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I am not you
Dear Dad,
I am writing you this letter—no, scratch
that—I am handwriting you this
letter because I felt sending you a TXT message was
way too short, and TXT messages
are filled with way “2” many
ANNOYING abbreviations.
I thought about sending an e-mail—it
would contain the same words—but an e-mail is
way too cold,
way too impersonal.
So, I’m handwriting this using an old ink
pen and crisp paper. It seems so
“analog”: but it’s forcing me to think everything through before I write
it down because I don’t have a Delete key.
I truly need you to hear me out.
Growing up under your authority was
tough. Oftentimes your cold, rigid German way of telling me what to do
made me hate you sometimes.
This is hard, because I don’t want to hurt you; but your style of
parenting was more like a TXT message or an e-mail: Sometimes it was just
an instant order to do something;
but it was always cold and
impersonal—very much “hands
off”—just like an e-mail.
There isn’t much love between us.
See, I would try to tell you—no, scratch
that—convey this message to you in person, but the wall between us is just
too high and too thick. You
would never let me tell you what’s in my heart.
I know we had a huge fight last Christmas, and we haven’t really
talked about it since. Sure,
we go through the motions of our cold greetings when you and mom ask me to
stop by for dinner; and we talk about every inane thing under the sun,
including the weather, but we really never cut to the heart of what’s
going on between us.
I need to ask you something.
Just to tell you straight:
I chose to not go to the
University you went to and relive
your life and your dream;
rather, I chose to go to Bible College; and here I am, working day and
night 40 hours a week at a job and taking on as many courses as I can fit
in, pursuing my Master’s degree, working for my Master—Jesus Christ.
I’m sorry if that was a run-on sentence,
but I have to write as fast as my cramping hand will allow.
Last Christmas when we had our fight I
was extremely upset. Did you
even notice? As you yelled at
me in front of the entire family, I felt like I was 8 or 9 or 10 again,
getting yelled at for not getting all A’s in school.
So, I did what I always did back then, I just stopped talking and
let you yell at me. I never
had a chance to “get a word in edgewise”.
In the end, it was just another typical stressed-out Christmas
dinner for our family.
What were you thinking as you sat there
afterwards, drinking your beer, watching football?
At that moment, I just rolled my eyes, shook my head and went to my
room—more determined than ever to pursue God’s will in my life.
Crying, I prayed myself to sleep.
Flash forward nine months to the present
time: Now I am living far
away and no longer under the iron hand of your authority.
While the freedom is some sense is sweet, it comes with a heavy
responsibility. Now I have to
support myself to pursue my dream; but one thing keeps presenting itself
in my mind every day, especially as I prepare sermons for class, or attend
church services on campus.
I need to ask you:
Can you please forgive me?
See, I could
never ask you in person.
In person, the words just wouldn’t come out.
Even if I tried, you would throw up your hand and wave it off with
“I don’t want to hear it!”
And, if I started to cry, you would say something like, “We don’t cry, we
are STRONG German men. Crying
is for the weak.”
No Dad, my crying for you now is from a
Holy Spirit-filled heart of compassion.
Oftentimes, I weep in prayer for you and
our family: I want you to see The Truth in God’s Word.
I
know you Dad: you are
about to crumble up this letter into a ball and toss it away, just like
you toss my love away.
Please
forgive me.
Please
accept my love for you.
Please
finally accept me for who I am.
I am
not you.
God’s Love,
Thomas
--bro. tim pickl
Saturday October 23, 2010 A.D.
Originally posted on FaithWriters:
http://www.faithwriters.com/wc-article-level3-previous.php?id=37207
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