A Vacancy on Father’s Day
Written by Bethany Curee, God’s Daughter – Freckled & Free

There are lots of days I just haven’t wanted to think about it — if you don’t confront it or acknowledge its presence screaming for attention it can be easy to pretend. Go on throughout the day distracted by the mom life. Keep the rhythm going I say. The hum of life moving. The quiet reveals the loudness of your absence. It beckons you to recognize the raw truth.

That you’re —  g     o     n     e.

You’ve gone home. We’ve tried to mentally trick ourselves that you’ve really just been on a mission trip where there is no signal. And….honestly, that really seems to help soothe our thoughts. In reality you sort of are? You’ve arrived in glory, things we can’t even comprehend you are walking in. Perhaps you are working with Jesus right now preparing our mansions next to yours. The mission work of Christ hasn’t stopped, you’ve just joined in on perfection and now physically are working alongside the King until we’re all reunited.

If we could go back I wish it could have been you in your old age versus the shortened version of your life. It brings tears to my eyes that I will never see you as an old man. I will never know what my father looks like with wrinkles wise as time. We felt stripped of our last conversation, of a notice of your vacancy here on Earth. We didn’t ever agree to agree it was coming — our faith was stronger. You taught us well.

On one hand it felt cruel, the sting of you leaving on Father’s Day. The lodge in my throat at the thought. On the other, we saw the beauty that it was for Jesus — being reunited with His son. A son, who had longed for a true Father’s love for so long as well. It had to be a grand gift for you daddy, when you opened your eyes — what beauty you beheld!? What perfection you joined into!

We are all still here. Wafting in the waters, searching for your voice amongst our scattered memories. We don’t want it to become vague. We’re stretching to reach each other’s finger tips, to bring the circle back together — searching for closure amongst your fruit.

You weren’t the hallmark dad — and that’s ok. You weren’t anything fake; and I’m grateful for that. In your cracks and bruises I saw realness. Realness that built the foundations of who I am. I learned more about God in the un-perfect moments of life than anything else. I’m glad you didn’t hide your flaws and struggle with them alone in the darkness. You taught me what God really wants from all of us – humility, to admit we are all in desperate need of a Savior. That in our ugly brokenness we can be made whole, that we can strive together as the body of Christ towards perfection. That we can come to God in our wounded state and He alone can truly turn our shackles into something workable. Something pliable. Something He can use.

I never stopped praying for you — having compassion for you (thank you Holy Spirit), and rooting for you from a child’s heart for her father. What you thought meant so much to me. In your own way you loved me, you loved us, your daughters in words you couldn’t describe. You weren’t lazy by any means. You sacrificed your life and your body slaving for us to have food and a home. All the while you were being remade by the maker. I saw you — as a strong man surrender your all. The transition you allowed God to make in your life is one of my greatest memories.

Some look for miracles in different ways, healing the blind, raising the dead — and I believe those things also, but I saw the miracle of you. I saw the miracle God performed in your heart, your actions, your being. If I never saw another thing, another answered prayer — your testimony alone is enough for me to know the realness and love of the one and only true God. My faith is stronger, unwavering and ever growing; largely part to the seeds you and momma sewed and stewarded in me. Thank you father, for the display you showed to me in your natural walk in life, for walking the talk, for living that “faith is action word”.

I will forever miss your laughter, your goofy dancing, your sideways hat, watching the way you jutted out your chin and stuck out your tongue when you punted or threw a football, or when driving your most-cool-truck. I will miss your hugs and the smell of a carpenter. I will miss watching your love and admiration for momma and the light you had in your eyes when you saw her — your favorite thing. I will miss sitting with you to hear what God had been speaking or to discuss the meaning of scriptures with you. I will miss watching you watch the birds, or tell me which trees were which. I miss the freckles on your arm that remind me of mine. I will miss watching you get excited about anything with meat and sneaking pieces of the ham with Tom. I especially miss watching the comradery and jokes between the two of you over Fords and Chevys.

I will miss that my children and your grandchildren won’t get to have your wisdom poured into them or be able to get your approval on their future spouses or attend their weddings, but gosh, I am darn thankful that you received the hope of glory. That you took the narrow path that leads to Christ. That your name was written in the book of life and that one day I too will see you smiling back at me at the pearly gates where I will get to embrace both of my Fathers.

Thank you daddy for being you, for never trying to be someone that you’re not, for displaying realness and vulnerability. For not always having all the answers but pointing me to who does. Thank you for the lessons you gave me that lead me down the road to true hope. For always calling us princesses and telling us you loved us. I believe you tried so hard in your way to love us and that’s all a daughter can ask for. You will always be my daddy, the best daddy, and the life lessons you gave I will continually glean from. Happy Father’s Day Pappa, until we meet again, I will choose the narrow gate.

“Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat: Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” Matthew 7:13-14 KJV

Written by Bethany Curee, God’s Daughter – Freckled & Free