Beloved Daughter

A Father's Pride, A Father's Hope?

When my eldest son was born, my paternal aunt sent me a photo. It was of my newborn half-brother, lovingly cradled in the arms of a father who rejected me.

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Today is the day when many Christians celebrate The Baptism of the Lord. Here’s how the story goes: Christ stepped into the river Jordon, a river which flows into the Dead Sea, the lowest body of water on the surface of the earth. As John poured water over Jesus’s head, a dove descended from the sky. A voice was heard,

‘This is my beloved son. With him I am well pleased’,

Members of the Eritrean and Ethiopian Christian Orthodox, Jan. 19, 2018. (AP/Oded Balilty)

Several months ago, I found myself sleeping in a bed in a large room overlooking a lake. Above my bed were two 17^thcentury etchings depicting a little girl with a dog. One was entitled ‘A Father’s Joy’, the other ‘A Father’s Pride’.

I have never known an earthly father. I did not bring joy or pride to the man who left me and Mum that night. He didn’t want me.

They call it a ‘father wound’. Some rather scathingly refer to these feelings as ‘daddy issues’. But don’t children merit dads as well as mums? It’s a fact that children thrive in families where there is a mum and a dad. It shouldn’t be controversial to say that it takes a man and a woman to produce a child. Don’t kids have a right to know the people who made them?

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What happens when the father who rejected you dies? How do you grieve for a father you never knew? It’s a weird kind of grief, one that few understand.

This morning, I was reminded of the human need for validation. How do you feel validated? How does a rejected child find validation?

I’m reminded of a choir I once saw, The Watoto Children’s Choir, a group of African children based in Kampala, Uganda, made up of orphans. They danced and sang joyfully about God knowing their name. These children had all lost one or two parents because of AIDS. I lost my father thanks to the myth of ‘free love’. Like many men of the counterculture, he sowed his wild oats then fled. He went on to have four more kids and a stepson. He was Dad to all of them, except me. He ran a successful whole food business on the back of his fling with hippiedom. He never gave us a penny.

Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not be afraid; you are far more valuable than many sparrows. (Luke 12;7)

‘His loss’ people said, ‘you’re better off without him’.

But it still hurts.

Kids can’t help blaming themselves. What did I do wrong? Why?

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A close friend asked me what I need to say right now. What do I need to hear. What do I need to feel?

I need to say that my heart is broken.

My heart is broken.

I need hear that it was wrong of my father to walk away.

It was wrong of your father to walk away.

I need to feel that it’s ok to feel grief for someone I never knew.

It’s ok to feel grief for someone you never knew.

Write yourself a letter, she said,

Dear Nancy,

I see that your heart is truly broken. It was wrong of your father to walk away. It’s ok to feel sad.

‘If the sky falls down, take a blanket to cover you’, another friend said.

‘Only when we have the courage to own our history are we able to write a brave new ending to our story.’

‘Don’t give up.’