Why all this Father's Day stuff matters so much to me...

So as you read at the beginning of part one of my Father's Day monologue, I really felt God wanted me to share that on Father's Day with the whole church. Pastor Jim vetoed it. I'm still at a loss as to why. I asked him why, but he never responded. Busy? Ignoring the issue? Computer have a "Dad" virus? I have no idea. But it tells you something when on Mother's Day, all the kids in the church spend their class time making cards and sweet notes to Mom. On Father's Day, they schedule the "Moving Up" day, where the kids will be too busy having ice cream and marching around the church to honor Dad. Think Dad will mind when he gets home that Sunday and his kids got a present from church, but he didn't? No, of course not. That great tie will suffice as a gift, right? Or how about the fact that Father's Day is a national holiday to the lawn and garden industry. If we get Mom a vaccuum cleaner for her day, we'll be in the doghouse until her birthday or Christmas, whichever comes first. But a new weedwacker is perfectly suitable for Dad.

Have we missed something here? A recent study said that "mother" was considered one of the most beautiful words in the English language. "Father" didn't even make it into the top fifty! Granted, down through history, fathers have screwed things up. And as you'll read in my testimony a little later, I have THREE horrible examples in my own life. But I'm bothered by the fact that it's OK to pile on Dad for all the crappy things he did, and not honor him for all the great things. Dad may be work too much and not spend enough time with his kids, but many men fell that's how they show their ultimate love for family - by sacrificing everything so that his wife and kids are comfortable. Most guys I know, though they'll never sit down and share their feelings, are loyal to their homes and would never think of leaving or cheating. There are very few people who can look at their dad and not find something they can honor them for.

For some, it's hard. Because their father is the source of their greatest wound. The biggest hurt, whether it's emotional, mental, or (unfortunately) physical. Many, many people cannot relate to a personal God as their "heavenly Father" because the earthly father is more identified with Satan than God. So we percieve God as what our Dad was - maybe distant, maybe angry, maybe violent, certainly not loving, forgiving and kind. Pastor Jim a few years ago spent the entire Father's Day sermon reading statictics on how men/fathers have abandoned their roles and how society's downfall has hinged on his involvement or lack thereof. Congratulations, Dads! You've turned our nation into a fastering spiritual hole! Happy Father's Day! Have a donut next door before you go home!

I understand how bad it can seem. But I don't think continuing to blame everything on Dad is the answer. OK, so your Dad was a jerk. I get it. But how about learning from his mistakes? Why do you feel like you're doomed to follow in his footsteps? Hasn't Jesus come to set the captives free? Jesus isn't your dad. It's not His fault. It's not your fault, either.

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Linda graduated from high school in 1958. She could go to nursing school, or get married. She chose to marry Walter the next year. They tried for years to have children, but doctors said Linda was infertile. Now, they didn't have the treatments and therapies they have now. Back then, you were barren. Like in biblical times, that's a death sentence to many women. Walter was deeply wounded that he couldn't have kids of his own. By the end of the 1960's, he was so upset, they separated.

While apart, Linda met George and they began to have a serious relationship, leading them eventually to a sexual relationship. A few months later, Linda recieves the shocking news - she's pregnant!

This is where I come in. Hi, I'm Darren. The bastard son.

George, my sperm donor male role model, would not admit that I was his son. He denied it vehemently. The only time I know he even came close to acknowledging it was when I was two and, in the middle of the night, he brought a can of Tinkertoys into my room when I was asleep. But I wasn't asleep. I remember the silohuette putting them down in the doorway.

Walter found out my mom was pregnant with me and, to his credit, did a very honorable thing. He came back and said he'd raise me as his own. Walter Vance Barkman is, on the birth certificate, my "Dad". But all those years of pain from the past took their toll. He was a manic depressive and, by the time I was three, was not safe to be around. My mom filed for divorce and got it when I was three. I spent some time with Walter, his new wife Doris and her kids over a couple of summers. I didn't understand why I was there and I never really felt like I fit in.

Then, when I was nine, mom announces that we're moving to a bigger house. Great! We're moving in with her new boyfriend, Harry, and his son, Derek. I knew Derek a little. He was a couple of weeks older than me. I thought it was a chance to actually be a family, with a dad and a brother. Hardly. Harry treated me the family pet. He only spoke to me when he wanted to yell at me for something. Otherwise I didn't exist. Derek, on the other hand, got everything he wanted and was the "perfect" son. Even though he was barely passing in school. Even though he eventually got arrested for indecent exposure. Even though I got straight A's and never did anything wrong. I cried for days when Harry bought Derek a motorcycle and I not only couldn't get one, I couldn't ride his. I remember thinking there must be something wrong with me.

Harry was verbally and physically abusive to my mom. I remember sitting in the living room during a fight and seeing him knock my mom to the ground. I didn't do anything. I'm not sure why. It was like I was just a spectator to my own life. I was detached from it all.

Harry tried to beat on me once, but didn't. It was the night of Super Bowl 16. (It's crazy how I remember all that) The lady my mom worked for had given her a couple of Hershey bars for me. So, after dinner, I sat down to watch the game and eat my chocolate. For some reason, Harry had a fit. He said I shouldn't eat it all. Why he cared I'll never know. I looked at him and said, "But it's mine". In a flash, he stood up and started coming after me. I cowered in the big chair, crying. Harry stood over me, looking like he was going to destroy me. Mom begged him not to long enough for me to get up. She told me to go to my room and pack. Really, I thought. We're out of here! Awesome! I went upstairs, tore all my posters off the wall, packed up a few special things, went downstairs, put my shoes on and stood by the door. I'm free. We're free, Mom. We're out of here!

We went to my mom's work. We talked to her boss for awhile, calming us both down. Then, about an hour later, my mom said, "Well, let's go home". WHAT?!? We're going back? I couldn't compute it! Why would we go back to that hell? I even asked Mom out loud, "Why are we going back there when he treats me like that?". But back we went. Harry never apologized to me. I just went back upstairs to my room with all the posters off the wall. That was the time when the wound was delivered the deepest. Not only did it speak to me that men hate me, but it also said my mom took his side, not mine. See, I am all alone. And that's where I spent most of my teenage years - alone in my room.

I never got the chance to connect with these three men and try to heal relationships. Tricia and I did try once to find George's house but couldn't. He died from heart and lung disease in 2001. Walter, still haunted by his mental illness, committed suicide in 1988 - on my 17th birthday. Harry had a stroke while he was driving and died instantly in the crash in 1990. So the three who shaped my image of manhood here on earth are gone. Some would say good ridance. I wish I could go back and try to connect. I have no idea if I'd be successful. But it would be nice for my girls to know someone as Grandpa Barkman. It'll never be. I told Carissa, my seven year old, an abbreviated version of the story. She hugged me. I thought she was going to cry.

Here's the deal - I had no dad growing up. In fact, my role models were, as you see, horrible. But here I am with three girls of my own. I could be a monster of a dad. But I refuse. Because I determined in my mind not to make the same mistakes. Though society would want to bind me up in all of my disfunctions, I've hidden myself in Christ. I am crucified with Christ and it's no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. Jesus is a dad to my girls through me. I have no clue how to do it. But as I rely on Him, He gives me what I need. I'm not afraid anymore. Like the Mark Harris song says, "I'm ready to live...love...shine". I'm nowhere near who I want to be. But give me time. I'm going to be everything I wanted as a kid, but didn't get. I don't want the girls to have to go through what I did. Thank God they won't.

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So, as John Eldredge says, "Out of your wound comes your deepest glory". That's why Father's Day is so important. And it hurts when people gloss over it. Last year about this time, I was really sinking my teeth into Eldredge's stuff and this issue was burning in my heart. The moms last year got a book and flower, high praise. Father's Day? We got nothing. Except a thrilling message, "Six Ways To Be a Good Dad". I was stunned. I looked around at all the men in the church. They loked like zombies. It was like they were saying, "Pastor, I know you're trying to help, but I have no idea how to even get to where you're going! I'm dying here! Help me!". I called my pastor on it. I told him he missed a golden opportunity to heal mens' hearts. He just said, "I preached what I preached.". Yep, and it was crap.

Well, things are changing in me and my family. I'll discuss more of the big changes in a future post, when I actually understand what some of them are so I can describe them! For now, Happy Father's Day! Guys, you DO have what it takes!

Walk with God.