The F Word

I remember the day like it was yesterday.

We’d moved into the bottom flat of a two-story house that faced a concrete bridge with ceaseless traffic, frequent ambulance sirens, fire engines rushing over and pedestrians making their way somewhere. I must have been about five at the time because I remember standing at the door looking out at spray-painted letters that made up a word I couldn’t read.  What I could read was the way my dad felt about that word.  As he walked down our front porch stairs, the same porch I would play on for years to come, I watched him paint the word away.

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There.  He did it. He made that bridge more colorful but definitely not any prettier.

It was hidden.

But not gone.

Fast forward to when I was about ten or eleven.  It was a sunny day, warm enough to be out in our side yard.  Dad was doing something I don’t believe he’s ever done again: he was hitting a golf ball around the yard.  Come to think of it, I don’t remember him ever playing golf.

But he did that day.

There were some kids (my sister said they were girls-I don’t remember who they were) and they were yelling things at me and I think I wanted to be cool or ‘fight back’ so I threw a word back at them.

One word.

The only word I knew that had some power attached to it.

I said the ‘F’ word. 

Yep, I said it. Yelled it loud enough that everyone heard it.

Dad heard it.

Whether I turned at that moment to see the rage in his eyes or watched as the kids laughed as he swung that metal golf club across my back four times, I don’t remember, and it doesn’t matter now.

But it happened and it mattered then.

I believe I was more ashamed by the laughing than the physical pain I felt.

That moment was a turning point for me.  Shame, guilt, embarrassment, anger, fear, rejection, hatred, self-protection and only God knows what else established residence in my life that day.

But let me share a secret with you:

I had no idea those things permanently moved in.  All I knew was I had done something very bad and I must be a very bad girl.  

The things that happen when we are little will play themselves out all our life until we come face to face with what happened and allow God to change us.

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I’m  fifty-five years old and just this morning, I had a flash back to that day. It came after I asked the Spirit to show me why I judge others so quickly. I’ve learned that I can trust Him to reveal what I need to know when I need to know it.

He revealed to me that my daddy didn’t protect me from those kids that were harassing me.  They mocked me.  So I used the STRONGEST WORD I knew (even though I had no idea what it meant. I probably heard it at school or maybe even home when dad was drunk and sitting in the dark, something he did often).

The Spirit showed me that by using that word I felt powerful, strong and tough.  In essence, I put my trust in that word rather than Him or even my dad to help me.

That may sound silly to some reading this, but to me, it’s powerful. There’s power in forgiveness and this morning, as I relived that day, I forgave my dad for not loving me, not protecting me and for abusing me with a golf club.

I also see the power in repenting of trusting in a word to give me something it couldn’t. Even at that age, I wanted approval and power.  I didn’t know then that I already had God’s approval.  He accepted me. I didn’t need to prove to those kids on the bridge that I was somebody because I could say an unacceptable word or try showing off by saying that word in front of my father, which obviously backfired.

Words have the power of life and death in them.

The four-letter word I used that day and hear all the time in this culture of ‘anything goes’ is nothing more than a cry for power, and sadly, a desire to prove worth or to show anger.

But, honestly, I don’t believe that using it gives anyone what they’re really looking for.

We all want to be heard, loved and valued.  What we fail to realize is that God hears us, loves us and values us.

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God was there that day.  He didn’t condemn me or throw me away because I disappointed him.  No, he continued to pursue me and today, I saw it.  I felt it.

My dad is in the hospital right now. I called him yesterday and we chatted. He’s on steroids, which we both know keep him awake.  He reminded me of when he lived here and stayed up cleaning the entire kitchen one night. We laughed about that.

I called him again today and told him I wanted to tell him something.  I have to preface what I want to say so he’ll be quiet long enough to listen.  After I told him my flashback, he sighed and said he vividly remembers that day, too.  He told me how bad and guilty he felt after he did that to me.  I didn’t know he felt bad.  He never once apologized for it.  But today I learned that he DID.

As he listened to me talk, I calmly and loudly, so he could hear me clearly, stated, “Dad, I forgive you for what you did to me that day.  You are free.  Please don’t feel ashamed of yourself anymore, ok?”  He didn’t know what to say except, “Ok.”

Life is full of memories, experiences and choices.

As Stephen Covey wrote:

“We see the world not as it is but as we are.”

May forgiveness be the cornerstone of our lives.

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