🎵Looking for Love—And a Father
In my last post, I shared the beautiful memory of my birth father—the man who tattooed my name on his arm as a mark of his love for me. But human stories are rarely simple. Sometime shortly after my fifth birthday, he was gone. And a little girl was left wondering: Why did he leave? What did I do wrong?
When your hero leaves, that important space is left empty. A lifelong search begins looking to replace everything that’s missing. Love; a father; protection; a new hero. If you don’t know what a father’s protective love actually looks like, you start looking for it everywhere and in everything.
In the years that followed, my mom made great efforts to replace what my little sister and I were missing. Men came and men went, many who tried to play “Daddy.” While some of them worked hard to live up to the name in their own fractured ways, darkness, addiction, and brokenness sometimes invaded those dynamics. Instead of finding safety, boundaries were broken that love should never have crossed.
When the very people who are supposed to protect you become the source of your wounds, the marks left behind may be invisible from the outside, but they are there nonetheless. These are not marks of love like a tattoo; they are stains of shame you feel the whole world can see on you. And those marks breed a quiet, devastating conclusion: If earthly fathers brought pain and abandonment, how could I ever trust an unseen Heavenly one to love me and stay in my life?
The “Foster Child” Mentality
By the time I was a teenager, I was looking for love—and a father—in all the wrong places, learning all too well how to live with a victim mentality. But God is a master of rescue. Years later, after I began walking with Him, He began the work of healing those old, deep wounds. Eventually, I was even able to find a place of reconciliation and peace with those in my past who had hurt me.
Yet, as wonderful as the healing was, a quiet barrier remained around my heart. Not having a solid and safe father figure while growing up left me entirely unequipped to comprehend God as a “Father,” especially as my Father.
I read the Scriptures about the “Spirit of Adoption” bringing us into God’s family, but in my heart, I still felt like an outsider. To me, God felt like the world’s best, safest “foster parent.” I knew He cared for me, but how could I accept Him as a true Father when I didn’t even know what that word meant? I wanted to be a real child of God, not just someone pulling up an awkward chair at a mixed family table.
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