* The Father I Never Knew *

This series is a journey of discovering the Father of all fathers

Meeting Father Part 2

Throughout the day, I continue to contemplate the preceding 24 hours. A merry-go-round of questions dominates my thoughts. Part of me wants to forget last night and stick to familiar daily living. Yet, unrest drives the need for answers. What did the preacher mean by grace? After brief research, I discover several dictionaries define grace with the same words: compassion and kindness.

God is compassionate and kind? I’ve heard he is a taskmaster, money hungry, unapproachable, short-tempered and hasty to punish anyone who sins. Doesn’t the Almighty devote most of his day to sentencing sinners and casting them into eternal fire? I envision him to be a Santa Claus accountant with a naughty and nice spreadsheet. A tally of my actions dictates whether I spend eternity in Heaven or Hell. Too many sinful check-marks and watch out for the lightning bolt. If I do twenty good deeds for every wicked act, it might earn me bonus points and offset the demerits. Despite my perceptions of God, the television preacher’s plea to accept God’s grace echoes through my mind.

Is God kind or full of wrath? If he is merciful, does his gift of grace come with hidden conditions? At an early age, I found gifts often come with a hook attached. As a two-year-old, I couldn’t discern if someone’s present and smile was a smokescreen for a pending defilement. The giver’s secret agenda led to manipulation, abuse, and devastation. I was incapable of processing the whirlwind of emotions experienced during those invasions to my body, mind, and spirit. Shock, dread, terror, anger, guilt, blame and shame took root. A sense of unworthiness seared into my core. Any remnants of self-worth got beaten to a pulp. No man-made soap could cleanse the filthiness ingrained within me. People who should have nurtured destroyed my confidence in humans and obliterated trust.

As birthdays passed, I learned if I couldn’t control the perpetrators, my best defense was to avoid exposure to potential harm. I became a loner, consumed by worry, and kept everyone at arm's length.

Five decades later, those gaping wounds are still raw and festering in the caverns of my soul. The plundering of my innocence taught me to expect the worst, and I grew to believe that’s what I deserve. It’s a peculiar thing to be a six foot two inch athletic guy trapped in a toddler’s ravaged soul. It’s as if my heart froze in time, never growing with my body. Although I’m a physically powerful man, the helpless and terrified inner child controls the adult. Shame, fear and low self-esteem are the compass which guides my choices.

I don’t consider myself deserving of God’s mercy and crippling fear is a barricade to trust. When I perceive everyone to be unsafe, how can I surrender to this unfamiliar deity? Even if I muster the courage to approach God, won’t he flog me with my sin? I can’t cope with another truckload of shame and guilt dumped upon my unworthy pile. What if even God deems me unacceptable, too unclean for his standards?

I remember the TV preacher saying God gives lavishly but will not force me to receive. According to him, the issue isn’t whether I deserve God’s gifts, nor can I earn his generosity. Then he presented the pivotal question. Will I embrace Father God’s unmerited offer of grace and trust him?

Meeting Father (part 3 of 3)