Our Father

Last Sunday, I saw a dad sitting in church with his two young sons. The dad couldn't have been much over 30, and his boys had to be about 4 or 5 and 7 or 8. The sermon had started, and as if it were their ritual, the youngest boy snuggled in his dad's lap, while the father extended his right arm around the oldest son and to lie his head at his father's side. The image warmed my heart for so many reasons.

First, he was a black man. I don't know if mom was serving the church and therefore out of the sanctuary. I don't know if dad had weekend visitation. I don't know if this was his full-time, single dad gig. What I did know was that he was a black man. He looked like the oppressive and ill-intentioned media images of back child-support cases, crime suspects, and victims of police shootings. His tattoos peeked from behind his short sleeved v-neck. His skin was caramel complected. His hair was thick, and his features were strong. He was the picturesque image of black masculinity that is often shielded from the overtly biased view of the international mainstream. He was not just a baby daddy. You could tell this man was a father. A "working-to-the-bone-to-raise-up-men-from-boys' type of father. An 'I've-made-my-mistakes-but-keep-striving-everyday-persevering-for-my-family" type of father. He was a sight that we don't get to see enough.

Secondly, they were at church. I don't know how everyone else group up, but the way I was raised, the men in the home didn't go to church. The whole family, every woman and child, would get up and get moving while generations of fatherhood would be straight chilling. It's still evident in my community as the ratio of women to men in most American congregations is found to be ridiculously slanted and absurdly so in a religion where many hold the belief that women shouldn't preach (to congregations full of women). But I digress. Often, if a man isn't in the pulpit or serving as a deacon, there are few to be seen at church. Not only was this man in the building, but he brought back up!

Another thing I reflected on was my own fathers. My real dad wasn't around for the first decade of my life. I saw him from time to time, but there was absolutely no interaction and no connection. I spent a lot of my life angry at him, even after he tried his best to be a dad (and little did I know he was working without a solid example). It took Darnell to one day say to me at 19 or 20 years old, "Every time your dad comes to town you get an attitude. It's like you don't like him or something 'cause you always seem mad." Now those who know me know that I am defensive now and reflective later. So, I had to tell Darnell that he didn't know me or my daddy like that and that whole situation was none of his damn business! But later that night, after dinner and movie with Darnell and my dad, I saw it for myself. He was right. I still held ALOT of resentment toward my dad and I had no idea where to begin to let it go. Over the years, I softened, but that process was gradual, and I'd be lying if I said it was complete by the time he passed away in 2010.

On the other hand, my step-dad was there from the time I was 2 or 3 years old until my Senior year in high school. He taught me how to play dominoes, let me listen to "forbidden" rap music, showed me how to fight, taught me how to cook southern foods, made sure I knew how to ride the city bus alone, and of course, he intimidated every guy I ever dated! But my Senior year in high school he may have completely lost his mind. He got fired from every job. He drank non-stop and smoked enough weed to cure at least 10 variants of cancer. He cheated on my mom with numerous (and ugly...Lord forgive) women. He even got bold enough to have them call and come by our home! Seriously?!? But then, as if that wasn't enough, one day he hit my mom. That strained our relationship more than the 24 hour eviction notice that graced our door 2 weeks later, a mere 3 weeks before my high school graduation. Over the years, I continue to soften, but we are still not 100%.

As you can guess, I envied those little boys. They had what I never experienced. I never had a dad sit with me and embrace me like that when I was their age. My step-dad was a good dude, especially when I was their ages, but the touchy-feely wasn't really in him. I didn't hug my real dad until my high school graduation, no lie. Those little boys had a gift to cherish. So many children long for the touch, the presence, the relationship with a father. So many of those children grow to be adults with missing pieces from their lives and huge holes in their hearts. Those little boys had it good, better than many because they had a real-life father.

Of course my mind continued to drift (so I missed the whole start of the sermon...my bad pastor...gotta get the DVD). I thought about my Father in heaven . I thought about how when we are young in our faith, we often have to sit in His lap to feel His comforting strokes as we grow in His wisdom. I thought about how sometimes we are fairly strong in the spirit, but still need to just lean on Him for strength and courage. I thought about how, no matter what, there is always enough room for all of us. I thought about how He is all-knowing and aware of every single minute detail, even we we may not have the slightest clue what is going on because this world has drained us to the point that we are are knocked out, resting upon Him. I thought about how people try to convince me that He isn't real and paint these untrue images about God, but as I walk with him, He proves them wrong each and every day.

At the close of service, I saw that same man carrying the smallest boy and holding the oldest boy's hand, as they walked against the exiting grain of the congregation toward the restroom (which further let me know he was a pro because he knew to make a mandatory restroom stop before departing ANY location no matter how long the stay! Only parents who are true to the game no that!). I thought about how sometimes in life God has to carry His children because we just can't take any more. I thought about how sometimes we are still so out of it from a good blow from life that He holds our hand and guides us through the mass of obstacles still coming our way, keeping us in perfect peace when we have no idea how. I thought about how lucky we are to have Him as our Father. Be blessed. XOXO