A couple of weeks ago I spent an afternoon at the beach bodyboarding with my eldest son. I have not gone bodyboarding since maybe I was in my twenties and it’s been a while since he and I have done something like that together, without the rest of the family. We had so much fun racing down the waves together. Just the two of us, carefree sea-buddies. I will remember that day forever.
Afterward, I dropped him home. We parted with our usual little goodbye ritual and I started the journey home. It was night by this time and as I cruised along the highway with my thoughts for company a strange feeling came over me that started with a sudden epiphany.
“He’s eighteen now! He’s an adult!”
In my mind I saw the little one-and-a-half-year-old baby the last day that I held him before the events that led to his mom and I getting divorced. I had done it. I had stayed alongside him all the way to adulthood and now here we were; father and son and more than that – buddies. I had stayed true to the commitment I made to that little baby boy to be the best father I could be to him even though I lived in a different house.
Tears ran down my face as the streetlights blurred past. But I could not understand why I was crying… Some emotion filled my soul, but I had no idea what its name was. Was it, relief? No. Was it some sort of pride at my paternal accomplishment? No, it wasn’t that either. Even as I was overcome with emotion, I struggled to understand what I was feeling.
Memories flashed through my head. It had not been easy to be the type of father I wanted to be to my son. Many times, I had to fight tooth and nail to be a part of his life while trying not to fracture the tenuous relationship with his mother which would defeat the very purpose of my effort. In truth it has been a constant battle-dance. Without God I would have failed miserably.
When I left the marriage, I became untrustworthy and when I left her church, I became a bad influence. Those two demon-labels were hell to wrestle against while I was trying to be a significant part of my son’s life. But I fought. Sometimes I lost. I did not get much say in the schools he attended. But I fought. I was not allowed to be there for his baptism. But I fought.
It was in his early teens when he had an assessment with a psychologist, and she unearthed that he had a fear of me leaving him. I was heartbroken. How could he not know that I would never leave him?? I had fought so hard to be there for him in every way I knew how. I learned that day just how insidious the enemy is and how fragile the human heart is. The enemy magnifies every event, thought and conversation that would perpetuate his nasty lies and destabilize our lives with fear. Well I was not going to let the enemy win! At the earliest opportunity I let my baby boy know in no uncertain terms that I would NEVER leave him no matter what. I know it made a difference in his heart. My only regret is not knowing sooner that I needed to say it.
As I write this, it is only now that I understand what I was feeling; what I can feel even now. It’s the feeling that you have after years of hard battle when you look back at the sacrifices, the wounds, the scars and you can say that it was worth it. The prize of the fight was worth the years of hardship on the battlefield. The love I share with my son was worth it all. This was what it was all for. There may still be many a skirmish to come and I won’t be backing down, but I can see the victory.
God spoke to me that night. He said, “I feel the same way about you. I will never leave you nor forsake you all the days of your life. My love is steadfast.” My Father knew that I also needed to hear it.
It was as if the fierce love that I felt for my son suddenly flew up out of my chest, multiplied a hundred-fold in the air and returned to encompass me – the warm embrace of my Heavenly Father. My tears also multiplied, as I understood in a new way that perfect love casts out all fear.
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