“The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the LORD is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 27:1)
My father did not believe in accidents. You were either prepared or not. You were either careful or careless. So the cardinal rule in our household was to always anticipate what could go wrong.
Once I drove home from the store, not noticing that another car had hit the passenger door of my (mom’s old) car while it was parked.
“It was an accident, appa,” I explained when he noticed the mark.
“No!” he accused, “You were at the wrong place at the wrong time and you were not being careful! This is why I cannot trust you with a car. Do not go out anymore and just stay home!”
My father did not know how to handle stress or surprises, so he lived a life that was planned out, routine, and predictable. Our cars were always filled with gas and it was to never dip below the halfway mark, just in case. We had an excessive supply of toothpaste, soap, and toilet paper (pre-COVID); we would probably never get through it all in our lifetime, especially at the rate we were expected to ration and minimally use these stocked products.
But it was more than having emergency stashes. My father had an incessant need to warn us of dangers we couldn’t see and didn’t feel. It made us feel a steady stream of guilt for not sensing nor feeling the same level of hypervigilance, and shame when the other shoe eventually did drop in our lives: We had not prepared. He had told us this would happen; why hadn’t we listened?
In the end, my siblings and I learned early on that our father was not someone we could turn to when in trouble or in pain – if anything, we kept bad news to ourselves, knowing that sharing any upsetting news would lead to a barrage of reprimands. We learned to handle problems on our own, as well as to mistrust others as they might easily harm us.
These early experiences stayed with me and then confused me, especially once I became a Christian. The Heavenly Father that I read about in the Bible and experienced in my life was so contrary to my earthly father. The Bible taught me to go to my Father when I was tired, heavy laden, fearful, in trouble, hurt.
I did, often, and He always met with me, and consoled all the aches in my soul and heart, even hurts and pains experienced from years and years before. There seemed to be no shortage of understanding, patience, and love coming from Him. It was as if I had been given a new Father, one who was not always anxious, upset, and scolding His children
After becoming a parent, I realize my earthly father had good intentions. He was scared. He did not speak English, and neither did my mother. We immigrated to the States when I was 5 years old and lived in a one-bedroom apartment as a family of five. I know my father cared about us; he simply did not want anything to happen to us (mostly because he would not know how to handle any unexpected surprises). I do not think he knew any other way than to teach us a life of survival that was built on fear and avoidance. But God was not this way; He gently led me into the unknowns, going before me and nurturing me along.
When I became a new parent, I was fearful of everything. Why was the baby crying, what did he need, what did he want, why would God put me in this situation? To add stress upon stress, the home our young family lived in was affected by a giant methane gas blowout, making us all sick. A few years later, we planned to move to a safe neighborhood with good schools, but the pandemic put those plans on hold. We were not prepared for any of this, and it added to my distress.
But during this forced pause, I realized that so many of my decisions about my family were made out of fear. The clearest example of this has come out of my desire to send my kids to a “good school” and our country’s current awakening to the fight against racism and the fight for equality.
Recently I re-read the story about Ruby Bridges, the first Black girl whose presence desegregated an all-White school. I saw an old black-and-white photo of her being walked to school by an agent as a mob of angry White moms hurled hostile expressions and signs at a child. It hit me then, what fear looked like. These moms were afraid for their children, and it was an ugly look. Moreover, they did not care about Black children, and neither had I. I had only thought about my children. The decisions I was making about their lives were made from fear.
What is God even asking of me at this time? I realized that He is not making any demands; He never has. Unlike my earthly father, who drilled and drilled lessons into my head, God never shouted any directive my way. From the times that I was open to listening, He has shown me what His ways are and has gently led me.
No accusations. No berating of how selfish, how thoughtless, nor how unloving a daughter I am to Him. How amazing are God’s love and His grace?
God was not pointing out my ignorance and yelling at me to be more careful of His commands. He reveals it to me by showing me His heart and who He is. In my heart, I see my sin. Yet, there is no condemnation, no scolding that I get my act together, no pointing of the finger at me that I am not living up to His standards, His ways. There is patience, love, acceptance, and understanding.
I see that these two fathers I have are worlds apart. One tells me to fear not, one says to fear everything. So here I stand at the crossroads of obedience – extend your hand, retract your hand; consider others, consider yourself; love your neighbor, shelter your family; see the needs of others, ignore others; be bold, keep your head down; give, hoard; advocate, do not draw attention; be a light, be invisible; be courageous, cower. Which father do I listen to, which father do I honor?
I know this command to love my neighbor as myself is for me, for me to see God’s goodness and His vast riches of immeasurable grace, light, truth and hope. There is no fear, no condemnation when I fail, when I am careless, and unthoughtful about His ways. God is a patient Father, He does not demand and expect me to do all the right things, He is willing to teach me. He does not make me angry, resentful, nor full of guilt. Rather, He fills me with genuine remorse, a sorrowful desire to be corrected and changed, and gratitude to be given better ways to be, to live, to love, to parent. And knowing all that, I am no longer afraid.
“I will instruct you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.” (Psalm 32:8)