season for me is dormant and everything seems at a standstill/cold/hushed/in hibernation. The Wind has required such.

But, below the wintertime ground, my senses are alive. I can feel – boy, can I feel! – hear, see, taste, and smell. However, the meaning/authenticity/depth of what I'm feeling, hearing, and seeing has yet to be revealed/take sprout. What I taste and smell has the tang of redemption/wholeness, but its full flavor is still maturing in the soil/soul.

Below the surface, I feel the roots of self-acceptance/forgiveness/joy developing. I notice things that were once staples/mandatory no longer feel necessary/acceptable. Incorrect/rebellious/radical/blasphemous beliefs that existed and defined me are being invalidated/plowed up/replaced with great supplies of truth/certainty/faithfulness. There is a trembling underground that cannot be contrived/denied/that can only be the Lord sending light through.

Though sometimes it feels that this wintertime may last a long while for some days/moments I get its aim/value/instruction/commands and can effortlessly/prayerfully insert my Self into its plot, enjoying both the tranquility and rouse I get from the chilled air. But, on other days, all I feel is wintertime's harshness/gloom/aloofness. And I get stuck in it, screaming for warmer, sunnier days; yearning for less bareness/dreariness; demanding to be clothed again, and soon, in a covering that wraps/protects/conceals the unpleasant/imperfections/troubles that just won't hide when the trees are bare. I cry out for the foliage of Spring! I even mull over/mope for the return of my dying leaves.

But thus is the purpose of my wintertime – to learn not to be ashamed/afraid of bareness/vulnerability/transparency/honesty; to never again seek flora that veils/deceives/pretends; to let go of what was useless/unsuited/life-draining; to bloom in the bleakness of where I am so that when Spring does appear – and it always does, I am prepared to pollinate (give/serve/reach out) in the new world around me.

In my wintertime, I will respect winter's natural timetable/significance. I will rest/come up for air, just as all of nature's plants and animals do, so that my spirit/soul can be revived, so that God's perfect timing can have its way. Underground, I will take comfort in the God of patience and consolation and consign my Self to His work/design on my life. While my world is dormant/still, I will gently cover my Self in God's blanket of truth/love/favor/mercy while He allows His winds to settle me around.

And when my fated leaves of Spring return, I will be even more thankful for the respite/tending of my wintertime.

Go back to bed.

'Go back to bed', said the omniscient interior voice, because you don't need to know the final answer right now, at three o'clock in the morning on a Thursday in November. 'Go back to bed,' because I love you. 'Go back to bed,' because the only thing you need to do for now is get some rest and take good care of yourself until you do know the answer.
-- Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love


For a few weeks, I've been asking God the same questions – "Where're you taking me?" "What's going on?" "What will it look like?" "What am I gonna do?" "What if…?" And, to each of these questions, I've gotten the same answer–


(((crickets)))

Really, God? I can't even get the slightest hint of what's getting ready to happen or how it's all gonna turn out? Just a word/some clue?

 

… (((crickets)))

So, (((sigh)))…


But, what I have heard God say is keep going to water aerobics and the gym so I can work my big assets off. He told me to keep eating and eat well, making sure I have plenty of fruits, vegetables, and water. He told me to keep the Shea butter, Echinacea, vitamin C, and chapstick handy for these winter months. And He told me that since I bought the gummy vitamins because I thought they'd be much easier to take, I should take them every day.


God told me to be kind to my Self, to enjoy my Self. He told me to keep doing the things I like to do – read, write, watch some movies, listen to good music. But He also told me to go outside and get some fresh air, get out of my house where everything feels sad/cluttered/reminiscent of dreams deferred. And He told me that while I was out, I should go see what I can see, see what's been happening out in the city/outside the city/in the big wide world. God said live!/explore!/be adventurous!/be!


When I asked God, "what am I gonna do?," God told me to take some stock in my Self, to take a shot at loving me fully – not my things/what I do/what I have/someone else – me. He said love me and everything I am! God said to look inside my head and give this fabulous brain of mine some dap for figuring out how to navigate through the murkiness/uncertainty of the world around me. He said to cup my heart and embrace it so I can feel that it's still beating no matter how much disappointment/setback it receives. God told me to look in but not to forget to look up and out. He told me to keep looking up so my spirits could stay up, too.


Every time I ask my Father the "what if" questions, He tells me I am His precious lamb. He says that He loves you very much and has His hand on me for something special (1 Thessalonians 1:2 MSG). He tells me to prepare my Self in all ways for what is to come. When I ask Him what that is, He reminds me that to wait on Him will prove favorable/worthwhile/precious/sure and I won't be able to "round up enough containers to hold everything God will generously pour into my life…" (Romans 5:3 MSG)


God told me not to forget that I am capable of showing/receiving deep love, of dreaming, of laughing loudly and telling some funny-assed jokes. Okay, God didn't say ass, but that's how I received it. God told me to visit with my friends, make some new and different friends, and keep my lines of communication open. He told me everybody has a story to tell, that I should listen for Him in all of them, but that I should steer clear of those whose message dripped of confusion/foolishness. He said that's just the enemy trying to get one in, trying to enter the gate to steal, kill, and destroy (John 10:10).


When I asked God where exactly was He taking me, He deflected my question by telling me to just sit still. He said instead of asking Him that question, focus on where I am right now/how to make the most of the best I have right now/how to be the very best in/at what I have control of right now. And He told me to stop borrowing more than 2 books at a time from the library, at least until I had read everything He was saying to me in the stack of Bibles lying at the foot of my bed.


God told me instead of continually asking Him all these questions, these questions that I had laid on His altar weeks ago, let Him do the work that's required to produce an answer. He told me the more I ask, the more it stays in my feeble, finite and flawed hands/understanding and out of His boundless and omnipotent power. God promised He would handle it in His time and His way. So, He said, chill, have faith, trust Him for all things, and do what He told me to do.


And, geez, does God know me! He knows that if I did have the answers I was looking for – just as I was looking for them – I wouldn't pay attention to the journey. I'd do something to mess it all up and miss some fabulous lessons. I would certainly miss me.


So, I'll do my best to pull up on the questions. I'll try to do an even better job of doing just what He said. For now, there are no hard and fast answers. For now, there is guidance for the meantime.


The wind'll be blowing pretty hard today. God's telling me to wear my hat and scarf and to wear some tall socks.

But at any crossroad -

But at any crossroad – in the pause that God gives us – we have a chance to stop and think. I call these pauses "Selah."
-- Nancie Carmichael


Thank you, God, for this pause... for this Selah.


Now, you know God, I did not come to this fork willingly/enthusiastically, I tried to run away from it. I fought this tooth and nail. I didn't want to stop and think. I was comfortable with what was right here. It didn't require anything of me but that I breathe and blink. It was comfy/habitual in this space; I knew what would happen tomorrow because it happened today and yesterday and all the days before that. And while that seems unexciting/unimaginative/uninspiring, the sameness of it all kept me alive/afloat.


But, I know, God, you want me to do more than just stay alive. You want me to have life fully/abundantly (John 10:10). I know. I know, God.


I guess I've been heading toward this crossroad for a long time, I just didn't know it. Or, maybe I knew but didn't want to admit it because I wasn't ready to choose between staying the same or growing on. But I ask myself, even though I'm reluctant to move out of my comfort zone, how can I acquiesce to sameness/tedium/common/regular when I have so much more life to live/give/experience/discover? Why be mediocre when I was made in excellence for greatness/service/passion?


Actually, God, if I get honest, you gave me no real choice. I mean, staying the same had become boring, not fulfilling at all. It was simply living on the surface of this life you've let me borrow. And, it was starting to feel confining and near impossible to keep stretching; in my boredom, I even pushed away those closest to me. God, was that you making that space tighter/awkward so that it became hard to maneuver/move around within it? Was that you making it less comfortable/simple/pure so that I would have to wriggle away from its ease and deception? Were you blowing and scattering the leaves from my branches to let me know there was more/better fruit to produce if only I'd just let you be the planter? Was that you God?


Whatever you did, whatever you're doing, Elohim, here I am at the crossroad, pausing/suspended, for the first time ever, to hear how you want me to go forward. And I won't move until you say so, until you're done with this lesson.


Jesus, here at this break, in the "Y" of this intersection, I can see/feel you clearly as you show me all the places where I've been wrong. I can see the residue/repercussions of living outside your will and commandments, making up my own rules to suit what I wanted to do/believed was right, then tweaking my acuity of the Word to justify my choices/actions/exploits. I see where I audaciously left your path to create one I thought was better for me but that only created chaos/decrease for me and everything/everybody around me. I see confidence crushed by failures, failures precipitated by half trys/laziness, laziness triggered by fear, fear caused by something unknown/something you've yet to reveal to me in this Selah.


Jehovah Ropheka, my healing God, at this moment of silence/truth, I am slowly and deliberately taking off a layer at a time, rolling it around in my hands/head/heart/the Word like dough in flour, examining the skin underneath for authenticity/substance/precious shoots that can grow into blossoms full of vibrancy/contentment/self-assuredness. At this turning point, I am recovering the me I've neglected/disrespected, and forgiving myself for the lack of care. Jesus, I am consoling/gently rocking/cleaving to the part of me that feels lonely/wounded/ugly/objectionable. Everything I've detested about my precious self, I am now choosing to accept/embrace with unshakable assurance/poise.


This Selah, this intermission/hiatus from distractions/interruptions you've allowed isn't terrible. It isn't dark – the light of grace is coming through the cracks and shadows of your love are dancing on my walls. It isn't grueling – every truth/reality/sorrow/ache uncovered/felt is immediately covered by sweet salve of favor/reassurance/fresh air/certainty that this is all for my good and the glorification of your Kingdom. At this defining moment, Lord, I am learning to finally see myself in the way you see me. Oh what a beautiful sight! I cannot wait to meet the person I'm becoming, the person you're threshing out of the confusion/refuse/excess no longer needed.


Lord, at this fork in the road, I welcome Selah, for only in the pause will I get a fresh breath. Only in Selah will I hear your voice in my heart. Only in Selah will I be guided righteously/gain what I need for the next trip around the corner of my life.


So, yes, I thank you, Elohom, for Selah.


Selah.

The bush was burning with fire

Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian. And he led the flock to the back of the desert, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. And the Angel of the LORD appeared to him in a flame of fire from the midst of a bush. So he looked, and behold, the bush was burning with fire, but the bush was not consumed.
-- Exodus 3:1-2 (New King James Version)

God is still in the business of burning bushes.

During yesterday's rainy morning rush hour, you were driving slowly/cautiously on the wet roads, though not really any differently from when the roads aren't wet – you usually drive with care. Just before approaching your exit, you glanced into your rear view mirror and noticed another car swiftly speeding to get to the exit before you do. In the spur of a second, the car skids, spins, barely misses your front end, but crashes with a shattering/violent impact into the center median, nearly flipping over to the other side of the interstate and into oncoming traffic. Thankfully/miraculously, no one was hurt. But it did get your attention.

You really do do the best that you can in paying your bills – at least you do the best you are willing to do. But, a few months ago, you got behind and, now, the bills have started to pile up. Your solution was to get a second job. So you found a job perfectly suited to your interests and hours of availability, interview, are offered the job, and complete the necessary forms and requirements for employment – W2 form, fingerprinting and background check, etc. You are prepared to begin work any day when you receive a call that says your background check indicated a problem and employment would not be extended to you. No other information, for legal reasons, is provided to you. So you worry/agonize/lose sleep over what the problem could possibly be. Knowing that your money troubles could turn up as a poor indicator on your credit report and thus show up in a background check, you diligently pare through your late bills, call your creditors, and make arrangements to pay your remaining debts. Immediately following the set up of your new financial system, you receive a call from the employer saying that you have been cleared to work, welcome aboard! No harm done. But, it did get your attention.

Twice in 2 months you've been hospitalized for very serious health issues. Following both visits, you resumed your regular activities (work, etc.) and with the same venom as before. You still despise your dead-end job, its meager pay and monotonous duties. You've wanted to quit, find a new job – one where you could make a difference/sink your teeth into, but you've never had time to pursue what that job could be. Now, as you prepare to be hospitalized for the third time – with recovery time slated to take 6 months – it occurs to you that not only has your stress over a lackluster job led you to this point, but you now have an opportunity to think on and begin your make a difference job dream. Your job will still pay you as you work from home while recovering, so few changes will unsettle your life. But, this situation got your attention.

God is still burning bushes.

Moses was minding his business tending his father-in-law's sheep, the way he does every single day of his life. He walked the sheep, like he regularly does, up to the mountain of God, a sacred and holy place. When he looked up, he saw that bush on fire but, OMG, it wasn't burning. It was lit up, in flames, probably blazing hot – so hot that Moses was mesmerized by its rage/glow/heat. Moses couldn't help but stare, it was magnanimous/monumental. Clearly, on this mountain, this sacrosanct Mt. Sinai, where nothing else was burning, where the bush was only an angelic inferno, Moses could not help but be drawn to this flaming shrub. It was grabbing his attention, grabbing it so that he could hear the requests/commands God was saying to him – the plan for freeing God's people from the suffering in Egypt.

In the same way, God shows us burning bushes to let us know He is present/working/delivering/blessing/comforting/Elohim. The screeching car tires on the highway, the "no" from a potential job, the necessary recovery time are all God's way of saying, "I AM that I AM…" (Exodus 3:14) The burning bushes of our lives call us to attention and remind us that God is in charge/sovereign/all-powerful/has dominion over all things. God is saying "watch me/don't take your eyes off of me/I've got something for you to see and do/only I can do it/only I have the answer/only me/I've got your blessings/I've got plenty of grace/pay attention to what I'm about to do/watch."

If you look, you'll notice that God is burning a bush for you right now. Pay attention.

The Other Half

Yesterday morning on the Tom Joyner Morning Show, commentator Jeff Johnson offered a very passionate treatise about becoming a better father. He said that sometimes men – single and married – have a very difficult time remaining present and engaged in their children's lives because of work responsibilities, unpleasant incidents between them and their children's mother, or for shame at not being able to provide financially. Johnson contended that children not only need financial support from fathers, but they also needed time, energy, and consistency from fathers and not providing such was equally, if not more, detrimental to the well-being of children. He offered his own plea for help, taking ownership for his own failures and reaching out to men, both those inside and outside the home, who have been exemplar in consistently engaging their children to help him be the father he knows God called him to be.

When he began his commentary, he cited the many men he'd talked with who faulted mothers with making the relationships between fathers and their children difficult. Yet, because he is a man of accountability and truth-telling, yesterday morning, he shined the spotlight on men and their portion.

Well, this morning, I want to turn the beam of the spotlight back on women because, men – uh, some men – are right. We women sometimes don't make it easy for men to support and be present for their children.

Disclaimer: this "Thought…," does not include the deadbeat/ornery/lowdown fathers who deliberately disregard their children's needs and lives and maliciously withhold what they need to prosper and flourish in the world. Those men can… well, let's move on.

Now, like I said, we women sometimes make it difficult/awkward/tiring for men to support and be present for their children. And before you get all "but-wait-a-minute" on me or stop reading this "Thought…", I'll use myself as an example.

I grew up with 2 parents who loved and respected each other and showed us through words and works how to do the same. My parents have wonderful life-long friends, most of whom I call my aunts and uncles because of their enduring/endearing connection to me and my family. I have a great career; a job with meaning, a plethora of benefits, and time off for rest and as necessary. I have a house to stretch out in; degrees that ensure I'll always have some kind of work; and a little change in the bank to pay for the things we need and some of the things we want. I have awesome friends and family who support us and our ambitions, and a busload of hobbies and interests that make for never a dull day. I hold my head up high – mostly because anything different is sacrilegious/counter to who I am and grounds for a butt whippin' from my mama; I have enough confidence/determination/resilience to overthrow a slew of closed and slamming doors; and compassion enough to never hold anything against a soul. And, I got Jesus on my side when all that fails.

I am a bad Sister! How can anybody compete/compare with all that?

… especially when you psychically/cunningly/accidentally on purpose make them (a father) feel like there's no way they can. So they don't even try and, ultimately, kids suffer.

Ah, sweet confession……….

Sure, there's something to be said about a man who won't keep pushing through the bull women serve up in order meet the needs of their children. But there's also a lot to be said about the bull we serve.

Sometimes there're valid reasons for keeping our children close/away from their fathers. There may be emotional/mental challenges, substance/alcohol abuse, or violence/abuse issues that require we keep our babies away/safe from their fathers. But sometimes – a lot of the time – because of the personal inadequacies we feel, using our kids to validate us and make our lives legitimate/purposeful, we shut fathers out because we want nothing around that will take that from us. Sometimes we keep our babies away from their fathers because we fear they may like daddy better which, we think, may take away some of our power/influence/purpose. Sometimes we keep the kids away because he did us wrong and keeping the kids away is revenge. Or, maybe because daddy didn't want to be with us, we vengefully keep our kids away until he wants us back. All of that is about us, not about the kids. But it's the kids who suffer the most.

When dad's not around, our babies miss out on what only a man can provide for them. Fathers teach boys how to be men – who knows how to be a man better than a man? A father innately impacts his daughter's perception of femininity, her sexual and personal identity, and her self-esteem/self-confidence so that when a righteous man comes along, the little princess knows how to identify him.

As bad as I am, I cannot be my baby's father. That's not the role God intended for me. I no longer want to take on that role. So, on this journey toward my wholeness/peace, I've done this whole father thing differently.

First, of all, I've had to think what my baby needs. That was simple to do. That's my baby.

Then, I had to forgive myself for being/thinking so haughtily. Don't get me wrong, I was never consciously braggadocios about what I have or who I am. I never threw any of it in his face. But I also never made room for his wares either. My girl-child needs to know the full measure of who she is and where she came from, no matter who I am or what I think.

Next, I had to pay attention to my kid's rampant emotions. I know part of those wild emotions comes from not being able to answer some questions only her father can answer for her, and I really have no idea about those questions. Part of knowing who you are is being able to put your hands on/mind around some tangible ideas, but if you can't, you fill yourself with only what you know. And, for my kid, she's only got half of what she needs. I, with my "bad" Self, have stood in the way of her having full access to the other half of herself. I had to move my big assets so she can begin to contain herself.

Then, I had to throw caution to the wind, bear down, pray and listen, unpurse my lips, take my hands off my hips, think again of my baby, pray and listen some more, remove the damning thoughts from my head, then reach out. That was a lot/hard to do, and it took a long time. It was kind of like giving birth again. But this birthing/rebirth/release was for my GG.

The rest is up to them; she and her father will have to cultivate a relationship for themselves. Mama is no longer in the way – although I'm not far for when she needs to add my half to the other half she discovers.

Like Jeff Johnson says, … "and that's my truth."