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Showing posts with label fathers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fathers. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

From Victim to Victory


Based on a true story.

Pete, Joe and Mike openly mocked when Stan came into their hospital ward.
                “Hey, Doug,” Joe called. “Yer old man is here. Do you think he’s gonna preach a sermon today?”
                Doug glowered towards the door, but dropped his eyes when Stan appeared.
                He muttered a few curses but managed to add “Hi, Dad,” when the tall, thin man sat down stiffly beside him.
                Doug sighed inwardly: another hour of enduring his father’s obvious discomfort with how his fellow Aids patients acted up. He knew without a doubt their actions were more unnatural, their language filthier when he came around.
                Doug sighed, again.  Why couldn’t he just bug off?  Just because I’m his son and dying of this creepy disease is no reason for him to stick around.
                “You, okay, son?”
                “Same as usual: no better, no worse,” he lied, although he knew perfectly well his life was ebbing out of him.
                “Is there anything I can do to help?” Stan sat with his hands tightly folded on his lap and Doug, as well as several others took note of the look of revulsion on his features.
Ya, Doug thought, just once you can get that awful nauseated look off your face and treat me like a human.
  What he didn’t know, however, was how desperately Stan was praying for compassion, for understanding towards these people.
                But one day Stan was different. He was still quiet and dignified, but he spoke to them with respect, and by name! He ever shook their hands when he greeted them.  The assortment of men viewed him with wary surprise.
                Stan continued to visit his son on a daily basis, and the men sensed that Stan was different, that he really did care about them. First one then another responded to the obvious love they felt from him, and some even started unburdening their hearts.
                It was a happy day when Doug, who had always been a wayward boy, broke down and confessed a fear of dying.
                “Dad,” he wept, “I need Jesus, but I’m so afraid He won’t accept me because I have sinned so badly."
                While the others listened in, Stan convinced his son that it was for people such as Doug that Jesus had laid down His life.
                Doug made such a complete change, and was so obviously at peace with God and man after he confessed his sins, that no one tried to dissuade him.  It was considered unusual how peacefully he died under the circumstances.
                Both the hospital staff and the patients were deeply impressed with the caring Stan showed, but Jesus helped him.

Saturday, May 9, 2015

The Cauldron of Pain

Ever have a caldron thumped in front of you?
It was quite a surprise; no I mean shock wasn’t it: a shock to the whole system. I don’t mean a real caldron now, but it’s sure real enough.

Someone offered to give me free laser therapy treatment, something I had never even heard of before, and I thought sure why not. Before I knew it she was looking me deep in the eyes and saying you have deep burdens. Me? I thought I was a happy, peaceful person, but would you believe I started to cry! Not only that but I was spilling out memories I haven’t been talking about for years. Again she gave me that deep penetrating look. Have you forgiven your Dad? I honestly thought I was able to several years ago, but the next question was harder. Have you forgiven yourself?

I feel like stopping there, but it wouldn't be fair to either you or me. Forgive myself? How could I? I’m the one to blame for not being a better mother, I’m the one to blame for every mistake my children have ever made, every discord between hubby and me, I am the one to blame for been          “ “ attractive”"  to my Dad. Does it sound familiar? Is it easy to forgive oneself?  

She told me the abuse usually starts at around the age of five—I told her my flashbacks reached back to my infancy--. She told me to take that baby me and hold her close, tell her she’s safe now, loved.

 I did. I tried at least, but my the fumes of emotions from that caldron keep wafting before and the dregs of painful memories are being stirred up.

Today is going to be a full, full day socially. Again. And I feel like a nervous wreck. What a time to ‘mother’ needy friends. 


I need your prayers. ‘She’ said to hold that baby close and comfort her, but it isn’t enough. I feel like I need to give that tiny Marilyn to Jesus to comfort and heal, but where is the courage?  I feel so wounded, so vulnerable that I don’t even want to trust her to Jesus’ care.

I was discussing this with a couple of our children yesterday, and one remarked that Jesus was there
   all along.  Yes. I’m trying to hand her over to Him, but oh, my, the grown up I needs holding to.

If you’re going through this same battle, have courage, Jesus is with us even in the valley of the shadow of death, even when the poisonous mists almost overwhelm us.

Face forward!