Cause for pause

**NOTE**Before reading this entry, you might want to take a gander at my May 12, 2005 bog entry about my Dad. It is probably necessary to gain a more complex understanding of the dynamic concerning my Dad so you'll be even remotely capable of comprehending the meaning of this post and its catalyst.**

I have been non-deliberately silent over here for 5 days. I am sorry for that, as the passing of time just kind of got away from me without my consent. My little blog pause was not without good reason. I was hit with quite a powerful happening in the life of Lachen this week and it has required extra care in proper navigation:

You see, My Dad Wrote Me.

Sent me a Christmas card in the form of a Certified, Registered letter. His card contained a photo of he and his wife, 27 cautiously crafted words, plus a return address that indicates he now lives less than an hour from my home.

Jarring. Disconcerting. Wrenching.

He wants to see me. I guess. Not really sure. His writing is, as always, effusive, lyrical, and noncommittal. Essnetially, many words signifying something elusive to most all but him. But he not make any mention of the hurt. No apologies, no acknowledgement of having walked out on his children for fifteen years. No talk of reconciliation. Just wants to "See me soon???" and "life is way short to be apart"

It scared me. To the center of my being. And it thrust me back into that place of fear, that sting of pain, rush of emotions, and that sense of utter grief I experience as the pungent aroma of my father in my life. One letter caused every hurtful wound long scarred over, to cascade over me in a waterfall of tears which have broken the surface in Casa Lachen steadily since Thursday's receipt of this certified, registered Christmas card from someone I have not seen but once in 15 years who happens to be my Father. Gratefully, successive phone calls made to my mother, sister, and brother moved me to restoration and tucked me back under God's wing. Back to a hard-earned refuge of homeostatic shelter from Dad's storm. And into peace.

My brother received a card from Dad, too. Also sent by Certified Mail (what parent sends their children cryptic Christmas cards by certified mail after a 15-year absence? Who does that?). Tonight, my brother was dialing the phone to me at the same time I was dialing my phone to call him. We had a great deal to talk about.

It seems that my dad, the one man who has inflicted more hurt onto me and my brother and sister than is possible to convey, seeks unconditional access to my life now. Wants to pretend everything is alright. But far more impactful, assumes he is entitled to that same access to my husband. And to my children. My babies.

I cannot risk him hurting them as he did me. I cannot risk his unhealthy, harmful, sometimes evil influence upon my innocent children and will not lay out the welcome mat for my dad to waltz back into my life and thus, into Copper's, Joyboy's and LaLa's. It is unthinkable to me to invite this poisonous individual, though he is my father, to infect the protected womb of our family. I will not permit that.

I have been absent from this blog for 5 days now, thinking, praying, and pondering the response God means for me to offer my Dad. Who, for all he has inflicted, all he has caused to happen, all he has done and continues to do, is still loved by His creator. Is still worthy of my love, and eventual forgiveness. And who deserves to hear the truth from his daughter and to be held accountable for the havoc he has wreaked in his children's lives. And who must not be allowed to harm a second generation of my family so long as I draw breath.

With that in mind, Copper and I agreed that I will craft a letter of response, speaking directly, point by point, to the accountability and reconciliation which must occur in order to begin the process of restoration. My dad, with 99% assuredness, will not answer this letter. He has been and likely continues to be, unwilling to step forward into the light of integrity and finds shelter, instead, in relying on darkness to cover himself and avoid laying bare and actually apologizing and making wrong, RIGHT. But where there is a 1% chance, there is hope, right? If God wishes to perform a miracle in the life of my dad and myself, I cannot refuse to participate.

This is potentially the single greatest challenge and scariest thing I have ever done. To actually lick this stamp, place it on the envelope, and send it.

May this letter be accompanied by winged seraphim and achieve its Godly intended purpose, whatever that is to become. May my fear continue to be pacified by the knowledge that the Lord is my Shepherd and that whatever steps I take by his counsel, I do not take alone.