How My Dad Dimly Reflects Christ's Glory

I’m Justin. I worked as an engineer before taking a new job that moves my family of five internationally every few years. We’ve lived in Europe, East Asia, and Central Asia. I’ve been married to my wife for over ten years, and we have three children. This post contains mention of sexual abuse.

I wouldn’t say I have a close relationship with my dad. He traveled a lot for work during my teenage years and pulled back from heavy parenting involvement. He was much more involved in my older brother’s upbringing than mine, and I didn’t want any part of his experience. Growing up, I watched my dad nitpick how my brother stood, or how he laughed, or even how he breathed too loudly. My dad stepped back from deeper involvement with his kids once my older sister hit puberty.

He could cut to the quick when scolding us, and I pulled back from my dad because I never wanted to bear the brunt of that; he seemed to have sensed that, and similarly pulled back from me.

My dad never had the words to talk about his own emotions. Emotions weren’t logical to him, they didn’t make sense, and so they were to be set aside. That’s not to say my father didn’t experience emotions — he certainly did — but he didn’t know what to do with his emotions when they appeared. That said, I only really remember seeing him getting truly angry once when he broke the back of a chair.

He scared himself when he did that and withdrew until he regained control.

Just Another Fallen Human

With all the negatives I’ve mentioned, it may seem my dad is an ogre. But he’s a man, fallen like us all, and if I listed each of my own faults into one distilled paragraph, I would look just as terrible. I have hurt other people deeply. I have said things to my wife that are horrible, and I inherited that same biting, cut-to-the-quick tongue of my father.

I have struggled with pornography for years, I don’t know what to do with my emotions much of the time, and my job unmoors my wife from our social connections — those people whom God has put into our life to sustain us and back us up when we need help. I have inherited some of the same faults of my father, and even found new ones, and also conquered others that still plague him.

This is Christ’s redeeming work, helping me all the way, showing me my own faults to undercut my welling pride in the things I don’t struggle with, the things which my father does.

The Holy Spirit also points out to me the good things my father does and the ways he glorifies God. My father is made in the image of God, just like everyone else, reflecting this image in different ways. He is intelligent and loves others quietly. What I mean is, he isn’t flashy when helping people, but hides it so no one knows that he’s doing the work. He loves working as a deacon in the church but doesn’t want to be the one up front giving to those in need.

My dad loves learning and is still curious in his seventies. He isn’t some macho masculine man, and he showed me that being a man can be someone who loves stamp collecting, history, and classical music.

He has started unpacking his childhood and talking to me about his own upbringing, which has painted his own parenting style to me in a new light. He told me a story of how his foot was crushed between heavy equipment by his dad when he was eleven or twelve, and how he wasn’t taken to a doctor because his dad worried about workers’ comp getting involved. Meanwhile, my dad never hesitated to take me or my siblings to the doctor for anything, no matter the cost.

My dad’s father was a racist, and my dad didn’t inherit that attitude or pass it along to us. My dad made sure we knew that every person was equal before God, and so we should never think we’re better than anyone else because we’ve all fallen short.

These stories really paint him in the light he deserves as a good father given to me by God.

Plenty of Fish

I dated my high school sweetheart long distance until my third year of college. Things started to fall apart when she told me about the football players at her university hitting on her as I also struggled with my sexuality. I had never been honest with myself about my same-sex attraction, and realized the reason I liked hanging out with her was because I liked hanging out with her family. I found a sense of belonging with them. When my older siblings left the house, with my dad often gone for work, my house was mostly just me and my mom.

When my girlfriend told me that she was comfortable doing certain things behind my back without feeling convicted to talk to me, I knew it was over. I called my parents after I broke up with her.

My mom’s advice was not great: “You know, Justin, after high school, all the best ones are gone.”

Perfect. Just what a recently broken up person wants to hear. I dreaded what my dad would also say on the phone, because I never knew him to be especially socially attuned.

He said, “Justin, I know this is hard. It’s really hard. But don’t worry about there not being anyone out there for you. She is out there. There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

Thank you, Dad. You’re right, I found her. Someone who knows my mess with pornography and same-sex attraction. Someone who cries with me at my lows and reminds me that I am a man, I belong, and God provides.

Of Course I Care

I was molested by the son of a family friend for about a year, starting when I was four. I first told my pastor in my mid-twenties, seeking pastoral counseling. I dreaded telling my parents, and my pastor told me to think very carefully about it. I eventually did tell my parents later that year, and my dad didn’t really talk to me about it. I was hurt.

Years later, I felt like I needed to resolve this. I visited my parents from overseas, and I felt like it was time to figure this out. I had been talking with my counselor, who helped me figure out what I really wanted to know: Did he even care? What does he really think?

I forget how exactly I broached the topic, but I do remember how my dad responded:

“Justin, of course I care about what happened to you. Someone hurt my little boy. I couldn’t stop it, and I wish I could have. I want you to get whatever help you need to heal from this. I don’t know how to help, but I want to.”

My dad isn’t comfortable with hugging and big displays of emotion, but he held onto my hug while I cried for as long as I needed after he said that.

I still struggle with some of my dad’s faults. I’ve also been realizing my wife struggles to deal with some of my faults as I struggle with my own stumbling blocks. I’m grateful for my dad. He’s the man who God knows I need as my father. I know how blessed I am.

Thanks, Dad. Thank you, Lord.

Do you have a complicated relationship with your father? Where do you see your dad’s faults, and where also do you find gratitude?