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Responses (sorted by date)
benjipark: response (8/16/05)
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Thanks for sharing, Ryan.
Once you get into a pattern of thinking about yourself as alone in the world (and acting on those thoughts, of course), it seems hard, if not impossible, to break out of it. For me, there's always been the issue of healthy independence vs. stubborn self-reliance. I don't know if the word is "balancing" so much as "discerning"--discerning between the two and walking away from the stubborn foolishness. It has filtered into so many levels of my life. Especially in the U.S., we seem to define adulthood as the ability to be independent and competent at a lot of things. We neglect or resist a healthy dependence on others and on God and may actively avoid stepping into a situation where independence may not be an option. But there's a paradox here: being childlike (willing to be nurtured as well as to nurture, not needing to have the front of having it "all together," admitting you're still on the path, you've still got a lot of growing and living to do and actually, that's OK) will somehow allow you to function fully as a "grownup." As more present in your choices. As more of who you are.
As many of you know, I have had a good (at times very uncomfortable, but when push comes to shove, trustworthy) relationship w/my earthly father. But, on the other hand...
I have had a miserable relationship with *his* father, a man who's never wanted much, if anything, to do with me, unless I was totally convenient but, more likely, actively kissed up to him, which I always refused to. I spent over a decade (God showed me this summer, 25 years, to be precise) trying to convince myself, oh well, I guess I didn't need him, and I actually believed there wasn't much, if any, pain left under all these years of resignation. (Several close friends did see through my denial. Hmmm.)
This summer, I finally allowed myself to feel the grief of my grandfather's betrayal. He abandoned us all, over and over again: father, mother, sisters, and me. Conveniently bundled with this betrayal was the lesson he's taught his entire life, in words and actions: "You must take care of yourself. When the **** hits the fan, no one else will." I sat at his dining room table a month and a half ago (first time I'd seen him in many years) and he flat-out told me, if you come to me for help in a crisis, you won't get it...just the end of my gun....because you haven't done what I think you should do.
It is hard for the truth of Grace to overcome these dark lessons. But after my trip to see my grandfather, God reminded me--through his son, my father--that I have chosen, for many years, to submit my fate to Christ. And that I do believe in his Grace. And as I submit to God, I must also allow my earthly dad to take care of me in ways he has offered, without believing the lie that it means I've "failed" as an adult, or the other lie that he disdains me as less successful (as my grandfather would do)--my father is not this way. And God is DEFINITELY not this way.
For weeks, I've been thinking about that line from "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," someone asking about that very powerful looking lion, "Is Aslan safe?"
The answer: "Safe, no--but he is good."
Does God, as my father, promise safety? Not in the U.S. sense of the word: pain-free, accident-free, setback-free, physical death-free. But this is something I can't really ensure myself anyway...at best, I'd create the illusion of safety, like my grandfather has done, piling up block after block to form an ugly pile, gun after gun in a line, the lunacy of the Cold War encompassed in one man's sad house. Bleecccch.
I must continue to reject Grandpa's bunker mentality and choose growing up instead, growing up into life. Grieving when need be, but not being defined by others' abandonment/rejection of me. |
