My Father's House

My parents divorced when I was 11. My mom had moved out and moved on. My dad tried to keep up with the needs of my brothers and I as much as he knew how. Soon playing the part of both mom and dad, all while trying to survive a broken marriage, took a grave toll on him. He began to numb the pain from one substance to the next. We watched him go from the man we thought hung the moon to a man who could no longer handle the light of day. We mourned for him. For the fun dad who made us laugh. For the simple guy who found joy in all things. That man was gone. His house became a graveyard. One of burried memories, hopes, dreams, and a life that once was....A guy that once took a condemned house and completely restored it had been overtaken by shutoff and repossession notices. The house that built me was broken.

It took a few years for the addictions to fully control him and at that time my brothers and I were shipped off to our moms house. A house I am not sure I can even define. My mom remarried a man who was very generous to my brothers and I. Together they worked hard to provide for us. BUT what we needed most: love without condition, affection, communication, and explanation didn't exist there. Questions were never answered and were subject to  wrath. I never felt important, cared for, or needed. It may have been just me dealing with her new life, but I never felt it was a place I belonged. Which is why it made sense when the waters became too troubled we became disposable.

For years my brothers and I would go back and forth from one house to the next. When my dad would be in recovery we would run to him...

and when he would succumb to his demons, we would be forced to move to moms. I used to have nightmares about going back to our Valley View house trying to scrub the house of its filth until my fingers bled, trying to repaint the stained walls, trying to repair it to its former glory. I would grieve the life we had and long to feel the love that I so desperately needed to feel. Nothing could fill that void. Nothing.

Like me, you may also have survived the tragedy of a broken home. You may long to fill that hurt that burns deep inside you. You may be searching and searching for a place where you can be embraced, loved unconditionally, and cherished. But did you know even though we are given earthly parents, we also have a heavenly father? The one who created us in our mothers womb? The one who knew us before we took our first breath?

And in OUR fathers house...Grace consumes us like the ocean. It's our place of refuge through any storm. His love flows through us like a river. He so intricately designed us he knows all our broken pieces. We don't have to do any repairs. He is the one who returns us to our former glory. He breathes life into those parts of us we once thought were dead. There is no running back and forth and to or fro. He opens his arms, embraces us, and in them we find rest.

~In my father's house, there's a place for me. I'm a child of God, yes I am💕