Abba, Father.

I called my dad for Father's Day yesterday and it was probably the hardest conversation I have ever had with him. We were maybe two minutes into the phone conversation and things quickly spiraled downwards. In my brief phone calls with my dad, he has always brought up the fact that he prays for me. He did so again yesterday and kept saying that he prayed for me during my college years and that he would continue to do so. This remark wasn't a stand alone comment, however, and he also added that I was old enough to take care of myself. There was an underlying current behind these words, and for the first time his words sounded hollow and off. I guess in the past whenever he mentioned that he prayed for me, it struck me as odd but i couldn't quite pinpoint it. When he repeated those words yesterday, I finally realized why his words left me uncomfortable: him saying he was praying for me was such a cop out answer and his way of justifying his absence in my life. It's not fair. It's such an easy way out: "Grace, I would rather not have a relationship with you because that requires sacrifice and an investment outside of myself. But Grace, don't worry. I'm praying for you." Nothing else. When he said those words, something inside me broke, and I called him out on it, saying "Dad, prayers are nice and all, but don't you want a relationship with me?" When I said those words, I immediately regretted saying them out loud. He snapped and started yelling at me, saying "This is why you called? Whenever you call or come here, you only complain or you come to ask me for something. You don't understand me. If this is why you called, don't bother to call me." And then he hung up on me.

I started to weep, and frantically dialed his number. He picked up and I sobbed into the phone, "Dad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He continued to yell and I could not bear his words - I ended the conversation and turned off the phone. I realized at that moment that if relationships are tangible entities, the fragile cord that is between my dad and I broke during this interaction. Something broke, and I do not think I will be able to ever call him out of my own volition.

I ran downstairs crying and dry-heaving and ran outside to the garden out back. Blurred by my tears, I saw Cali and Emily run towards me and I found myself falling to the ground. My hands clenched and I became paralyzed from the bottom up and these dear sisters started to pray and pray over me. Cali started singing "set a fire" and kept singing the words over me and eventually whispered to me to sing the words. I half cried half sung the words and she gently said, "Grace, sing it louder." Peace overcame me and slowly, slowly the paralysis left my body.

I do not know what God is going to do - I know that I have to step away from this relationship with my dad for my own emotional health. I want to surrender everything to the Lord and ask him to take away bitterness and sorrow. I want the Lord to fill me with mercy towards my own father. I feel so broken.