It’s taken me twenty years to realize this about the relationship between a father and his daughter (or son for that matter). She needs his confidence and support, his approval, and his affection. When these are withheld, in full or in part, there will inevitably be a deep longing in her heart for such things. This desire may or may not be realized, for it is buried in a secret place within the heart that even she may not know is there. Until we realize the importance of such things, we cannot begin to work toward a better relationship with this man whom we are a part of. 

These are needs that no earthly father can fulfill. EVERY daughter will be left with a piece of the emptiness. This is evidence of our desperate need for our Heavenly Father - also a deeply buried mystery that, for a while, we are all ignorant of. 

So forgive him of his shortcomings; 

repent, for you are not a perfect daughter; 

and pray that God reveals your desperate need for Him. 

During the school year I am hard pressed to find time to write the papers I must and even more so to write for sheer pleasure. So when inspiration does strike, I type a line or two very quickly and tuck it away in a folder I hardly find myself curious to look through until some hot summer day when I find myself not doing much at all. Or more often, avoiding the massive list of what I ought to accomplish. Such is the case today as I sit in this room-cave, remembering those who have criticized my long-winded writing style. I try to go back to the day I jottyped down,

 “Trying to analyze the meaning and expectation of marriage in a crowded

noisy house (vacuum, lunch) for a paper due in the next hour.

how am I to analyze and explore fully the power and depth of such a holy

state?”

I mean, I agree. My phrasing can at times be cumbersome – most especially when I’ve written the paper 30 minutes before class and haven’t reread a single line. But today the weightiness and matte of my words cannot be helped. They are fitting for this humidity and oppressive sun. The cave may be cool in comparison but I have rested restlessly in its luke-warmness for so long I may soon burst. It provokes my heavy heart to scream out of boredom. It makes me long for that crowded noisy house where I was pestered by vacuuming and blaring music and look out my second floor window to see only bricks and framed curtains. I’d take Georgian over forest right now. It’s the way the sun hits the leaves this time of day, creating an aged yellowed tree as though God had decided He liked it somewhere between Earlybird, Toaster, 1977 and Kelvin. Or as though it came from an old 70s western. Those shows, the color of them, something about it has always been unsettling, like I’m drowning. There’s the pain of it with no bright light in sight. Forever to see the oxidized look of age – the yellow that only grows harsher. Perhaps if I were Catholic I would believe what I’ve just described to be purgatory. Resting restlessly in a cave giving no respite from the humidity and heat that oppresses and suffocates.

            And if I were one of the many bitter pessimists in concurrence with popular television, disillusioned with the institution, I could sarcastically, or with irony, - whichever you deem more fitting – end with,

“But who am I to talk about marriage,” or something of that nature.

I could leave it at that, let the analysts to do what they so love, and be thought of as very clever. In fact I do believe that secular marriage is every bit as suffocating and unsettling as the atmosphere of my cave, but there is hope. There is always hope when you build around Jesus. A Christ-centered marriage is the only hope a man and a woman have for their relationship, just as a Christ-centered life is the only hope from the anxiety of an instagram existence – some are beautiful for sure, but there is such a thing as overkill. (Take note facebook photographers!) There is a power and depth of such a union, the highest calling of which is to be a reflection of the union between Christ and the Church. I suppose that is what I meant on the morning of April 16^th. That paper may not have been my proudest achievement, but a small part of it just inspired the past hour of my day. 

madewell:

Honestly I love all of them!

But I must say that 2, 4, 5, and 6 are my favorites.