Those were the last words I heard my father say to me as part of a five-minute conversation in 1999. The actual words he spoke after finding out I was planning my wedding were, “What man is going to want you if you don’t put some meat on your bones?” Those were the last words I would ever hear him speak until I was notified of his death in 2022.
The influence of my mother, sister, and large extended family defined my upbringing. My father was never really part of my life. He existed like a phantom on the fringes of my awareness—someone I’d heard stories about or spoke to briefly every few months. Then, when I turned seven, even those rare, brief moments of connection disappeared altogether. After that, I only saw him twice. The first time was when I was a teenager—he walked right past me on a busy street with no recognition in his eyes. The second was years later, when I was 25. It was then that we had our last conversation.
Growing up, I was painfully quiet and awkward. I struggled to maintain eye contact for longer than seconds at a time. I was also unusually tall, taller than any girl I knew, and much too thin for my frame. In features and build, I closely resembled my mother, but my older sister was unmistakably our father’s daughter. She was shorter, full of life, and had an infectious laugh that drew people in. Whoever said, “Comparison is the thief of joy,” couldn’t be more right—especially when the comparisons come from other people.
Father’s Day is meant to honor the man who’s supposed to be the most influential male figure in your life. But for many of us, Father’s Day brings a surge of emotions that have nothing to do with celebration. Many of us might experience anger caused by rejection or casual cruelty. Many of us carry the pain of losing an influential father figure who is no longer here, grieving the loss of someone who mattered deeply. Many of us might feel crushing disappointment at never being enough for the father we were born to. You might be surprised to know that none of those negative emotions are mine, at least not today.
But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5:8).
When I gave my life to Christ at 17 years of age, I struggled with the concept of a Heavenly Father. If you’re born into a church-going family full of pastors, elders, deacons, and missionaries, you constantly hear about the God who sits on Heaven’s throne. But how could I reconcile the concept of the unconditional love of a Heavenly Father when I’d never experienced even a shadow of it from my earthly father? How could I accept my tall, awkward, gangly self as dear and beloved in His sight, cherished just as I was, when all I’d known was rejection from the man whose few moments of connection voiced disappointment in what he saw? My spirit had already acknowledged its thirst for redemption through a risen Savior by accepting Christ’s invitation. But how do you make your mind and emotions align with what feels incomprehensible? The short answer is you don’t.
As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him (Psalm 103:13).
As a new believer, I acknowledged God in his magnitude and expressed my heartfelt gratitude that He chose me, but I held our loving, compassionate God at a distance. I was willing to do what He said to do and go where he said to go, but I didn’t know how to surrender my trust and let Him be my Father. I didn’t know how to be a “Daddy’s girl.”
True, life-changing transformation doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time. For me, it took growing from an insecure 17-year-old to a woman learning to walk through life one step at a time— clinging to God with each step, seeking His face and guidance through His Word. It took people coming into my life and people leaving. It took heartbreak, crippling loss, and moments that devastated me. It took disappointments in places I thought I’d find peace. It took time and lessons I never asked for.
But through it all, as I leaned fully on God as my absolute everything and experienced His matchless love and patience, I came to know something I couldn’t feel before: I am accepted. I am enough.
And so are you.
You are accepted. You are enough.
Enjoy Father’s Day, knowing, “… what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1a).
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