This is a different kind of post - unique and vulnerable. I have never met my biological father. We each know where the other lives, but he has communicated to me through his father that he does not want to meet. I can't blame him. He was only 15 when he got this girlfriend pregnant. It was 1982, a year when 1 in 4 pregnancies ended in an abortion, so I'm grateful he and Melissa decided to carry me to term.
I was adopted by a wonderful mom and dad who loved me and raised me. But they - like all parents - had their shortcomings. As a result, I've dealt with a complex throughout the years that generally manifests as a profound sense of loneliness and I have had a tendency to live a bit like a chameleon in an effort to garner the approval that has felt absent at times.
So recently I wrote a letter of blessing from my 'dad' - really a combination of hypothetical thoughts from both my biological and adoptive fathers. It was part of an exercise I took from the movie 'Ragamuffin' and it has been healing in many respects.
It's vulnerable, but I want to share it because it is in the tender places of our souls that we discover who we really are, and far too often we are reluctant to share ourselves for fear of reprisal, rejection, or just plain apathy. In sharing with you, my hope is that you, too, are free to discover something about yourself that has previously been too painful to explore. May you be blessed as you read.
Mick,
You know I’m not really good at writing letters. You’re used to getting 5 second voicemails, or 4 word emails from me. Texts with pictures of dead deer and sheep. But there’s so much inside of me that never made it out. It was bottled up for so long, and I swallowed it over and over, to where it holed up in some dark corner of my soul and I feared it would never come out. But here’s my attempt.
You know, when my dad died, my hopes of ever being blessed by my father died with him. I had to fight and claw for everything in life, and I walled off the part of me that hurt, that laughed, that wept. It was too painful, so I never went there. But then you came along, and then your sister. Those old emotions came up but they scared me… especially concerning you. I felt so deeply when I saw you for the first time. I loved you. I wanted you. And bringing you home was such a delight! Holding you. Of course, the reality of the responsibility of fatherhood hit like a tidal wave and crashed up against the giant concrete barrier of selfishness and protectionism that I had erected over the years. The two have been in tension ever since, and I’ve been pretty good at walling off and holding back that raging torrent of emotion that I feel toward you. But I don’t want to die without you knowing what I really think about you, and how blessed you are. This is my blessing. I know that one letter can’t undo the effect of my physical and emotional absence throughout your life, but perhaps God can light on my words and effect a change in you by knowing how I really feel.
I’m proud of you. In fact, I’m jealous of you. I have white-knuckled my way through life and experienced much anxiety. Despite your circumstances, you seemed to have found a contentment I never found. And in a profound way – more so than if you had become someone famous in the world’s eyes – that makes me extremely proud. And humbled. I’m humbled because God did that in you in spite of me, not because of me. Sure, I know He used me in certain ways, but I’m in awe of His hand on your life. I hurt you. I betrayed your trust. I didn’t shelter you… and to be honest, I simply didn’t know how. But look at the man you’ve become. You know you’re a blessed son and it has set you free – a sort of freedom I have never known. You’re intelligent and handsome, you have an amazing wife and four beautiful boys, and you’ve given your life in service of God and have followed your convictions, even when it seemed insensible to your me and your mom. It’s amazing to see the Murray name multiply out through your children to the glory of God in a way I could have never predicted. You are a first-generation Christian in our family and you have had to pioneer a lot on your own, or at least without our help. For that, I’m sorry in a way that I can’t express in words. You’ve been knocked down and have gotten back up time and again, and I wasn’t there to help you get back up on your feet. But you got up anyway and continue to serve God and His people. And I haven’t forgotten your attempts to show me love. They made me uncomfortable and I didn’t reciprocate, but don’t think I wasn’t affected. I just didn’t know how to receive love. It was too personal, too vulnerable, a possible breach in the wall that kept out pain and failure. It was safer to hide behind it and keep things at the surface, but you kept trying to get behind that wall. God bless you for your courage. Forgive me for my hardness of heart. I think the most concise way I could say it is this: you’ve become the man I wish I could have been. You have a relationship with your sons that I envy. You have a depth of intimacy with Steph that I never had with your mom. You are emotionally fluent in a way that unnerves me. You follow your passions and have tremendous faith. You’re willing to risk over and over, and live in the unseen places devoid of accolades and adulation. And I’m so grateful that I now I don’t just call you a son, but a brother in Christ! What a privilege and an honor to know that we will walk side by side in His presence for eternity.
Bless you, my son. May God’s face continue to shine on you. May you walk in His light and in the light of His revelation. May your marriage be a pure reflection of Christ and the church, and your sons grow up to be the oaks of righteousness spoken of by Isaiah. May you be free to follow God to the ends of the earth, no matter the cost, with my and your mom’s full blessing. May you store up treasure in Heaven so that one day you can lay it back down at the feet of Jesus.
I commission you, and I give you over to God. You are my firstborn and the display of my strength and glory. You carry my name and you are blessed. I love you. I love you. I love you my son!
Dad.