In need of repair.

An excerpt of my thoughts and emotions written on July 20th.


Last night at church, Chris, who was speaking this week offered to us his thoughts on the story of the prodigal son. Have you ever heard the story?
It's found in Luke, chapter 15.
What basically happens, is that a father gives his son money, to which his son goes off and squanders it on meaningless and terrible things. He ends up working in like a farm...with pigs and stuff...
anyway, he discovers that he's not too keen on hanging out with farm animals and their feces, and decides to go back home. He comes to his dad, apologizing, as he just runs to him. He doesn't begrudginly come to answer the door, no, he runs to him. I don't know about you, but when I give someone something, and then they completely ditch out on me...my first reaction is not often to run up to them with cheer. It should be, but it's not.
But this man's father runs to him, telling his servants to slaughter their best cow; they are having a celebration!
I started crying as I thought of this imagery.
Straight up, I put my head in my hands, and started sniffling. I didn't want to cry...number one: and this is terrible, but I really didn't want my mascara to smudge all over my face, number two: I hate being vulnerable, number three: I wanted to have a chipper last evening in Victoria before I left for the summer. But that's not always how it works, hey?
As I sat sniffling and trying to hide my tears, a dear friend began to talk to me. He started talking about that story, and suddenly looked right into my eyes and said "what you want more than anything is for your father to come running to you, isn't it?"
I really started crying then. And then I shut myself off.
I really didn't want to cry, and I just stopped those emotions from pouring in. Which, in retrospect, is very stupid. I don't want to do that...it makes you numb.
It's true, what my friend said. I do want my dad to come running to me. I do.
I don't know what it's like to have a dad who cares. I don't know what it's like to have a dad who loves.
I can't imagine my dad ever running to me like that. And just the same, I can't imagine myself running to him. I'm terrified of him.
I need to do something, and I know it. I keep pretending that it's all good, when it's not.
Oh, how I frusterate myself.