A Conversation with a Dead Father

As a child and ignorant of the person of Christ, I did what Freud hypothesized. My original ideas about God found their roots in my thoughts about my father and I struggled with both. Yet, for all the whys that weighed upon my mind, there were moments of quiet revelation that helped me glimpse something beyond the confusion—a kind of persistent grace, working its way through the cracks of my life. In the aftermath of frustration and misunderstanding, there lingered a gentle, but startling love from the God who is there. A softening of the heart came not from answers but from endurance of knowing that whatever happened, the God who is there helped me to live through the mess and the muddle of life. In the end, because of the grace of the God who is there, I emerged from those years with a capacity to forgive and love. Therefore, those were the years that I learned God loved me as a Father and not me alone.