A mark on my heart.

It was only a few days ago that I made the choice to keep on with expressing my past. As some of you know, this can be, at times, challenging and emotionally charged.  Wicked highs, and tumbling lows that, leave you tired and a little strung out. Mindset of racing thought’s, memories and streaming words.   A rhythmic, pulsing energy that drives you forward.  Sometimes, obsessive. Although, I suppose this is the way of a writer, or anyone driven to creative expression for that matter.  It’s a life inside of you that want’s to constantly be fed, take in, and push out. In whatever way it surfaces.

Insatiable.  Alive and satisfying.

I have a lot of amazing people in my life who support this journey I’m on. Each and every one of them, including the follower’s I’ve never met, who I am deeply grateful for.  But, there is one person I’d like to write about on this beautiful Thursday afternoon.

My Dad.

When he found out I was writing this blog again, he sent me a song on my Facebook page. My Dad and I have always had songs, like “Werewolves of London” by Warren Zevon. Singing it in the car, and I always had to howl when the chorus came blaring through the car speakers.  “Friends in Low Places” by Garth Brooke’s, was another track we’d jam out to on long road trips.  But, this was different.  This one came as a surprise, a raspy blues song, titled “Leave the Light On” written and performed by Beth Hart. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gHWYW6Tw67A

I sat in front of my laptop, tears running down my face. It was like he reached through all the hurt, and left a mark on my heart. I didn’t expect it, and internal walls came crashing down. I let out this deep sigh, the old wounds falling away with my breath, and smiled. Like all the things we never talked about, and didn’t even need to, were made whole.

I’ve always struggled with wondering if he understood me, and now, I know, he does. He truly does, and even if he doesn’t understand everything, he doesn’t have to. Because one thing I know beyond it all, is my Dad is proud of me. He loves me, and he see’s past the dirty face and scars on my wrists. He sees me. Me.

And, I see him.

I see his honor, and generosity. I see his heart, and loyalty. I see his goodness. I see the man he is, the Father he is, and the Husband he is. I see the Grandfather he’s become, how much my son looks up to him and how he plays with him, and teaches him new things. It’s beautiful to be a part of.  I’ve had the gift, of watching him grow in Jesus Christ, and follow dreams and goals in his life. I know he’ll keep going, and living, and learning, and I get to do that with him.

There was a time in both our lives, when all of this, could have been a unrealistic future for the both of us, but because of the love of God, and His Son Jesus Christ, we have all been weaved into a greater version, God’s version. The measure of gratitude and our blessings is truly remarkable.

Like my Mom said, Sometimes God just goes the distance. You we’re right Mom, he certainly does.

Love you Dad.

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8 thoughts on “A mark on my heart.

  1. Not sure if you realize the significance of that picture. That was the day that I decided to turn my life around, quit the booze and drugs and start being a responsible father and person. I was quite hungover in that picture, Aug 20 1984!

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