My Favoirte Word

I love words. They are so versatile. Whether its describing a baseball game, telling a story, being sarcastic, I love words.

My favorite word, however, is "daddy." Since the first time my oldest child used it directed at me I fell in love with that word.

When I think of what that word means for my children, I'm both humbled and excited. I'm humbled because of the depth of my responsibility. I need to provide from my children. I need to spend adequate time with them. I need to love them. I need to shape who they will be in the future. I need to discipline them. The list goes on and on, and can be overwhelming.

But I'm excited too. I'm the first man my daughters will fall in love with. I'm also the person who will be my son's first friend. I'm the person who gets hugs at the door when I come home and kisses when I leave. I'm the person who wrestles and tickles and cuddles and plays.

I also think of the word "daddy" in terms of our relationship with the Heavenly Father. In the book of Romans, Paul says that God is really our "daddy." While He is the creator of the universe, and an awsome, powerful God, He's still our Daddy. We have the ability to have an intimate relationship with Him. And he provides for us, spends time with us, loves us, shapes us, disciplines us, cuddles us, and nurtures us.

I for one am glad that I was given the chance to be a daddy, but even more than that, am greatful that the relationship that I have with the Lord is summed up by my favorite word...daddy.

Victim...Perhaps

Victim. It’s such a harsh word…victim.

What’s harsher than the word victim is actually being one.

When I was 9, I was a victim. For 6 long months I was abused.

You know, it’s amazing how much a person is shaped by what happens to them, especially when they are young. The experience of being molested is still fresh in my mind, though over the last 20 years or so I’ve grown numb to the pain. And yet strangely, I wouldn’t go back in time and change what happened.

That may sound VERY odd. But I think what happened to me is the chief thing that makes me so compassionate towards broken and hurting people. I’ve had the privilege to be a councilor to people with similar experiences as myself. Some of those been haven't been abused, but still have had tough lives.

I think of the girl living with the memory of her father who killed himself because he believed his daughter no longer loved him. I think of my friend in high school who was raped just before I met her. I think of the young man that I knew whose step-father had molested him. I think of the young woman who had an abortion.

I have been a part of all of these peopels lives, and though only one actually knew about by own experiece, I was able to be a part of their healing, at least for a time.

I think back to the biblical story of Joseph. He was sold into slavery by his brothers, and was eventually used to save not only his family, but the nation of Egypt. What man had meant for evil, God meant for good.

Well, while I’m no Joseph, and I won’t be used to save a nation, I know that God used this horrible experience to allow me to help others. And that is healing in its own right. Even just typing these words is therapeutic. Being a victim of abuse is not typically something that people share about themselves, especially men. It seems weak, shameful; but it just is what it is. I mean, how would you even broach that? “Hi, I’m Mark, and I was abused as a child, it’s nice to meet you.”

I don’t want pity. I don’t want to be understood. I certainly don’t want to be treated differently. Being a victim is simply part of who I am.

Victim. It’s such a harsh word…victim. Perhaps a better word is survivor. Yes, that’s what I am, a survivor, and so much more. I’m an overcomer. I have risen above my circumstances and overcome.

Grace vs. Justice

The message in church today was about the woman caught in adultery (John 8). It got me to thinking just how gracious our God is. The Law of Moses demanded the death of this woman, but Jesus did not condemn her.

Its amazing how patient our God is. He allows us chance after chance after chance to do the right thing, knowing that we will fail time and again. Yet His justice must be satisfied. The woman who had comited adultery needed to pay for her sin, yet she could never satisfy the demand over an eternity. So Jesus paid for her sin himself.

He hung on a cross, naked, beaten and deserted. Even His own Father left Him. Then, He died. In that instant her sin was truly paid for.

As was mine.

What's been bothering me.

I have been bothered lately by the changes that have taken place in my life over the last 2 years or so.

Don't get me wrong. I am a Christian, and as one, I firmly believe that the Lord leads and directs the lives of His children where he wants them to go...

So why am I bothered by where I am now. Well, its certainly not b/c of where I've landed. I have a great job, great friends and a growing sphere of influence.

Its more that I've been pining for the past lately. For the past three years of my life I have been a teacher. High School Bible. I don't miss the job, just the kids. The good ones, the bad ones, the unlovable ones. I miss the relationships that were so strong, and now are near non-existant.

Its not that I think my students have forgotten about me. If I made a difference in their lives, they will never forget about me. I can remember about every teacher I had, from Mrs. Olsen, my Kindegarden teacher, to Dr. Coley, my Master's of Education teacher. They all had an impact either positive or negative.

What I miss is being in the lives of my kids to help them go thourgh the tough times and to share in the good times. I miss being a hero, a friend, a role model.

I miss Whitney, Eddie, Mary, Jaimi, Ethan, Matt, and Dawn. I miss Joey, Brandon, Brittany, and Chealsea. What's weird is that I know they would have graduated anyway. Its not like they would have been there forever. For what its worth, I'm dreading (in a small way) my own children growing up and leaving the nest.

Maybe its needing to be needed. But then I come to my senses and realize that God has me here for a reason, and where I am is only temporary (I think.) The great apostle Paul met some people on his travels only once, and he would only write to them a handful of times. God moved him on. I'm greatful for Mrs. Tracy who used him as an example for my life. I changed schools b/c God wanted me in a different place. I'm in a different place altogether because God wants me here now.

But still...I hope that I'm not forgotten...