My Father

I have known God my entire life. I knew, from my earliest memories, that God created the world, that there was no other God like him; he is the one true God worthy of my praise and worship. However, as much as I knew God, I didn’t truly know who Jesus was until I attended Willow Creek Community Church. My Baptist pastor of my formative years spoke over my head most of the time and I found myself unable to articulate who Jesus was and what he had done for me. Until I sat under the teachings of Bill Hybels. This was in my early 20s. I met the Holy Spirit for the first time when I attended a charismatic convention when I was in my late 40s. Up until that point, the spirit was just a word in scripture that held no personal meaning for me. But when I met the Spirit of God at that convention and continued to learn more about him, my life was changed forever. But, I wasn’t done. I discovered this past week that there was one more aspect of God for me to know. And it was and has become a bit life changing. At 73. 

I’m in a study with some other women. We’re reading and discussing a book entitled, “First Freedoms.” Subtitle: “Drawing near to God by Cultivating a Wholehearted Prayer Life.” I’m all about learning more about prayer so I dug in. And it was going along just fine until Chapter 3 - “Experiencing God as Father.“

Now, this is not new information to me. I’m fully aware of God the Father, God as our Heavenly Father, beginning the Lord’s Prayer with “Our Father.” But something happened as I was reading this chapter. God moved in very close to me and asked me to talk to him as “MY father.” I wish I could explain what happened, but I was overcome. In fact, as I began to pray, beginning with “my father,” I couldn’t go any further. For days I was only able to say, “my father.” Honestly, I can’t even think about those two words now without tearing up. 

Now, some would think that this was tapping into my own father, my “daddy issues.” But that’s not it. I’ve worked through all my problems with my dad (may his memory be a blessing) and he is remembered, now, truly as a blessing. So that leaves just “My Father.”

Each time I begin my prayer with, “My father,” I picture God sitting in front of me, knees to knees, leaning in and listening. Attentive to everything I’m saying, everything I’m feeling. And it’s a bit overwhelming. The God of the universe taking off his CEO tie, unbuttoning his top button, shoes off, sitting there and focusing on me. Only me. It’s a prayer like I’ve never experienced. 

Again, I have spent my life praying to God. I know Him, have wrestled with him, turned my back on him, only to return to him. Because there is no one like my God. But this, “my father,” is changing me. And I want more of it. I want more of “my” father. Not “our” father, not our “heavenly” father, but MY father. I feel like a child who’s gotten the toy they always wanted and refuse to share it. Yeah, I’m refusing to share this. Back off, this is MY father.

As I move forward in this experience, my prayers are the same yet different. When I pray for others, I’m speaking to God. A God in whom I trust. But now, when I’m praying for myself, it transitions. I lean in, look Him in the eye, tears forming in my eyes, and begin with “My father.”