While I have an intense love of conversation and probing questions, I've always been bad at confrontation. Bad? To say that I'm bad at confrontation is probably painting me in too positive of a light. I'm awful at confrontation. I bend, buckle, and break at confrontation. I avoid it, run from it, or in many circumstances pretend it doesn't exist. In the midst of it I will usually say "yes" when I mean "no" or agree when I am opposed. I will usually very quickly give my side of the argument up or turn myself around in circles verbally until I'm usually apologizing at the end...
How do I give you back story on my next topic, this afternoon I had a conversation with my "Papa." Now my Papa is not my "Dad," not my birth Dad at least and in this conversation is not referring in any sense to God as my Heavenly Father either.
Most people know that at best my birth Dad has been "absent" for the last many years. I choose to believe in my heart of hearts that in his heart of hearts my Dad is a good man. That somewhere lost in years of addiction and mental disorder there is still a man left in there who loves the three beautiful daughters he helped create. But circumstances, many of which he is choosing he can't live in that reality right now. (I still pray that someday he will be able to). Regardless for most of the hardest years of my life I was without a Dad, in any earthly sense. (And while we are still a few months away from my Mother's Day manifesto on the amazing testimony of my Mom's life; let me just take the moment to clarify that she is one of the most amazing women I have ever known. I am very clear that without her intense fighter's heart, passion, zeal and immortal soul three women and two little girls would not be here). But this story is about Daddies.
The last couple years as I've journeyed further into adulthood, further into a period of life where I feel I should be entering into intentional relationship with another man, have cut apron strings and headed out into the world on my own I have begun to realize that my heart is crying out for my Daddy. Because no matter what, what little girl doesn't want her Daddy? What twenty seven year old doesn't want her Daddy? Instead of placing men on scales of potential mate material like my peers, I have actually processed men I met in my head on their merits of a father. "If I had a Daddy, I would want him to be like you..." Ironically I've also spent the last many years sitting in on numerous teachings from many different ministries and leaders about exploring the Father's Heart of God and accepting an identity of Sonship through Christ, but again this story isn't about Father God right now either, this really just is about my Papa.
A couple years ago I had started working in a new ministry and met a pretty cool guy. One of our first interactions was driving a van load of kids three hours up north for a weekend retreat. I was pretty excited to get put in the van with him because although I didn't know him outside of his name and fondness for volleyball I assumed he'd have good taste in music. (Years later I'm wondering what I was thinking, he's only got three songs on his iPod under the genre "Rap/Hip Hop" and their all remixes of the same song!) He's a lot like me in that he wastes no time getting to know someone though, or maybe that was me and unspoken trust I knew I had for him from day one. All I remember is by the time we got up to camp, we'd faded the music really loud in the back for the kids and really quiet up front and I had told him more about who I really was than I had told most people in years. By the time the weekend was over, he'd given me very symbolic advice about a ring I was wearing that I took and have held to, to this day. Unfortunately the Lord called him out of that ministry shortly after that trip but we continued to keep tabs on FaceBook and tease each other when I would see him playing volleyball. A year or so later him and his wife spoiled me one winter weekend by asking me to puppy sit while they went out of town and I got a house, three warm pups, beer, organic groceries, and a king size bed to myself for the weekend. It was than his wife and I started a not very consistent relationship of a "hi" here or there and surface level conversation when we would all end up at the same restaurant. A last minute New Year's party found me at their house again when the year I skipped IHOP.
Last year both him and her were guests at a wedding I was personal attendant at. This was five days before I left for New Zealand. His wife ended up taking me aside at the wedding and pouring insane amounts of truth and life over my trip and ministry heading into YWAM again. A few days later as I was leaving a text that they wanted to be monthly supporters of my ministry. I left for YWAM overwhelmed of course by all the emotions of leaving, the excitement of a new journey and the business of working as a full time missionary. But in the back of my mind this remembrance of what she had said to me at the wedding, how could someone know me that well without actually knowing me? Hit the mark so clearly on my heart without ever having journeyed there?
As the weeks and months passed, my relationship with her grew. We spoke almost daily on Facebook, from "hi" and "thinking of you" to deep, tear filled conversations as I learned to live this life, sometimes with great success, sometimes with bruises and bloody knees. Without knowing it another 'family' was being birthed. I came home in December and after days with my family, collapsed on their couch, I was finally completely home.
And skipping many of the steps and some of the intimate details which belong to us as a family I am now back in New Zealand having left two families behind. My family of Mom, Jon, Jessi, Dan, Abbi, Izze and Faith whom I love as much as anyone coming from an amazing family can love and my new family, my Papa, other Mum and an awesome second set of siblings. This is a family we chose. A committed, intentional "grafting in" while still seamlessly being deeply committed and connected to my original family. I have spent many hours bawling as my Papa and Mum have poured truth over my life, as they have covenanted to me what walking out this new family life will look like, what it's like to give emotional birth to a full grown adult. What it looks like to "parent" a twenty seven year old. We spent our first family Christmas together this year and I even got sent here with a "baby blanket" of sorts. (Another long story for a different time).
This afternoon I was talking to my Papa (yep, it just doesn't get old being able to say that as a part of my normal vocabulary). We were talking about a very touchy, sensitive subject.
Ok.... we were talking about boys.
For one of the first times that I can remember, I was interacting in a Father/Daughter conversation. I was trusting. I was being loved. I was confidant of my security as his daughter. I knew to this man, I am the most beautiful twenty-something on the planet. He literally does believe I am kind, creative and worthy. It dawned on me as I was processing later, this is what security feels like. This is what a daughter is supposed to feel from her father. I am supposed to be less strong than he is. I am meant to have less answers than he has. I am meant to need his wisdom, his care, his direction. Even as an adult.
There is so much confidence that comes from knowing who you are...
I'm am learning there is also much confidence to be found in knowing whose you are.
This year, I am on a massive counter strike to everything that seeks to detract me from being the best version of me. The most whole, healthy, happy version of Mandi that God has had designed and planned since Creation. I knew sooner or later learning to deal with confrontation and uncomfortable conversation would be a part of that journey. Today that opportunity came...
Shortly after my chat with Pops I had a conversation with someone here that set me uneasy. Perspective was off, interaction badly timed, my Spirit was bristled. I defaulted to saying "yes" and agreeing and went about my task. It was in this I felt myself also defaulted to an unpleasant attitude and even fair bit of stress attached to having agreed to something I didn't actually agree with. I felt myself starting to get angry with this person and more upset with myself for in my mind "wussing" out of actually saying what I believed. I continued to clean one of our spare rooms and prayed quietly to myself. At some point I started replaying my conversation with my Papa and in some small head space decided to stop what I was doing and go have a conversation with the person I had disagreed with. It was a very small matter, that after clarifying was understood by both of us in a different and much more agreeable light. But for me, actually coming to that conclusion was so small compared to the process in my head and heart that got to a place of confrontation at the first place.
It was the eyes of my heart being opened to the truth that was already there. A truth that perhaps was waiting for a Daddy to open up...
My mind is worthy and valid because it was created with the utmost care in the hands of Creator God. My choice to agree or disagree with another person does not stand to make any type of statement on my identity as a Beloved Daughter of the Most High King. (And I capitalize that because that is a royal identity with a whole lot of street cred in the supernatural thank you very much!) As an adult, living in very close community, with lots of people with their own eyes, ears, hearts, perspectives and ideas there are bound to be disagreements that require confrontation. It's not really the end of the world is it? That conversation has no bearing whatsoever on who I am or how much I am loved and cherished. It needed to happen, it happened and life went on it's merry way.
But for me that small little conversation was a real big deal because it represented a real new understanding for me. I am learning what it is to be secure in the grasp of a Heavenly Father by learning what it is to be secure in the arms of an earthly one. I am learning what it is to accept my identity as beautiful, beloved, cherished, pursued, fought for, provided for, blessed, taught, protected by my Heavenly Father because I am seeing it walked out by an earthly one.
And my Papa? He loves me.
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