Father Wounds Lay Deep

This week I read a very well-written piece on forgiveness & father issues.  I strongly believe that father wounds can either be the biggest hindrance or the biggest encouragement in the way we see ourselves & function as adults later in life.  They also serve as a catapult in where we will land in relating to God, or how we see him as a Father. 

Ever since I was little, I knew without a shadow of doubt, that Jesus was truly good.  No matter what crap hit the fan within my home, how loyalties within my church family growing up were dysfunctional & unfaithful, I saw Jesus as good.  I never doubted his goodness.  I saw people's failures as that--it was on them, not a reflection of Jesus' good, good, pure love. 

It was a gift from him to me. 

But, sometimes we package up that gift and stow it away as it collects dust under our beds.  Forgotten.

It's not that I forgot his goodness.  I believed it and couldn't be swayed no matter how persuasive the argument.  However, I forgot to truly know it.  It's the difference between living your story & simply retelling it. 

I was retelling it.  I forgot to live it.  And when I forgot to live it, my story became a bit hazy & my heart became disillusioned. 

Following my freshman year of college, I longed for someone to love me, because I didn't see it in my family, my church family, or really any tangible, living person.  I met a guy.  An absolutely great guy.  In fact, so great that we would marry four years & two days later after first meeting him.  He was & is a gift of grace in my life. 

However, when we don't deal with our stuff, whenever we allow other people or things to fill the Jesus shaped hole in our heart--it will never satisfy.  I allowed one man to take the place of another. 

One month before my wedding, everything was in place.  All the details were coming to a close & nothing could possibly make this day go awry.  Until one evening.  There I was sitting in my room as my roommate knocked on my door with the phone. 

"Hello," I said.

"Kamille, it's Willy!" (my brother).

I knew right then, at that very moment, that there was one detail, which would alter my wedding day.  My heart clung to hope, but my mind said, "don't hold your breath." 


This is part one of my story.  You can go to Part Two here.