What should I write about? My dad.

When I was younger, my dad used to love walking around with me, holding my hand, and telling me how much he loved me. "You are the best son," he would tell me.

My memory of my father throughout my life is so disjointed in some ways.

In elementary school, the same dad who would tell me over and over again that he was proud of me would also scare me. And my friends. He didn't like seeing me playing all the time with my friends, and he showed it with the look on his face. I remember one time my friend Michael exclaimed, "Your dad isn't a pastor, man - he's the devil!"

I have many different memories of my dad's face. There's the look of stern disapproval that he gives me when he sees that I'm still in bed at 10:30 in the morning or that I'm wasting my time away. There's the look of annoyance or nonchalance that makes me wonder if he's listening to me or if he cares at all about what I have to say.

Then there's the goofy smile that accompanies his weird, spontaneous, and incredibly ridiculous antics (i.e., weird dances accompanied by weird noises). Even better, there's the face he wears when he cackles with delight.

And there are also those moments when he pauses his crazy-productive life and it seems like his heart has been softened by something. And, by the looks of his face, it looks like a masseuse has massaged away all the knots that have built up.

Through it all, I'm quite convinced that my dad loves me dearly. It seems pretty obvious. And yet, I guess there's always some doubt.

I remember there was a moment during LAUP when I reflecting on my time at LAUP with Harah. I was describing to her the ways that I felt like God was with me at LAUP through the good and the bad. And he wasn't just THERE, but he was actively working in my life - he was answering so many of my prayers at LAUP. And that kind of threw me off at the time.

Somehow, that made me ponder the fears and hurts I'd received from my dad. Even though I didn't feel doubtful about his love, it was hard to reconcile that with the times that I felt like he was angry at me or, worse, disappointed/displeased with me.

I remember Harah praying over me, telling me that God's face is shining on me all the time with a smile. That was so wonderful.

I don't really know how to close this post. I guess I just wanted to celebrate my dad - for the good times and the bad times. I'm thankful to God for the ways that he's molded and shaped my dad - and the ways that he has used my dad. I like to think that my parents' tenderness, which continues to age like wine, is the sign of the continuous work of God in their lives.

Also, I hope that I can further embrace my identity as God's son. I've been feeling lost in my relationship with him, and I pray that he continues to work in my life and through it.