life in full circle and the daughter i'll always be...

Murals painted in vivid color depicting scenes from early life, decorated the warm restaurant of Bougainvilleas. Music wafted in the air and mingled with scents of homemade food coming from the kitchen. The waiter placed the cloth napkin on my lap, then my fathers. A soft cacophony of noises informed all visitors to the upscale restaurant they were in for a good time: dishes clinking, people laughing, and live music playing.

Life had come full circle for my father. The child who would stand outside the restaurant and watch wealthy Americans and European expatriates come and go, was now the man who walked brazenly into the restaurant to buy his child a sumptuous faire of food. We clinked our dishes, laughed together, and sang to the music playing.

Yes, Life had come full circle.

Returning to the land of the free and the home of the brave is met with new revelations of who I am as a daughter.

I'm the daughter who witnessed financial deprevation and broken dreams.

I'm the daughter who witnessed divine acts of God to provide for our family when my father could not.

I'm the daughter who hung on my father's back and passed out food to people in need when we had none for ourselves.

I'm the daughter who still believes her father can fix anything.

I'm the daughter who still crawls onto her father's lap to nap.

I'm the daughter who still whispers my dreams and hopes into the ear of her father.

I'm the daughter who wrote out the Joel 2:25 on a piece of line paper at the age of 7...

Now I'm the daughter who whispers into the ear of her dark-skinned, immigrant father, I will restore to you the years that the locust has eaten, says the Lord.

I love you, Daddy. Thanks for teaching me about your past, so I can know my future.

the giving tree...

Once there was a tree... and she loved a little boy. Everyday he would come and gather her leaves...

He would animate his voice and turn each page in dramatic fashion as I rested my head on his arm. Even as I child I knew there was something sacrificial about the time he spent with me each night as we read my favorite book over and over until I memorized the each sentence without the ability to read the words. The scent of my dad mingled with the smell of the pages from the library book and it was intoxicating. If I could bottle the scent, I would put it on everyday as a reminder of my dad (my Giving Tree) and Shel Silverstein (author of The Giving Tree) and God (the creator of our Giving Tree).

We had a Giving Tree. My dad doesn't believe I remember it since I was only three years of age, but I do. I remember the trunk of the tree, the shade during the day, the shadows at night.

What I didn't know then was it was our source of food for many days, weeks, and months. Last night over dinner, my father recounted stories about the avocado tree in our backyard which allowed us to survive on avocado sandwiches, avocado grilles, avocado tacos, and of course guacamole for months. We were losing our house, my mom was losing her mind, and my dad was losing his hope. During those times, he would walk into the backyard to pick up our dinner from the ground. Swallowing his pride, salvaging his home, saving his family, this tree became a friend.

In a weird sense, it was like God. No, God wasn't in the tree, God wasn't the tree, God was like the tree. During that time in my father's life, the thick trunk was a pillar in times of trouble, the leaves reached out like arms providing protection from life's harsh heat, and yes, even though there were shadows of fear, it still provided the sustenance we needed for daily survival. He doesn't need the tree anymore. Or at least that's what I thought until last night.

"I am sorry," sighed the tree. I wish that I could give you something...but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry...."

"I don't need very much now," said the boy, "Just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired."

"Well," said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, "Well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest." And the boy did.

And the tree was happy.

At the end of the book the Giving Tree has given all she could until there was nothing left to garnish attention from the boy-turned-man. But I realized God, like the tree, is simply happy when we rest in Him and find contentment simply in what He's given us (1 Timothy 6:6).

daddy...

Daddy,

Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for believing in me.

Thank you for playing dolls and sipping tea with me.

Thank you for being the best travel partner to Spain.

Thank you for being the best travel partner to Greece.

Thank you for being the best travel partner to Prague.

And yes, even to Nice.

Thank you for dancing with me when no one else would.

Thank you for making me laugh when no one else could. 

Thank for setting a standard and precedence for living as I should.

Thank you for being my friend, my father, and financier. I owe you a debt I could never pay for the woman I claim to be today. 

I love you forever, I love for always,

Bibee

fathered by god...

I've read his books, his reviews, his critiques. Trying to come to a conclusion about John Eldredge and Ransomed Heart Ministries has been difficult amidst the swarms of praise and cacophony of criticism. However, last night I was invited to hear him speak on an issue I care about: men.

Sitting in an auditorium with about 2,500 other people yet still feeling like I'm in an intimate conversation with someone 100 feet away from me is quite a feat; yet John pulled it off quite well (yes, John and I are on a first name basis now). Humble, articulate, and personable, we spent two hours discussing the journey of man and the role of father. I took five pages of notes and felt like I could have taken more. 

Driving down Culver Avenue in Irvine I reflected on my own relationship with my earthly father. He lacked everything a child would need for a healthy, successful life, but by the grace of God, he is proverbially moving mountains, bringing the spiritually dead back to life, causing blind to see, and loving our family in spite of our dysfunctions. He loves in all Love Languages so I guess that would make him fluent in the language of love. Gifts to let me know he cares from places unknown, Words of Affirmation to let me know I'm beautiful when some other man doesn't, Quality Time to pour into me like he poured into our plastic tea cups on our linoleum floor, Physical Touch to magically heal my bumps and bruises with warm kisses of care, and Acts of Service to help me do this things called Life.  

Papi,

No words in any language could express to you the debt I owe you. You have given me more than life... you have given me love. When I felt unlovable, you found me worthy. When I felt unintelligent, you found me to be brilliant. When I felt ugly, you said I was beautiful. When I felt rejected, you accepted me with all my imperfections. As your child, I am who I am today because of you and the sacrifices you made.

The past two years have been so trying on our whole family, but I see you for the man you once were... and even better, the man you are becoming. You may not realize this, but I know GOD because of YOU. I have never felt the tangible hand of God, voice of God, or compassion of God, but I have felt you. Thank you for being my first encounter with my Redeemer.

I owe you a debt I could never pay,
Bianca