Recently, I had an opportunity to share with a crowd a
memory I had of my father. The story
went like this:
I was a girl scout.
We had a Daddy/Daughter Swim Olympics.
Not being a very good swimmer, I was nervous. My Dad, however was a great swimmer so I placed my confidence in his ability.
The event’s climax was a diving contest for the Dad’s. Each were asked to dive, off the high dive,
into a target. When they announced the
event, I heard my Dad give a low groan. “Oh, man” was all he uttered. At that
moment, I saw reluctance. I never knew
my Dad was afraid of heights … or at least diving off the high dive. The look on his face was enough to
communicate the full extent of his feelings
I treaded water in the shallow end while my Dad climbed the
stairs of the high dive. The whole time
his legs carried him up the rungs of the ladder, I kept thinking he might bail
at any minute. His exterior did not
reveal his inward trepidation. When he
reached the top, he simply walked the plank and … dove. He dove off.
As his body floated down toward the target, I felt I
couldn’t breath. When the water covered his submerged body like a liquid
blanket I held my breath … waiting for the bubbles to part and my father to
emerge. When he did, I went limp.
To this day, this is the bravest thing I have ever
seen. My Dad faced this fear … and dove
off.
Over the years, this event stands out to me every Father’s
day for two reasons. One, I think about this man that was given to me to call Daddy.
He was afraid. But what he did
with his fear made an impression on me.
He dove … still afraid … but dove ... none-the-less.
Secondly, I think the thing that makes me smile the most …
is that he did it for … me. The chubby
girl scout in the water knew how much her Dad dreaded this dive. Yet, he did it for me. Me.
Without any great showmanship or
production, my Dad showed me how special I was not only to him, but to my
heavenly Father.
Every time I see a high dive, I think of how well I am loved.
If you've read my blog more than once, you have probably noticed the mention of the girlie's that I share my life with, get to call my daughters, and get to be called Mama by: Addison, Parker and Libby.
I can summarize all of their personalities. Addison and Parker have characteristics that flow and compliment the other in a beautiful symphony of interdependent parts. However, Libby is my contrast in terms. While she is strong-willed, independent, self-sufficient, always right ... she is also tender and fragile and expresses her need to be loved ... a lot.
Addison is gone. Not for good, I would be a pile on the floor. No, she is in Budapest for rehearsals for an honor choir. That means, Parker steps into role of first-born and Libby ... well Libby stays the same.
Blame it on the snow (yep, it's coming down) or the fact that Addison is away (she loves her big sis) or the fact that her chocolate muffin was gone ... whatever the reason, she needed her Daddy this morning.
Part of our morning routine involves Chris picking the morning music to rally the girls. This morning it was a playlist of David Gates and Bread. The girls love ... LOVE ... these songs. One song in particular struck a cord with Libs. She came up to her Daddy and asked if they could share a dance.
Still small enough to hold but big enough for her arms and legs to hang off him like an awkward rag doll, he picked her up and they had a dance ... in the kitchen ... right in the middle of the morning routine.
I can't say anything more.
As a grown woman ... probably more like Libby than I'd like to admit ... a contrast in terms ... I find myself often in need of a Daddy. A Daddy that will pick me up and dance with me right in the middle of life.
Learning to dance,
Christina
Today, my Chris is taking precious Parker out for lunch. Parker doesn’t know this yet. At lunch, when she is preparing to make her way down to the basement cafeteria and dig into her humdrum lunch she brought from home, she will get a nice surprise. Her Daddy will be waiting for her. Her Daddy will be taking her to a little Kiosk down the street from school that sells her favorite, Kebab sandwiches. It’s unexpected.
This morning as I was sipping my coffee, eating my oats and yogurt, and reading from the Bible, I was wondering what God looks like. Weird, I know. The Bible says that no one has seen the face of God. But, sometimes my imagination gets the best of me and I just want to know what God looks like.
I’m kind of at a cross-road. I’m kinda at a place that I don’t know what to do next. And, since my schedule has been freed up by Libby’s new school hours, I’m putting this pressure on myself to perform. Do something. Get busy. Produce.
That feeling doesn’t set well. It stresses me out. It robs me of stillness. It makes me feel guilty. If I know anything at all, I do know that those feelings do not align themselves with what I know God to be like. He doesn’t author stress or rob me of stillness nor does he throw quilt trips my way.
When I sit quietly in my living room, in my big blue chair, and I wrap my cold hands around my hot mug of strong Austrian coffee, I am at rest. It’s not so much the living room, big blue chair or coffee (although … coffee does make everything better!). It’s more of whose company I am in. When I am still, when I open the Bible, and when I open my heart to whatever it is that the Creator of the Universe wants to share with me from His guidebook … I am quiet and still and focused.
This morning I have no answers. I don’t know what is next. I don’t know what to put into my freed up schedule. But, as I finished reading some really good things … my thoughts took me back to my precious Parker … and her surprise lunch date with her Daddy.
Then, after a really big smile came to my face, I had an answer. It was unexpected. This picture of my Chris surprising precious Parker … just because … to encourage her … is what God looks like. He (God) does not determine what He does for me based on the things I can do. He (God) loves me because I am his daughter. That, today, is what God looks like to me.
