“you killed my dad” words uttered by a four-year old child in the bumpy car ride home. Words that came from the commotion of the car. What spurred on such words. Where in the world did the words come from. As silence permeated the car, no one could have imagined the weight and depth  those four simple words would have on that four year old child for the rest of her life. Words that pressed into the minds and hearts of those in the car and words that would forever be brought to the forefront on this girl’s face everyday for the rest of her life.

A few months earlier, her father had died unexpectedly, but rather quickly. As each day passes the memory of her father slowly fades away from her mind. Some memories are more like flashes. She has to work hard to really  remember some memories and others she has to deciefer what is real and what is a dream.

Flashes of wandering a building proclaiming that her dad was Lazarus and Jesus would come wake him up, just like the Bible talks about in John chapter 11.  The faith of a child. We often refer to the faith of young children… how they are able to believe so innocently.  And just like that she believed in the words written in the Bible. Words that would later become a distant memory and words that would make some adults feel sorry for her, be empathetic, or maybe some wondered about the lasting impact this single event would have on her. The casket was open. You could see her father’s face, his perfect face laying in there peacefully. His now cold body, lifeless, but peaceful lay in the casket. He appears to be sleeping, but in reality life has left him. As the night drew to a close, and the crowds of people had disappeared from the halls of the funeral home. All that was left was a little girl, with her big brown eyes, long brown hair, staring off, watching intently as they closed the casket that her father rested in. She let out a scream of terror and needed one last peek at her father. She bolted for the casket, the lid lifted and she leaned in placed her hands on his cold face and kissed him, not goodbye, but see you later. As the funeral director slowly sat her down, she again sat still as the casket began to slowly shut and that kiss, that embrace would soon become a distant memory. It would fade out of her mind as each day passed.

Her father was not Lazarus, Her father would not be coming back to her. All she would have left would be memories. His body lay on the grounds of an old cemetery, where his grave was once marked by a water faucet. The water faucet could be seen from the road. Whenever they would drive out that way she would look for that symbol of her dad. Years would pass and never once did she get to visit her father. He was just gone and the house her parents had started crumbled around her.

Years passed and the little girl began to drive and so she would drive out to that cemetery and look for the water faucet, sit on the grass above his body and talk to her father. It was a one sided conversation, nothing like the burning bush with Moses, but she would share her heart with her father. She longed to feel his face, see his face, hear his voice, feel his embrace, or look into his deep brown eyes. She longed to be the daughter he loved and wanted. She envisioned that from the gates of Heaven her dad has been watching her grow up. Perhaps he has been a part of her world from a far away distance. Has her father seen her heart break, has he been there in her moments of triumph and despair. Has he witnessed her will to persevere despite the brokenness within her heart. Has his heart broke for her as she as raced through her childhood years  looking to be loved, to feel loved and to embrace love, but only to find she isn’t lovable.

Those four words still haunt her “you killed my dad” Words that flew out of her mouth at four years of age. Words that are pressed within her heart, mind, and soul. Words that her mother reminds her of daily. Words that strike deep into the bones of her body. She finds it hard to pick herself up everyday and face the outside world knowing the extreme pain her words have caused her. Somedays she can pull her head up and walk with confidence and other days her heart is heavy and downtrodden. She walks a thin line of feeling alone , neglected, unwanted, unloved, and hopeless. Her strong spirit dying off each time she has to face her pain. A time came in her youth that she grew tired of facing the pain and she stuffed it. She pulled herself together, dug deep and placed every emotion, every feeling, every weakness, anything that would remind her or make her fearful and stuffed them deep down inside of her inner most being. She chose to no longer deal with the pain, but to act like it didn’t exist. And there is where it sat, it stewed, it formed, it grew, and it became powerful.

The little brown eyed little girl grew up. She married, she had kids of her own, but the pain she had stuffed so long ago began to fester. He began to take root. He began to fester, take root, wrap itself around her vulnerable little heart and penetrated deep into her. It penetrated so deeply, she couldn’t keep from thinking about it, focusing on it, or knowing how very broken she was becoming. She was indeed broken, scared and alone. The masked pain and stuffed feelings were finding their way to the surface and she could no longer hold back the emotion, she had fought so hard to keep locked down. She was having to face the pain and suffering head on and it was scary. It consumed her. The childhood nightmares returned, the loss of sleep began to take root, migraines began to form and her heart kept fighting against itself. She attempted to embrace the feeling of being loved, embraced by  people that saw her like one of their own kids. But she struggled to embrace the kind words, the hugs, the laughter, the embraces, and the “i love you’s” She wanted it yet couldn’t bring herself to crack open wide enough to accept it. Would she ever be able to open herself up enough to let them in and love her for her. To love her and be this missing piece. Would she be able to let go and let God heal her heart. Would she be able to accept the gift and embrace the moments without regrets…