A Father's Love

This morning when I was going through my email, intending to read over the Sunday School lesson I would need to present to my 2nd grade class, I got sidetracked by a post from Gospel for Asia. It was about Ruth, who was rejected by her father because she was his fourth daughter and he had wanted a son. In the interview, she says she was a "beggar for love."

But she met some missionaries and eventually was introduced to the one true God who loved her. The women missionaries mentored her and encouraged her to go to Bible college. Before she left, she went to her father to ask for his blessing. When she bowed to touch his feet, a cultural sign of respect, he kicked her in the face.

Several years later, after she graduated, her pastor asked her to return and work in her home church. She declined, saying that her dad was not kind to her. The pastor said her dad had changed. He now believed in Jesus.

When she got off the bus, her dad was there to meet her. He greeted her--for the first time ever--with a warm embrace. "I feel like Heaven has come down," Ruth says.

I was in a puddle of tears by this point. You can hear the story for yourself on my link from earlier today.

But as moving as her story is, I think, "How lucky am I?"

I haven't gone for a day without knowing that my father loves me. I haven't ever thought of questioning it. He's always provided for me. He's corrected me when I needed it (we had a dreaded spanking stick with a hole at the end, so it could hang on a nail, always at the ready).

He went with me to the Pioneer Girls father-daughter basket dinners (note to self, see about having something like that with our church youth group), he read us the Christmas story every year before we opened our presents, even though it was late on Christmas Eve. He sat with Mom when she read my sister and me Bible stories at bedtime, and prayed with us every night until we were well in to elementary school. He read devotions every morning when we were eating breakfast.

He didn't make it to most of my basketball games or track meets, but he didn't miss many choir or band concerts. And when he couldn't attend, I never doubted that he didn't love me. I knew he worked really hard and would have come if he had been able.

And after I'd gotten married, he heard Dobson or someone talk about how you should take your daughters on dates, and I think he felt bad that he'd missed an opportunity. And going on dates with him would have been nice, but I still knew I was loved.

But I think in part to make up for lost time, he and Mom have made a great effort to attend my kids' events. They have been to countless wrestling meets, swim meets, football games, basketball games, band concerts (no choir concerts with my kids), and graduation parties. And they were there in 2009 when I finished my first marathon.

Because I always knew I was loved, it wasn't hard for me to see God as a loving Heavenly Father. So while the Gospel for Asia's story about Ruth is an amazing story of transformation, my story of lifelong love and acceptance is equally amazing.

I remember the moment before my dad led me into the sanctuary at my wedding. He was escorting me and we paused at the top of the stairs. He smiled at me, and while I was clutching his arm, with his other hand he patted my hand. I am so thankful that the very alert photographer captured this moment, because it encapsulates my relationship with my dad perfectly. I am blessed.