The Father That Counts
When I was five years old I received a school assignment to go home, find out what my daddy did for a living and then come back to school the next day to share that exciting information with the entire class. It may seem odd, but until that time, I didn’t even know I was supposed to have a dad.
That day I ran excitedly from the school building to the car where my mother was waiting to pick me up. Jumping up and down with the excitement of a super-charged five year old with a new discovery, I blurted out, “Mommy, Mommy,…I have a daddy…I have a daddy!! Take me to see my daddy!” I was so anxious to find out who he was and what he did so I could tell all my friends in school.
Within a few seconds my mother dashed to pieces my new found hope of a daddy when she said, “You don’t have a daddy. He was killed in a car accident.” In literally seconds I went from total euphoria thinking I had a daddy I never met, to total despair to find out he was killed.
When I was eight years old my mother took me, my sister and my brother to the cemetery to see where my dad was buried. She shared with us what really happened – he was murdered. It was a very vague story and my young mind didn’t fully comprehend the scattered details. That’s really all I ever knew about my father or the circumstances that surrounded his death. It was just never discussed.
Growing up without a father was difficult. A single mother trying to raise three children was an extreme challenge. We didn’t always have food and there were times the lights were turned off because the electric bill couldn’t be paid. There were many days I wondered about my father, what he would have been like, if he would have taken me on walks, or if I would have been a “daddy’s girl.”
I later learned my father passed while my mother was pregnant with me. I also was told he thought he was having another little boy and wanted to name me Christopher, so my mom came as close as she could by naming me Christine. Even though I never met him, I still miss my daddy to this day.
The good part of my childhood was that my mother took us to church. There, I learned about faith and that there was a God to whom I could turn. I grew to understand I have a choice about the way I live my life and there would always be someone who was worse off than I was. I also learned about another father, a Heavenly Father. While I still miss my daddy greatly, I take great solace in knowing the Father that counts.
When I was younger, I used to pray to be adopted so that I could experience a complete family like my friends. I look back and see how my Heavenly Father met the desire of my heart. When I was about 30 years old, I met a couple old enough to be my parents. We shared many interests together; we went scuba diving, kayaking, skiing and more. They have been and still are an integral part of my life and I count my blessings every day.
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