The greatest thing, you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return. - Nature Boy

When I think of love, my mind turns to my parents. As an only child, life was a bit lonely, but I grew to love my space and the time and attention I received from my mother and father (and other family members also). I would describe myself as equal parts “Daddy’s girl” and “Mommy’s mini-me” as a child. After the loss of my mother 22 years ago, I naturally leaned heavily into a relationship with my father. Our relationship was not without its challenges, as we had to learn to live in the “new normal” of my mother’s absence and the secondary and tertiary grief that accompanied our lives since her passing.

My father and bonus mom will be relocating to Georgia soon. For the first time in over 20 years, I’ll live in the same place as my father. I admit, when he first mentioned it, I was skeptical. Although we had not lived in the same place since I left home, I assumed that visits and holidays would make up for the distance. For reasons I can’t seem to pinpoint, that was not the case. The distance only widened the gap, and I often felt like I had lost both my parents instead of one.

With the news of this potential life shift, palpable joy and grief warred in my chest. The realization that this move was imminent came with a rush of emotions as I dropped my dad and bonus mom at the airport after a successful house scouting weekend. I felt lots of squishy things inside.

As I pulled away to return home, the phone rang. But it wasn’t mine. My father had left his phone in the back seat. Immediately, I called my bonus mom to let her know, and thankfully, they had not yet gone through the airport security checkpoint. If you are familiar with Hartsfield-Jackson airport in Atlanta, you understand the way my heart pounded with relief! I was able to return to the drop-off area quickly, and when I saw my dad walk out of the doors, something broke open inside of me. His smooth, but aged face stood out in the crowd; his eyes scanned the lanes backed up with cars, intently searching for mine. For me.

I found a quick place to stop, pushed the hazard button, and hopped out of the car in one motion. Breathless from the excitement of it all, I called out to him above the noise, not knowing if he would recognize my efforts to grab his attention. And then it happened - he looked right at me. His eyes locked into mine, full of knowing, twinkling with love. Momentarily, I stood paralyzed with emotion. He walked toward me, and I reached out to him, the little girl in me swollen with adoration. He hugged and kissed me once more, and my heart melted like lava. I handed him his phone, and he thanked me. I watched him walk away, and years of tangled knots started to unravel.

I had not connected the dots that the complicated relationship I had with my father had seeped into my relationship with God. The song “Good, Good Father” had been more of a hope than a confidence when I sang it, my mouth speaking the words, yet my heart disconnected and disassociated from the experience. All this time, the missteps, trauma responses, and grief I attributed to my father were also being attributed to my Father. The biblical knowledge and spiritual intellect that carried me through a little over four decades paled in comparison to a deep, abiding relationship with God as a good Father.

That special moment at the airport was revelatory and explanatory. What I had been afraid to confront and tucked away in the recesses of my heart became a barrier to my freedom. Father wounds and heartbreaks, coupled with beliefs and boundaries created to protect me from pain, prevented me from trusting God’s heart for me as a daughter redeemed by grace. This lack of trust wasn’t intentional, but it was reflected in the ways I engaged with God during times of hardship. It was reflected in the decisions I made surrounding my identity and worth. It was reflected in so many areas of my life that I believed were “good” despite my grief.

As I continue to navigate this grief journey and come alongside others doing the same, I am beginning to understand more and more the ways our grief and pain are woven into the fabric of our lives. They are just as much a part of us as our joy and glory. It is not a betrayal of your happiness to slow down and notice where your pain may have eclipsed your growth, healing, and maturity. This is especially true for those of us who walk with God. Where have we projected our hurt and disappointment in our human relationships to mirror and influence our relationship with Him?

I still don’t have all the answers I’d like. I still crave healing in this area. But when my daddy saw me, it felt like a reflection of the Father who has always seen me. The greatest thing is to be loved (seen, held, heard, fill in the blank), and love in return.

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