Telling a story about how my Dad hurt me feels like turning in my best friend for stealing. I care more about him than any other man on earth.
Yet, at the same time, I have been at odds with him more than any other person. Not just because I have a wound from him. I’ve rebelled against him, too. But an older friend once helped me realize how all the rebellion goes back to an underlying bitterness towards him.
When I saw that, when I repented and began forgiving him, the chains broke. The wall that separated us began coming down and in the last five years I have experienced an increasingly deeper, and more empowering relationship with him.
Why it’s Risky
To be honest, I didn’t tell many the details of this journey until now. You see, life is still happening. Dad and I are still figuring each other out. I don’t always feel respect from him, and he doesn’t always feel honored by me.
It’s risky sharing this story because there is always the chance we’d fall-out completely. Then what would have been the point? But one thing I have come to believe is that if we ever do “fall-out,” it will only be because we quit loving. We quit forgiving. And we quit trusting God to interpret between us.
That’s what I’ve realized: God must interpret between us because sometimes we’re just too confused about what the issue really is. When I can surrender the confusion and allow God to speak His interpretation, at His own time, I can relate with greater understanding.
We’re Not Talking
Everybody’s got a wound. Some are much bigger than others. But the more guys I get to know, the more I realize we are all hurting. And we are primarily hurting from our Dad’s. Yet, none of us are talking about it. At least not in my circles.
Maybe it’s because we have a belief that talking about the honest pain caused by an authority figure is somehow “dishonor.” Maybe it’s because our Dad has chided us for talking to others.
But I’m beginning to wonder if that really is the reason. Maybe we’re just too scared. Too scared to be that vulnerable. It hurts so deeply and we have lived for so long out of the lies spoken through the pain we feel that we can’t let it go. We’re not sure we will know how to live if we let it go.
Taking the Risk
I’m going to risk it. I am going to break the silence by telling my story. I will band together with the blessing of my Dad to share the pain and the healing that has happened and is happening. And by the grace of God may you, also, experience healing from your pain. May you find a closer relationship with God.
So here it goes. Here’s the line I kept hidden for so long. The phrase the stings deep within because I know the pain it causes my Dad when he hears it. It’s not supposed to be said of pastors by their sons. But I felt it. I didn’t tell it to him at the time. In fact, I’m not sure I ever told him in such a blunt way. I’m sure he felt it, nonetheless.
I hated my Dad.
I remember a time my brother and I were working with Dad on a house. Before we moved to LA, Dad had a construction company called Homestead Developers. We often worked together on projects. This particular project was a reroofing.
We had just tore off the old shingles and Dad had to run to a meeting. It was going to be an hour or so until he got back, so I thought it would be great if we could get the tar paper on the roof in that time. I thought it would make him proud.
My brother, however, wasn’t as interested in getting it all done before Dad got back as he was in having a good time while we did it. I got frustrated. The tar paper got wrinkles. That frustrated him. Soon we were upset at each other, the paper wasn’t completely on the roof, and Dad was pulling in the drive way.
I remember Dad’s response as clear as day. He wasn’t happy. He couldn’t figure out why I was so careless in doing the tar paper. We’d have to go back and fix the mistakes.
I don’t blame my Dad for responding that way. It was careless of me. Furthermore, he didn’t intend to hurt me.
But something deeper was going on inside me. The reason it stung so much wasn’t because I didn’t deserve the scolding, but because I had tried everything to make him proud of me and, once again, failed.
The Wall between Dad and I
For nearly twenty years an image came into my mind every time occasions like that would happen. I didn’t know it meant anything, but there was this constant looming memory of something Dad did years before that haunted me. I felt I could never tell him about it. He had broken trust. I didn’t feel safe enough to share it with him.
When I was three or four years old, I built a chair. I think I built it. I don’t really remember how the chair came to be, but I wanted to paint it. I was going to give it to Mom. I was proud of it. I’m pretty sure I had built it.
We were out in the garage where the chair was. Dad was looking for something and I was telling Dad of my plans to paint the chair. He ignored me. Maybe said, “That’s nice son,” but nothing more. It wasn’t good enough for him. He wasn’t proud of me.
I don’t ever remember getting the chair painted. In fact, I have a memory of seeing that chair again, in the same spot, when we moved from that house a few years later. The message it spoke and the image of Dad’s face turned away from my prized creation stuck with me for years. It told me, “Your work isn’t good enough. I’m not impressed. Can’t you do better?”
I remember helping Dad fix our snowmobile. I loved snowmobiling and I was old enough to drive it in our woods. But it was broken. Something was wrong. The belt broke or needed new spark plugs or something. I forget. But I was helping him. And we were going to get it back up and running.
Dad would have me run for tools, except, I could never do it fast enough. I never could quite figure out the difference between a wrench, a pliers, a vise-grip—all those tools that pinch and pull things. I fumbled and must have asked too many questions because I could tell he was upset. If I wanted to run the snowmobile, I needed to pay attention and hustle.
I wasn’t impressing him. The fact that I was helping didn’t seem to matter.
I look back now and realize that every drive within me today to prove myself, to make sure my point is heard, to feel that I’m just as good at something as my brother, or brother-in-law or best friend—every attempt to get others attention and feel significant and accepted all goes back to the message of the chair: “You’re not good enough. I’m disappointed in you.”
That’s true for all of us. Whenever we feel that insecure sense, that whisper of “you better move quickly or they’ll reject you,” we are living out of a lie spoken to us by the devil through the brokenness of our Dad. I see it all the time. The guys that act cocky, they’re vying for his attention. The child with no confidence, he’s surrendered to the belief he’ll never get it.
Men become power-hungry, controlling leaders because that makes them feel like they’re successful, like they are significant. In their minds they have proven dad wrong.
Every act of insecurity is born out of the belief that we are not safe with Dad. We can’t trust him. We’re on our own.
The Wall between God and I
The problem is that even though I may be a Christian and know my Bible well, I often don’t ever let God into that part of my life. Why? Because the first image of Him failed me. He probably will too.
Because I grew up in a Christian home and was taught the dos and don’ts and proper beliefs I learned to recite Christian religiosity. But it hasn’t penetrate deeply. It never releases passion in my heart. And if it does appear passionate, it’s often because I am striving to be approved and accepted and looked upon as admirable.
We don’t believe our Dad—our Father—loves us for who we are. We settle for spending our lives pining after meaningless fulfillments.
We get married, have half a dozen kids only to spend our lives providing for them and never leading them in spiritual growth.
We show up to church. We read our Bibles and pray for needs, but we never experience anything more. We never experience the fresh wind of life that conversation with God brings because we don’t believe that kind of relationship is possible. Even if we say that’s what true relationship with Christ is like, we have never actually experienced it because we don’t trust God cares enough to show up.
Dad didn’t, so why would God?
We’re All Broken
I don’t blame Dad for causing me pain. Not anymore. He feels awful when we talk about these things because he knows how deeply it hurt.
It’s a rare occasion that a Dad intentionally hurts his son. The fact is, Dad was broken. Still is, to a degree.
We all are. You are. Your Dad is. His Dad was. Every Dad loves his sons, but they are too broken to love them perfectly. Some are so broken, they barely love their sons at all.
Now that I am a Dad, I see how quickly I can get upset with my son even though what I’m frustrated about has nothing to do with him.
The pain my Dad caused me was simple. Completely unintentional. Dad never got drunk and never beat me. But it still caused me to live disconnected from him. Even today we are working at gaining back ground that was lost in our relationship.
If such a simple thing hurt me so much, I bet there are others that have similar wounds. Probably even worse.
Some Dad’s hurt with aggression, and other’s hurt with passivity. Maybe your Dad never got involved. He never got angry and was always nice, but you never knew him and he never knew you. That sense of distance likely leaves a deep aching in your heart.
Let Someone Help You
If this resonates with you, I want you to know that you’re not alone in this. Everybody hurts somewhere. If we’re ever going to experience freedom and find healing from the pain, we need to first acknowledge it and talk about it with someone.
It’s hard to be that vulnerable! It was painful to admit the true feelings I had towards Dad. It took a fight between us before I confessed to what hurt so long ago. But if we aren’t willing to go there, if we aren’t willing to acknowledge the pain, we will never experience God at the level of closeness He desires to have with us.
He sees you. How you can never get as close as He would like because of how the wounds from your past affect your view of Him. He wants to enter into that excruciating territory. He wants to let you rest from your load.
Will you let Him?
Where to Start
Will you let Him into that part of your heart? Then find someone you trust, find someone who respects your Dad and values your best. Talk with them. Share everything. Allow yourself to feel the pain. Without this step you can’t experience the next: finding healing when you don’t know where to turn.
Authors Note: This is part two of a six part series on sorting through the hard parts of father-son relationships. The whole series is available as a pdf eBook you can download for free. Simply fill out the form below to receive your free copy. God bless!
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