The Gracious Gift Of A Father
THERE is a man I know of darker blood, whom I have a deep relationship with. The person watching from afar, would label our bond with the shallow title of father and son. I, out of reverence, acquiesce to this title. For all titles are given by God and all good things come from Him (James 1). But titles aren’t eternal. I shall know him longer as a friend than as a father. I call him father, because I am his child, on Earth, and we need nouns to help us navigate our sojourn. To call this man only my father, does a disservice to who he is and the role he plays in my life. As I grew with the years, so has his influence upon me. It has permeated me as oxygen fills my blood. My desires, thoughts, and actions are rivers that have been carved out by this ocean of a man. It is this ocean that keeps my rivers from drying up. He is the ecosystem I grew up in. Therefore, one word, one title, cannot convey who this man is to me. As a boy, I always knew in my heart that my father had the strength to uproot a mature tree. I believe if I was in danger, in the thickest and most beastly forest, his endurance and will could uproot every tree to rescue me. As an adolescent, I could never fathom how one human heart could contain and keep bound more love than the waters on Earth. Yet, because of his grace and long-suffering I, like Noah, with carefree swagger, float on the omnipotent waves of love. As a young man, I now am jealous that my life differs so much from his. I carry his looks, but not his heart and we all know that the outside of a person tells you nothing about the inside. Plus, I doubt that it really matters because what he has inside of him, he takes with him everywhere he goes.
My joy, however, is short lived because amid my rejoicing I realize my party is empty. I look around and see the walls looking back. I see, seated and melancholic, the bowed heads of my peers amongst me. Their faces are drenched in pain or anger or resentment or bitterness or ungratefulness. Why is this the case? Ta-Nehisi Coates offers an answer, “Within our world, unfortunately, so many men are fathers in biology only.” Unfortunate? Unfortunate. But where is the misfortune? I suffer with deep, constant agony knowing that billions of men and women have never smelled the aroma of parental love. The anguish multiplies when those forsaken children grow up cold and indifferent to a father. In their hearts they settle in a country from which no traveler ever returns. Unfortunate. Out of their pain grows a kind of disdain and antipathy towards their fathers only found in war. Unfortunate. Time’s persuasion cannot thaw out their frigid hearts. Unfortunate. How much trauma must one carry to resent the gift that ushered you into the world?
This gift is given and ordained by God himself. Who scoffs at or rejects God’s gifts? In addition to this, have you noticed that we live in a society that devalues the role, impact, and growth a father ushers into a family? Lerone Bennett taught, “It is impossible to accurately describe a whole while ignoring or distorting the existence of its essential parts.” Something is very wrong in our society when mothers are congratulated on Father’s Day. One loses their ability to compassionately weep and mourn when, every second of the day, fathers are scientifically hunted and castrated emotionally, mentally, and physically. Is it not unnatural, when a headless body attempts to lead a normal life? The eloquent Howard Thurman synthesizes my point, “Without [fathers], nothing quite has meaning; without this, all the rest of the journey, however difficult, however painful, however devastating, will be filled with a music all its own.” Regardless of your relationship with your father, none can deny that a father is like the boundary to an ocean. All the chaotic waves and undercurrents and wild beast that lurk in the depths can all be contained by the strength and wisdom of a father. In other words, this protection and guidance is the very thing that allows his progeny to grow.
My only regret with my father is that I didn’t get a chance to experience his birth and childhood as he did mine. My only regret is that I couldn’t protect my father from the dangers of our fiendish world as he did for me. And now, my heart is troubled because so many children and adults are fearful, suspicious, and dubious of the first gift ever given by God—parents. This picture must be redrawn and repainted or the mystery and mythology tied to fatherhood will haunt our children’s children in the future. And now, reader, after walking through the corridors of my heart how can you underestimate the presence of a father in a child’s life?
“Whether we like it or not we still live in a world where children want to know who their fathers are and, when they can, go in search of absent fathers.”
