Daddy Deficit

Thank God for any man who steps in to fill in the vacant spots left by absentee dads, because I have witnessed first-hand the struggle children face when their birth father is not present in their lives. I\’ve seen the anguish and rage of a young man who wondered why his birth father had once again lied to him. I\’ve watched the face of a little guy whose father promised to call, yet after waiting many hours by the phone that didn\’t ring, this child states simply and sadly, \”He don\’t love me.\” I\’ve witnessed the confusion in a little boy\’s face as his on-again, off-again father showed up to take him out for some food. He didn\’t know this man; why was he taking him? Their emotions are raw and painful. I am angry on their behalf, and I have many words to say to \”men\” who father children and then leave them to fend for themselves. Yet I know nothing will change unless their hearts are changed.

Through many painful, heartbreaking occurrences, we have stood by, feeling helpless and inadequate. As actively involved in the lives of these young men as possible, we can be what we are, but we can\’t be the father these young men need in their lives. Their grandfather has made every effort to stand in the gap for our boys, to ease some of the loss these guys are experiencing. They  call him \”dad,\” and they love and respect him. Great relationships, all–and not to take away from that bond in any way–but it is just a different experience for the boys, somehow. Their loss is real, just as any child\’s loss is real who has a deadbeat daddy*.

One of the things I\’ve noticed about this \”daddy deficit\” is that it doesn\’t always manifest in big, alarming ways. For instance, consider some of the following scenarios:

-I stood and stared at the pile of empty food wrappers and wondered why this child had to eat the whole box? I knew it was his favorite treat, but didn\’t he want to save some for another day? And why does he have to be sneaky about everything he does? Does his loss of a daddy cause him to feel shame, as if he doesn\’t really deserve anything?

-Every time he comes over, he asks for money. Of course, he works for it, but there is something upsetting to him to be without money in his pocket.

-He calls at all hours of the day and night, mostly just to talk to his grand\”dad.\” The subjects are important to him, something he\’s had on his mind, and he needs to bounce it off someone–usually the man he tells everyone is his \”real dad.\” Mostly, he just calls to hear that voice and gain reassurance from it.

-Raiding the fridge is  part of being a teenager, I suppose, but don\’t they realize that if they eat everything today, there won\’t be anything for tomorrow? And yet, there\’s that need to be sure they aren\’t cheated out of their \”fair share.\”

One morning, as I looked at the empty wrappers all over the table and floor, frustrated and struggling to understand motivations, God provided a moment of clarity to me that these are just symptoms of a deeper struggle–the deep need to have something–to not be cheated out of their fair share–or to know someone who will fill in the gap of an absent parent. For these guys, and too many more children, this is their daily struggle brought about by the loss of their birth father. Their understanding is that their father is out there somewhere but doesn\’t want to be a part of their lives. So they struggle with emotions that tells them that they aren\’t good enough, and that he doesn\’t care enough about them to be in their lives.

The fellas are not consciously aware of why they do what they do, of course. They are just young men trying to navigate themselves through the world and fill their lives with things that help them \”feel relevant.\” When they go for that whole box of treats, or that pocket filled with cash, or [you fill in the blank], they don\’t know anything at all about why that is so necessary for them.

I wonder if God will hold absent dads accountable for the behaviors in the lives of all the children they father and then leave? I\’ve worked through this question and have come to the conclusion that God will most definitely hold them accountable, not only for the actions of their children–for whom they are responsible to a certain age–but also for their absence from their children\’s lives; because even though these \”men\” aren\’t an active part of those lives, they did father them. Those kids possess a portion of his DNA, and he is responsible for them whether he likes it or even cares.

Kids who suffer daddy deficit range from feelings of loneliness or feeling cheated out of something special, to overcompensating in some area of their lives, and even up to breaking the law and ending up in the prison system. We don\’t want that for the young men in our lives so where do we begin? What do we do to help them as they struggle? 

First, put them on your prayer list. Pray for them daily and as often as their names come to mind. Ask God for specifics for their lives; God will lead you to know. (And, yes, for the fathers. Be nice, now. 😉 )

Second, GET INVOLVED. They need you. They need men who will step in and do activities with them, teach them important stuff. Little boys will grow into young men who need to know even the simplest stuff, like how to shave. Someone needs to teach them how to behave like a real man. These fellas need to know how to treat a woman properly, instead of just using her and then walking away from responsibility. So many things their dads should be teaching them–how to change the oil in a car, fix a flat tire, mow a lawn … you get my point.

Young men need to be taught that life is more than a sprint to immediate gratification, and they need to be taught how to plan for the marathon that is their life.

Moms are good at much of this stuff, of course, and they fill in as much as they can. But here\’s the deal with single moms–they have to work. Hard, long, exhausting hours. Someone has to pay for clothes, food, haircuts, school gear, rent . . . and the list goes on (and on). Life is full of success stories from homes without the dad. Moms are the bomb! Moms are relevant. I only speak to what I know and have witnessed for my family and share \”intel\” I\’ve gleaned from working in prison ministry. Dads are VERY important to a child\’s life. And when a dad deserts his kid because all he really wanted was sex and not the responsibility of a kid–that child feels that forever. 

Third, show them and tell them they matter, that they aren\’t just an accident–a horrible result of a man\’s bad behavior. Our pastor, Benjamin Webb, shared this thought in a sermon: \”Nothing about you is accidental. . . . In the blueprints of God\’s intelligent design, there\’s no such things as insignificant details.\”  Children with deadbeat dads must hear this. Our prayer is that they will eventually grasp this truth. But they need fine folks get involved in their lives and prove it. Share all the promises from God that you can share, drill it into them. They may not get it for awhile, but your consistent involvement in their lives will be visible proof that you believe what you tell them. They really need that.

The struggle is daily and it is real.

*Please note that my comments refer to dads who choose to be absent from, and avoid responsibility to, the lives of the children they helped create. Other situations are not being addressed in this article. And there is so much more that can be said on this subject, it boggles the mind!

Life Under Construction–The Book I Am Writing

One of my greatest bucket list goals has been to write a book. I\’m working down the list, but who knows if writing that book will ever happen? The discipline that takes, well… Although, it did occur to me just recently that in some ways I have written a book and continue to write to this day.

You can find the story of (most of) my life in my journals, which I have kept since early adulthood. In the future, I plan to number them, make \”forward\” notes in each one, and then bundle them up. My family may or may not choose to read the story of my life, and that is their call. I do hope my kids will hang on to the journals after I\’m gone, at least for a while.

Honestly, I have been tempted to burn many of my earlier journals. I don\’t really like the person I was so many years ago. Having grown up in a \”conditional\” home, I carried much of that into my marriage, and it showed up in my journals. Ugh.

In my early 30\’s, Dave and I met a man who made an astute observation–he told us that we were either the only children of, or the first-born children of alcoholics. I was intrigued as to how he could know such a thing. His response: You apologize for everything–every controversial thought you have, the places you go, even the clothes you are wearing (\”Oh, this old thing? I\’ve had it for years.\”). \”Just say, \’thank you,\’\” he would tell me. This wise man helped us begin working through our shame-based life, and he shared materials with us that began our journey of breaking the cycle of shame and guilt. For me, it was if I became a new person, and I was very happy about that*. That process took more years than I\’m happy about, but eventually, through his and other folks\’ wise counsel (and group therapy with women much like myself), I felt the chains eventually slip away and ultimately disappear. What freedom! And my journals plot that progression.

My journals will also tell the story of my Christian growth through the years. This is where I pray for my family to place the most of their focus. As the years have passed, I have come to be more and more aware that this life is not really about me at all. It\’s really ALL about HIM. As my mind healed from past insecurities, my life\’s experiences ultimately became centered around growing in faith and trusting Him for the final results of whatever life threw into my path. I pray that my journals reflect that.

It is also a prayer of mine that the stories folks tell about me will reflect a life lived for Christ that manifested in how I treated them. Those reading my journals may find their names written there. I filled pages and pages with prayers for many of them. I shared uncertainties, lingering insecurities, grief, angst, and I recorded many victories. What I hope those who read about my life through all that, though, is that I held an unwavering belief that God would take care of it all. In some cases, I have seen results. In some, I may not see them in my lifetime. That doesn\’t change who God is or what I believe about Him, and I pray the sentiment of that is seen by the reader of my life.

So my book is mostly already written.

My journals will tell you that I wrote for an audience of One. I had no expectations of anyone else ever opening their pages. So, please don\’t judge the story too harshly. Remember that, until the day of my death I was a work in progress. You may not like the person I was in my earlier journals, or you may not like the person I became–heck, you might not like me at all–and that\’s okay. What will be most pleasing for me is that you will feel the honesty expressed in those pages of my personal journey and ultimately, that God received the glory for any victory celebrated.

It really is all about Him.

* [Dave\’s story is his to tell, and I hope he will tell it some day. It\’ll knock your socks off!]

A Tribute to My Friend

Too many times we wait until a friend has died to tell the world what a wonderful person she/he was, and I\’m just as guilty as the next person about that. Today, however, I would like to pay tribute to a very dear friend, and pray that God will allow me to be present as she is presented with her crown in glory just so that I might bask in the glow that it will cast off on those around her.

Her name is Angela. She\’s one of those friends who, over the years of my life, has taught me what it means to be a true friend. No matter what has gone in my life–the good, the bad, the unlovely–she has been there.

Sometimes God has sent her to me through supernatural means. Really. I remember one particularly bad week in my life about five years ago. I was torn inside about a family situation and not sure how to handle it. I spent a lot of time crying and praying and struggling. One afternoon, on my way home from work, I cried out loud to God, \”I could use a little help here, Father!\” Nothing happened that evening, but the next day I received an email from Angela which said, \”Okay, what\’s going on? God sent you to me in three different dreams last night. I\’m home if you need to call.\” IF I need to call?

Rabbit trail here: Isn\’t God good? Don\’t you just love the way He works in our lives? I sure do.

Anyway, I picked that phone right up and called my dear friend, Angela. And just as sure as I knew she would, she counseled me from the Word of God and from her experience. Her advice was right on the mark, of course. And I took it.

I received an email from Angela today. She first asked about our family, to which I responded with the latest. Then she replied back and opened up about her life, which is currently undergoing a certain amount of stress.

Now, let me tell you about my friend, Angela. She is a gifted woman–exceptional seamstress, wonderful cook, great homemaker. But above all that, for as long as I\’ve known her, Angela has been a caregiver. She cares for her husband and has successfully raised two great kids. She takes care of other folk\’s children, as well as having cared for up two elderly family members at the same time, both of whom lived in her home with her family. And when those two rooms became available as those dear family members went home to heaven, she brought in another family member to care for. Does Angela consider herself a martyr? Not in the selfish sense, I assure you. But has she died to Christ to carry out His will for her life? My observations say overwhelmingly, \”YES!\”

Is Angela perfect? No. She has days when she\’d like to run away and forget it all. Who wouldn\’t? Even knowing that your life calling has become being a caregiver doesn\’t make the stress easy to bear. Is everything else in her life perfect? No. Whose is? Does she complain about it? Not as much or as often as I complained about having the stomach flu this week!

What I also want you to know about my dear friend Angela is this: I love her. I love her for being a true and faithful friend, even when I was not the same to her. I love her for being an example to me of what it means to be truly unselfish. I love her for listening when God keeps her awake all night with my name on her mind. I love her cooking. I love her practicality. I love the absolutely perfect, right-on-target cards she sends me. I just love her.

And if you know her, I know you love her too. And if you don\’t know her, just ask Jesus about her when you get to heaven. He\’ll point out the mansion with the bright glow coming out all the windows from all the jewels in her crown.

**Addendum: I wrote this tribute in 2006. Nothing has changed about Angela and her wonderful gift, except that recently she suffered yet another loss, when her precious husband passed away. In her usual fashion, she was with him until his final earthly goodbye. She will see him again one day, because the promises of God are true. This woman amazes me. I\’m so honored that she is my friend.

(c) ClaudetteHWood 2018

Hurry Home

So.  You had made good decisions for your life and your eternity.

And then you went away to college.

You went away to college, and all of a sudden you are smarter than your parents, your siblings, and all the folks who had a part in your life.

You let people WHO DON\’T KNOW OR CARE ABOUT YOU ridicule and challenge your beliefs, and you caved. In the name of higher learning, you became \”too intelligent\” for such absurdity as God and Christ. The people you once admired, you now snicker at them or cluck your lips at them. \”How foolish they are,\” you sigh patronizingly.
 
Time will tell.
 
In the meantime, we continue to pray for your \”educated\” selves, we continue to love you, we continue to share the real truth–because that\’s where your freedom lies. Not in your higher learning, not in your \”maturity,\” but in the simple teachings that lead to eternal life. Yes, there is an eternal life; yes, there is a heaven and there is a hell. You once believed that. Somewhere, deep inside of you, you still believe that.

The Bible is still true today; God hasn\’t changed His mind. I\’m praying you change your mind so that you don\’t meet the Living God someday and experience shame and regret. Never forget, the folks who loved you as you grew into a young woman and a young man STILL LOVE YOU. Where are your professors today? Where are the young people who helped you throw aside all you were taught by the parents, the siblings, the church family who love you?

Ah, but that family–the family who loves you–is still here. We aren\’t going anywhere; we\’ll never back down. Because you are worth the effort.

 And we aren\’t going to stop praying for you. Hurry home.

Something Else That Scares Our Dog

We celebrated Dave\’s birthday with our daughter and grandsons. It was a nice time, and good visit, and a fine celebration. After everyone left the house, Dave and I took our usual Sunday nap. The house was quiet, and Dave and I just lounged around and enjoyed the afternoon.

I did notice, however, that our dog, Gracie, was acting strange. She kept pacing and jumping in the chair with Dave (not her usual behavior). She would go into the front den and lie down (not her usual sleeping place). Something was definitely amiss.

Pacing, pacing, pacing–she was about to make me nuts! What was going on with her? Dave got up and took her outside for a bit. She stuck to his leg like she was tied there (again, not usual behavior). When they came back  in the house, Gracie lay down in the living room; and then all of a sudden she jumped up and began barking wildly in the direction of our kitchen.

\”Did you lock the back door?\” I inquired.

\”Yes,\” Dave told me. \”Maybe there\’s a mouse in the kitchen, and she saw it or something.\”

Meanwhile, Gracie is barking wildly, the hair standing up on her back. Oh, good heavens!

I went to the kitchen and looked around, prepared to scream and run if I saw anything closely resembling vermin in my house. I grabbed my bottle of peppermint spray and proceeded to spray down all the drawers, the corners, the pantry–anywhere I thought a wild beast might be lurking.

Still, Gracie, growled and paced. And then she lay in the front room, as if hiding.

Bedtime came. I made my way from the living room, through the dining room and towards the kitchen. Something caught my attention as I passed through the dining room. There was movement to my left! I whirled and looked, and then I saw them–BALLOONS! Helium balloons. They moved and swayed as we walked past.

And Gracie is afraid of them.

Gracie is fine now, since Dave hid the balloons where she can\’t see them. She\’s fine, of course, until we run the vacuum cleaner, open a garbage bag, pop bubbles in bubble wrap, laugh or talk really loud, etc.

This life we live.

P.S. I tried to take a picture of Gracie. Guess what else she\’s afraid of?

*sigh*

 

I Just Do What My Mind Tells Me

When they were little, both of our children knew they had to stay in their rooms until their dad and I awoke each day. Our daughter, who was an early riser, tried to be patient and wait on us. But after sitting quietly for a few minutes in her bed, her little self grew impatient to get into the activities of the day. So she began her chant, “It’s time to get up. It’s time to get up. It’s time to get up. May I please have a get up?” This was repeated continuously, until one of us gave her permission to get out of the bed.

These days, it’s not my daughter that wakes me early each morning—it’s my mind. The hours between four and five a.m. are when my mind begins to chant, “It’s time to get up. You have to start the day. If you get up now, think how much you can get done.” Who can sleep with reasoning like that?

Rising early affords me an opportunity to get a handle on my day. The world is dark and quiet. The morning is calm, which helps me to calm my mind. Diet Pepsi and breakfast bar in hand, I head to my desk. There, I sort through the thoughts that woke me. I do my morning devotions, pray, pay bills, plan the grandson\’s school day, work on internet projects, and any other tasks that need my attention.  By the time our grandson arrives at the house for his school day, I have accomplished many things. There\’s a peace in that, you know?

Of course, there are some days that I find my mind was more alert than my body at 4am, and a short mid-day power nap takes over. By takes over, I mean that one minute I\’m sitting in my chair working on my latest crochet project, and thirty minutes later I wake up, still holding my crochet hook! While my husband finds that humorous, he also tiptoes around the room to allow me those few minutes of rest. He\’s thoughtful like that.

The other option when my mind begins its morning ritual is to just ignore it, leaving me with a feeling of being rushed and unaccomplished. Having suffered through a few of those days, I\’ve learned it\’s just best to obey my mind and get up. And if I\’m honest, I have grown to love these quiet mornings. It truly does help me begin my day with a good attitude and a sense of calm.

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*Bible verse from NASB; picture (c) Claudette Wood, 2017.

Life Under Construction–Surviving the Twilight Zone

Because of several accidents on Interstate 81, what began as a six-hour trip on a beautiful Sunday afternoon ultimately became an eight-and-a-half hour nightmare. It wasn\’t pretty. Before I even got to Interstate 81–the \”Hellway,\” as i lovingly refer to it–my GPS was warning me that this highway could become my worst nightmare. Accidents were slowing traffic down and would extend my trip by 45 minutes. Well, I\’ve done that before, so I shrugged that off.

It didn\’t take long for the slow-down to increase in time to 90 minutes; that\’s when I realized I might be in trouble. Thankfully, my very helpful GPS voice was able to re-route me off the Interstate to a quicker route. Yeah, not really. I got off as instructed, along with 1,000 other vehicles also listening to their GPS\’s. We traveled VERY slowly along the detour, which also had a back-up, causing a 15-minute delay along that route. It became 30 minutes, and this was only the first time GPS re-routed me. I left Interstate 81 twice more, both times following behind every other car on the Interstate and BOTH times resulting in slow-downs, adding at least 20 minutes each time to the detour.

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At some point, fear took hold and convinced me I was an episode of Twilight Zone. No matter which way I went, I was blocked by traffic and slowdowns. I had driven for hours and couldn\’t seem to make my way through the highway maze of Virginia. At some point, I lost all sense of decorum and began drinking my soda straight out of the 2-liter bottle. What do manners matter, after all, when you aren\’t ever going to be seen again?

After a very long SIX-AND-A-HALF HOURS I slowly puttered out of Virginia. I was never so happy to see the West Virginia state line! It was then I realized my Twilight Zone episode was over, and I was going to make it. I wiped the Diet Pepsi off my chin and continued my journey.

Dear children: I will go through hell AND high water for you all, but I will NEVER, EVER travel Interstate 81 on Sunday again. Never. Not gonna happen.

Life Under Construction–Home School Style


Recently, Dave and I made a retirement-altering decision regarding one of our grandsons. After learning that he has made it all the way through 5th grade without knowing his multiplication table, how to divide, basic parts of speech, etc., we have decided we will home school him for a year with the prayer for bringing him up to speed with his contemporaries–and who knows, maybe even surpass them!

When we talked to \”A\” about this, he loved the idea immediately. He simply can\’t learn in a classroom environment. Some of it is his inability to sit still for more than two minutes (yes, we tried those brain-dulling medicines; they calmed him down, but rendered him unable to process information); some of it is the fact that teachers are dealing with full classrooms of kids, some of whom don\’t speak English; some of it is that \”A\” acts out because he wants to take attention off the fact that he isn\’t learning, so they just put him in the back of the room and let him simmer while they teach other kids. I\’m not blaming the teachers–i know they have a hard job. There are many factors involved in the situation, but it simply cannot continue.

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One on one is what this kid needs for a while. We intend to offer that to him, and we plan to teach him the way his mind processes info. We are looking forward to an exciting year for us all!

Please pray for us as we undertake this opportunity. We home schooled our own kids for nine years, so we know it\’s a real commitment.

For those who might be concerned about \”socialization\” I say, we tried that for seven years. It\’s got him where he is today. He\’ll be fine.