A Story About My Dad.

(Life Form.)
I just spent a couple minutes looking around my room for an old journal so I could accurately retell the story I'm about to tell. Unfortunately, the journal is back in Camp Hill. But I remember the story well enough that I probably don't need it anyway.

About a month before the start of my senior year, I sat at the kitchen table with my Mom, Dad, and younger brother, Aaron. I remember it was a long and warm kind of day, the room was dim, and I was a little grumpy. 

We had just finished dinner and we began to talk about the school year ahead. One of my parents brought up the topic of grades (a very normal subject when talking about school) and for some reason, I seriously have no idea why, I clicked into this terrible mood and gave my parents the worst attitude ever. I'm ashamed to think about the way I responded to them when they were simply encouraging me to work hard from the beginning of the year. So I yelled, which must have completely shocked them because it was totally out of place. They responded (not nearly as loudly or rudely as I had just spoken) and I stood up, grabbed the back of my chair and shoved it back under the table before storming off. I hadn't realized how close the chair was to my Dad's foot, though, so when I pushed in the chair, I actually slammed it against his foot. 

That broke my heart.

That story is literally painful for me to tell. That's an old and dying version of Bonnie I REALLY dislike. In any form.

I went up to my room and as always happens, within about a second, a mix of embarrassment and shame swept over me. I couldn't believe I had just responded the way I had. Seriously, dumb. So I just kind of moped around in my room for a few minutes.

Then my Dad came in. This is my favorite part of the story. 

I looked at him and just started to sob. I felt terrible. I had treated both him and my Mom like they were nothing. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the way I responded was completely out of place. It didn't make sense at all. But my Dad didn't make me feel ashamed or embarrassed... he didn't even ask me to apologize. He just came over to me and hugged me as I cried on his shoulder, telling him how sorry I was for hurting him. 

He told me he loved me and left no room for me to believe any lies. Because of his love I couldn't believe any longer that he'd love me less. I couldn't believe he wanted to be away from me. I could only believe things that were in line with the love my Dad was showing me. 

I can still feel the way I felt at that moment. 

My Dad's love, words, and embrace made me feel completely safe, totally forgiven, miraculously loved, and ultimately protected. My Dad was covering me and shame couldn't mess with me anymore. He's my protector and I am so sure of his love for me. 

Shame lost because of my Dad's love. 

This is the love of God for us, too. 

Thank you, Dad, for this testimony of your love for me. When I think of you I immediately think of your grace and kindness. I love you.