The Abba/Papa God

Siena's Grandpa

Jesus called his Father, “Abba,” which I’m told loosely translates to “Papa,” and suggests the familiar, loving, gentle daddy. I have trouble relating to God the Father, not having known my own dad well, so I think about a grandpa, instead.

The grandfather I was closest to was often called “Papa Joe,” by the younger grandchildren. My mother’s father, Grandpa was an ideal image of Abba/Papa God. On Sunday mornings while Grandma was creating the heavenly smell of crispy bacon, Grandpa would sing and lift me onto his shoes so we could dance together. He was a blue collar worker who rose early each morning and worked his shift, not to further his career, but to provide for his family. Grandpa was a family man.

Granddad, my father’s father, came over early in the 20^th century from “the old country” and worked to make something from his nothing. By the time I came along he owned a ranch, a dairy, and many rental apartments and houses. In his case I was one of the younger grandchildren that didn’t know him long enough, but I know he worked constantly to make a better life for his family. Another family man.

So I like to think of God as a family man. Someone who lets His children climb into His lap or dance along with Him in His joy.

I’m understanding that image even better now that I’m a grandma. I really do try to enforce and respect my daughter’s rules for her daughter–though for some reason Siena comes to me when she wants sweets–but grandmas aren’t about rules. We are about loving unconditionally. We aren’t as stressed and tired as parents, not bearing the brunt of responsibility, so not as worried about doing things right. I think we are more able to simply enjoy our grandchildren.

I like to imagine God the Abba/Papa looking at me the way I look at Siena. I’m so delighted by her! I know in spite of her two-year-old tantrums she is absolutely loving and lovable! When she raises her little arms up to me and waits, trusting I’ll pick her up and hug her, love surges in me. And God, the source of all love, is 70 times 7 more loving than I. How can we doubt He feels the same delight when we reach up to him? Abba/Papa is always ready to lift us up to dance on His shoes.

Parental Example

            Within a month’s time, my husband and I both celebrated the lives of one of our parents. My father-in-law passed away after too short a struggle with cancer. My husband took on the responsibility for planning the funeral, including a heart-felt eulogy that recounted what a good father he had been. My brother spoke next as a representative of the countless young men that Dad influenced in his years of work with Scouts, as well as the numerous young men he taught about life while he taught them to be his work assistants. The priest and many of the frequent visitors to Dad’s bedside during his last few weeks talked about his years of enthusiastic volunteering with St. Vincent de Paul. Others benefited from his decade of hospital service where he greeted patients, helped direct them to the right department, and retrieved the wheel chairs that travelled the campus. Nearly everyone mentioned his “thumbs up” attitude, his commitment to service, and his strong work ethic.

            One month later, my entire family gathered for the first time in thirty years in Anaconda, Montana. Ours was a joyful reunion to celebrate my mother’s 80^th birthday. I had spent a few days with her the month before and experienced her typical activities. I tagged along as she attended Mass and the rosary daily, delivered communion and a Word Service to the nursing home, helped organize and attended a deacon ordination and a May crowning, and the weekly Adoration. I wasn’t there for one of the funerals–she averages two a week–which she organizes and plans with the bereaved families. But I accompanied her on her visits to friends: morning coffee here, a sandwich there, dropping in to check on one or pouring a cup of tea for another. Everywhere we went, people told me how wonderful my mother is and what a spirit she has for service. Our family celebration of her birthday had to include this “other family” of hers, so we hosted a tea with light refreshments in the church hall and more than 200 people attended!

            Two parents, both busier in their “relaxation years” than I am in my everyday life. Both making their lives meaningful by working for others. Both surrounded by people who love them for the service they give. Their lives exemplify one way to live well.

            They also both invite me to reevaluate my life. I am a home body who needs much time alone to process my thoughts and maintain my calm. The areas I’ve chosen to serve in are primarily solitary by choice. I write, I crochet prayer shawls, I pray for my family, friends, church, and the world. Most of my personal service is to my family–whether babysitting,  house cleaning, or lending a caring ear.  I host extended family gatherings and maintain connections. I see myself as an enabler to others in their service; I keep the household functioning while family members serve the world through their particular gifts. I’ve raised children with hearts more open than mine.

            I’d like that to be enough. I’d like to stay in my comfort zone. I want to excuse myself as an introvert who is drained by contact with people rather than energized. Yet, I know my mother and my father-in-law both were introverts who grew beyond their natural inclination and became extraverted. My husband opened his eulogy by describing his dad as shy and quiet and, as expected, the funeral attendees laughed. No one who knew him for the last 40 years would have described him that way. Yet leadership classes and becoming a Scout master drew him beyond his shyness.

            Some psychologists define maturing as growing in our weak areas until we are balanced. An introvert becomes comfortable with people. An extrovert becomes comfortable with contemplation.

            I have my own weaknesses to overcome, which may be different than the ones our parents grew through. I also have my unique call to follow and my unique strengths to place in God’s service. I hope my writing reaches out to people in need and offers help. I hope my service to my family makes a difference in the world.

            We can’t say one way of life is the only way to live well. I wouldn’t expect my children to live exactly as I have, or to serve the ways I serve. Maybe that is part of our challenge, to find our unique way to make this life meaningful. If there were only one way, we wouldn’t need to have a personal relationship with God to figure things out. We’d simply follow the defined steps. But given the distinctive nature each of us experiences–strengths and weaknesses, gifts and challenges–we are invited to constant conversation with God to get it right. If God is a parent anything like us (and He says He is) He longs to share our lives, our thoughts, and our decisions.

       In Mere Christianity, CS Lewis quotes George MacDonald, “God is easy to please, hard to satisfy.” Any effort we make to follow His path pleases Him, but He is never satisfied. He calls us to continue to grow more like Him throughout our lives.

      Sometimes I think I’m doing ok in my life choices. But then the lives of my mother and my father-in-law, and the life of Christ, challenge me to resist complacency.

Healing After a Miscarriage

Five Steps Toward Healing After a Miscarriage

            “I’m sorry, we can’t find a heartbeat.” I was five months pregnant and the ultrasound technician confirmed my fear; a fourth son or daughter had died before I could cradle the baby in my arms. As I dressed, I heard a doctor talking about the ultrasound patient before me who, upon learning she was expecting twins, had told him she would end the pregnancy.

            In tears, I returned to my doctor who said to expect a spontaneous miscarriage, or—as he called it—abortion, within a few days. When my body continued to embrace its precious treasure, he scheduled me for a TAP, or therapeutic abortion procedure.

            I reeled through the process, so routine for the nurses and doctors who ended pregnancies every day, but so devastating to me. I wanted to proclaim to each of the medical personnel that I was different; I would never choose this course of action if my baby were alive. One kind woman brought me a general surgery consent form so that I wouldn’t have to sign the usual document. The hospital kept me overnight for observation—in the maternity wing.

            Each of my miscarriages was devastating. Each left me with a child-shaped hole in my heart and in my soul. Well-meaning but inadequate comments like, “You can always try again,” or “It must have been God’s will,” gave me no comfort.

            However, today my heart is full and, though still tender, my soul is healed enough to offer suggestions for dealing with miscarriages, whether your own or a loved one’s.

If you have lost a child through miscarriage:

1)      Acknowledge the loss of an individual. Name the child. You will know him or her in heaven.

2)      Mark your loss with a ritual that feels right to you, whether with a formal church service, or a quiet gathering of friends and family at home.

3)      Allow yourself to grieve. Though you didn’t have time to know your child’s face and voice, you knew your hopes and dreams for your child. You anticipated the birth date and carried the child close to your heart. Perhaps you imagined how he would look or what she would grow up to be. Though the details of individuality are still a mystery, God knows and loves your child, and the world suffered a loss when your child died.

4)      Accept that your spouse may experience the loss differently than you. It’s not unusual for one parent to feel much more distress after a miscarriage than the other. With any death, people grieve in different ways. One may want to be alone; another needs to be with loved ones. One person may talk over and over about the loss; another may be made speechless by pain.

5)      Accept that you and your spouse may have mixed feelings, perhaps even relief, about the miscarriage. Parenthood is frightening. You can’t help your feelings, but you can be sensitive to each other.

If someone you know has lost a child through miscarriage:

1)      Acknowledge the loss of an individual. Send a note of sympathy, call, or visit with the bereaved parents.

2)      Let the parents know that you will keep them and their child in prayer. Perhaps you can commemorate the baby’s short life at your next church attendance.

3)      Realize that the grieving parents may not feel the way you expect them to feel. Accept that people grieve differently and that their emotions may fluctuate even hour to hour.

4)      Be sensitive to how difficult it may be for the couple to be around others who are expecting a child or have a new little one. However, continue to include them in invitations to baby showers and christenings, perhaps adding a note to say you understand that this might be difficult for them. Let them decide whether they are ready to accept.

5)      Don’t offer platitudes in an attempt to cheer the couple out of their loss. A simple, “I’m so sorry,” and time spent with them in companionship will let them know you care.

            Today I experience profound gratitude as I watch my four grown daughters, and yes, their births eased the pain, though they didn’t replace the children I lost. Not all women are blessed with motherhood after miscarriages. My heart goes out to them. I know God’s does, too.

            When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. [   ] Jesus wept. (John 11:33,35 NIV)