“I will restore to you the years that the locust has eaten.” – Joel 2:25”
I have only empathy and compassion for my father—a war veteran who would struggle into adulthood before he was finally diagnosed with bipolar disorder and post traumatic stress. That said, this is a glimpse into my growing up years.
My
father was gone for odd periods during my childhood. Sometimes he’d stagger home late at night, reeking
of a strange warm smell, and he’d hang onto the tongue-in-groove
hallway walls on his way to bed. Other times, he’d come sauntering in
all smiles, with gifts for us. That night was one of those nights. He had
somehow managed to drag up a flight of stairs, a huge cardboard box
filled to the brim with Japanese kitchen toys, wonderful real looking
food stuffs and kid sized kitchen gear. It was like being gifted with
Santa’s entire toy sack! My sisters and I let out a squeal before we
threw back the flaps and dove in head first.
The sight of my
father, too long gone—and his monstrous gift—unglued my mother. But we kids, we were busy
oohing and aaahing over the plastic spaghetti and meatballs and
miniature frying pans.
I marveled, “Real china tea cups! And look, they have pink flowers and matching plates and spoons!”
No sooner had I begun to finger the delicate porcelain, did I hear mom’s voice.
“Put those toys back in that box NOW! You are not keeping any of it!”
I stuffed my confusion and feelings of injustice down deep and kept
quiet. My eyes filled with hot angry tears. I stood there defiantly with
my fists tucked at my sides.
We stood there for a long time,
the two of them arguing back and forth, the huge box of fake foodstuff
in the middle of us all. Oh, how I wanted so badly to get to the bottom
of that box and discover what else was in there…
But it was not to be. The
next day there was nothing but silencein the house. It was
like a storm had passed over us, and someone had cleaned up all the
wreckage and made nice. The box and the toys inside them, were
of course, gone.
The messages of my childhood sank in deep, down to my bones.
”Don’t you dare receive any gifts or enjoy them because you can’t keep them. Good things are not for you.”
“If you are brave enough to desire, it will only break your heart, so don’t want things, and if you do, be very grateful because you never know when it will be gone.’
“When it gets scary, hide.”
In order to protect me from the worst of it, my family chose not to talk about the craziness too much. So I was left to make my
own meaning, sewing these moments together by hand, one stitch at a
time, like a patchwork quilt made up of random pieces of old clothing
and discarded scraps. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized the
sad irony.
That
huge box that was filled with every kind of kitchen toy imaginable, including the
most realistic looking foodstuffs, he had not managed to put real food in our tummies. Instead, and the gambling wins was spent on toys for
us while we teetered on the edge of hunger and homelessness.
I remember huddling in
the closet with my sister, a game of somewhat scary and sweaty hide-and-seek. No. The reality was, we were hiding from angry landlords pounding on the front door
demanding overdue rent, hiding from strange men who came looking for my
father while my mother shielded us through the frayed blue living room
curtains, telling them my father was not home.
Fast forward about 37 years. And then this:
I had sent artist and dear friend Crystal Neubauer some odd bits of paper and old books that I had been collecting over the years—as a birthday gift only a collage artist would understand. Without a word, without me knowing, she lovingly took those disjointed and broken pieces of my childhood...an old dictionary cover, an old Honolulu Bookstore (which now exists only in my memory) sticker, a piece of paper from an old tin of mandarin oranges...and with a bit of love and glue, helped redeem a tiny bit of my childhood. (Thank you doesn’t really cut it!!!)
Everytime I look at this beautiful work of art, I get teary eyed. It stirs inside of me a deep well of hope that God himself protected. Through it, He whispers to me, “Even this, I am redeeming. Even this is a valuable, precious part of who I made you to be...Even now, after all these years.”
What it means is that I am in the process of letting go of those old beliefs. I can desire. I can want. I can even have my heart broken at the not getting or not keeping the good stuff, and I can be okay even in my broken heartedness. And when it gets scary, I don’t have to hide anymore. I am a woman of God now, no longer that 6 year old little girl. I can face my fears. I can feel terrified and still be loved and still know that I’m going to be okay. And I am made for blessing and to be a blessing. I am His beloved.
{ Blessed & Beloved, new work available! © jan avellana, 2013}
What is God redeeming in your life? What are you learning to let go of?
