#Dad

#MeToo…and then some!

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It wasn’t an uncle, a coach or a priest. It was my dad.

Prior to fifth grade, physical contact with my dad was normal, as least normal for me. I’d like to think he use to give me a loving hug or an encouraging pat on the back, but I just can’t remember. I do remember being punished. Most of the time the punishment for my error’s in judgement was the belt. Pretty standard corporal punishment for the mid-to-late 1960’s.

My dad was resourceful when the belt wasn’t convenient. He used a hand when the need was urgent and he was very adept at firing a backhand from the driver’s seat to where ever I was seated in the back. Without looking! My cheek would be stinging before I even knew I’d been hit. He was fast AND accurate.

Then there were those times at the dinner table when I’d feel and look only to see the imprint of my dad’s fork on the back of my hand. My dad was a ninja with his hands! If I was messing around at the dinner table, very suddenly, my merriment would be punctured with the five prongs of dad’s eating utensil. Before I could look up at him or utter the sound of pain, he had cut and swiped a piece of meat from his plate and into his mouth without skipping a beat. Ninja!

Again, I could dust the 1960’s off my feelings and attribute my dad’s actions to what was normal, nothing special, and very likely, ‘normal’ in most of homes in my neighborhood or across the Country. But then again, I don’t know what ‘normal’ was in other homes. I just knew my normal.

Possibly the least normal, but certainly his most creative form of teaching me a lesson was the time I was caught playing with matches. Dad walked me to my room with the book of matches in his hand. He pushed me to the bed, I turned to face him and brace for whatever was next. My dad climbed on me and pinned down my arms with his legs, then lit a match and held it close to my wrist. After several lit matches I got the point, “Only you can prevent forest fires.”

One day I happened to be with my grandfather (my mom’s dad). I don’t remember why, I just remember being in the car with him. We pulled into the driveway of my grandparents home, he turned off the car, looked at me in the passenger seat and he asked me why I didn’t smile as much as I use to. By this time I was in fifth grade. My second year of Pop Warner Football, listening to coaches admonish and teammates ridicule me Monday through Friday, and Saturday’s spent riding the bench. Although my grandfather encouraged me, came to my practices and games, even letting me practice blocking and tackling him, I wished my dad was the encourager.

My dad’s lack of encouragement wasn’t the thing that wiped the smile from my face, nor was it the normal I knew as discipline for doing something wrong. What took the ready smile from my face was the way in which my dad took advantage of my need for his positive affirmation by sexually abusing me.

Not only did his sexual abuse take the smile from me, it also took any esteem I had for myself, and it skewed what love looked like. Between the shame and anger that I developed and the numbness that I tried to control it with, there was little reason or ability to be the kid that always had a smile for you.

”Nothing,” I replied to my grandfather. He told me that if there was anything wrong that I could always talk to him about it. No I couldn’t, but I think I spent the rest of the day trying to reassure my grandfather that I was ok, keeping a smile on my face as much as possible. I continued that practice in front of him and pretty much anyone I came into contact with.

My parents split when I was in sixth grade. The last straw, after my mom became aware of what my dad was doing and promises that he would never do it again, was one day after school my dad told me to take a bath. At first I just complained because that’s what 12 year old’s do when they are told to get cleaned up. As my reasons for not needing a bath got more creative, it began to dawn on me that I normally bathed or showered at night before bed, and that’s when I realized it was more than a bath he wanted. At this point he was starting to get angry with me and I didn’t want to get hit, so I agreed to take a bath.

I turn the water on in the tub and undressed as modestly as possible. I would have closed the bathroom door but he stood in the doorway watching me. The only protection I could think of was to get into the tub, whether the water was too hot or cold, and close the shower door. My dad walked in the bathroom and sat on the toilet which was next to the tub. He slid one side of the shower doors open and placed his hand in the water as if to check the temperature. I pulled my legs next to my chest in attempt to create distance and tried to talk him out of whatever he had planned to do. He kept trying to reassure me, and although I knew better, I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this.

And then the front door of our two bedroom apartment opened. It was my mom, and from the front door a person could see right through to the tub if the bathroom door was open. For the first time in a long time I had a reason to genuinely smile.

I saw my dad just four times in six years after he and my mom divorced, otherwise I never spoke with him until he called me during my freshman year in college. You see, though I was 18 years old, the State was making him continue to pay child support while I was still in school, and he was hoping he could talk me out of receiving that money. I declined his request with extreme prejudice.

The last time I spoke to my dad was when I was in my mid-thirties. He was walking out of a post office as I approached from the parking lot. I saw him as he walked my way and as he got closer I caught his eye and asked him how he was doing? He stopped, continuing to keep eye contact with me and said, “Fine, sir.” He didn’t know me! I said, “good,” and continued walking to the front door as my dad made his way to his car and drove away.

There was a time, after my parents were trying to repair their marriage and before the time she caught my dad with me in the tub, that we went to church one evening as a family. Unbeknownst to us, it was Communion service this particular evening at the church. Each of us took a portion of the broken wafer that symbolized Christ’s body and the thimble-sized cup of grape juice that represented His blood, in honor and remembrance of Jesus’ sacrifice for our sins. The only family member not to participate was my dad. After church my dad was quiet and seemed tense.

For some reason, I don’t remember, my mom drove us home and my dad was in the passenger seat. Before reaching home, mom pulled into McDonald’s. We ordered at the drive-through window and then turned into the lot to park and eat. As my mom and dad talked I heard him tell her that he was mad that we had taken him to church when Communion was scheduled. My mom tried to explain that she hadn’t planned it, that she didn’t know it was scheduled. At one point I started talking, I don’t remember what I said, though a day later my mom and I talked about it. She told me that she was amazed at what I said and so happy that I spoke up. In short I told my dad that we hadn’t planned it, that we loved him and that Jesus loved him too. I do remember telling him that I didn’t want I’m to go to hell. The Spirit must have been speaking and I’m so glad today they were His words and not mine. Unfortunately my dad didn’t turn his life around, at least not that I know of.

In one way or another, sin is selfish. Before we know it, we become all about sin, and our life and everyone in it gets lost. Whether it’s alcohol, drugs, gambling or sex, the sin of selfishness becomes an addiction that overtakes and becomes life to that person, replacing everything and everyone. Sin becomes more important than the person addicted and becomes the center of everything that will ultimately destroy the person and every pure relationship in it.

I found out a few years ago that my dad had died. I don’t know whether or not he recommitted his life to Jesus, but hope he did. The thing I do know is that he gave up his wife, sons, grandchildren and great grandchildren for sin. He walked away from four generations of his family for sin. God, Himself, reminds us of His mercy in Chronicles 7, “if My people who are called by My name humble themselves, and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.” And Jesus reminds us of His grace in John 8, “I am the light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life.”

I turned 60 years old this month and still have trouble with flashbacks, bad dreams, mood swings, depression and other symptoms from the abuse from my dad. During those times I grieve, get it all out and then go on about whatever is in front of me. I don’t try to stuff those feelings any longer and that has helped me enormously.

I also remember that God loves us with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:1). As we are just days away from celebrating Love’s birthday, I’m reminded that The Father brought His Son into the world to provide a gift to us—the opportunity of a relationship with our Father through His Son, Jesus. The opportunity to experience a deeper love from Him, for Him and for others. And the opportunity for everlasting life—to spend eternity with Him, with Jesus, where there will be no bad dreams, no fear, no pain, just unspeakable depths and heights of love.

If you are experiencing any type of physical abuse, tell someone. If you have experienced that abuse but never told anyone, speak to a heath professional, your pastor, anyone that will not tell anyone else, but will help get you pointed toward a more positive way to understand and the tools to deal with life after being abused.

One of the tough things about being abused is trusting others, but please, don’t let that get in the way of telling someone. That’s the first step in regaining trust and the love in life that God intends for us all. In time, you may find that telling your story will help others get though a tough time they’ve experienced. God has an amazing way of converting our pain into a way to bless others and to realize we’re not alone on this journey.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.”

John 3:16-17

If you haven’t already, ask Jesus into your life right now and start the healing process this very day! It’s as easy as saying, “Jesus, will you come into my life? Will you forgive me of my sins and replace the pain in my heart with your love? Thank you, Father. In Jesus’ name, amen.” It’s that easy. I pray that from this day forward, you’ll never have to be in this alone. Along with that simple prayer, I’ve provided a couple of resources below. If you have or find additional recourses please let me know. I’d love to pass the information on to others.

Until next time, peace & joy,

Steve

RAINN: www.rainn.org/about-national-sexual-assault-telephone-hotline

DOD Helpline: www.safehelpline.org

Ephesians 2:10 — graphics/photo credit: Roger Coles (@rogercoles) via YouVersion Bible App www.YouVersion.com

Just Be

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Bob (left), the Mighty Indians (center) & Me (right)

I think that I scared Bob’s parents more than they realized that I looked up to them.

The Nadalet’s weren’t perfect, but when their warts reached the light of day, they were nothing out of the ordinary or at least not so bad to me. For instance, the time Mrs. Nadalet complained to me about the men in her family that refused to take care of her Teflon frying pan. I don’t think it was my empathy she was seeking, but rather some kind of calling out in the dark to see if anyone was there.

Mrs. Nadalet was out numbered by testosterone in her home, and though she and her two daughters tried to circle the wagons, their valiant stands were no match for Mr. Nadalet and his three sons.

I first met Bob when we became teammates on one of the Boy’s Club basketball teams. It’s a little ironic that the name has been changed to Boy’s and Girl’s Club–I’m hoping Mrs. Nadalet had something to do with the inclusion of girls. If not, I know she did in spirit!

Mr. Nadalet and Mr. Reinstien coached our team, but put in a lot overtime because of me. If I could dribble the ball, I couldn’t run and dribble. If I took a shot, there was a clanging of the metal backboard that sounded the alarm that I had missed another shot! That clang reverberated from the blacktop basketball courts, through the play ground to the grass field, then to the backstop on the far baseball field which boomeranged the sound right back like a flashing Vegas neon sign that pointed directly at me. Never the sweet, swish sound of the ball reaching nothing but net!

The two coaches worked with me after practice while Bob and Mr. Reinstein’s son, Steve, waited by shooting and scoring at will on the opposite court. The extra work probably got them in trouble with their wife’s (pre-cell phone days!) and disappointment from their own children, all vying for time. It took me a while, even into my own marriage, to understand and then reminded again when I had a son of my own, that time with dad is precious.

Time away, too many days, too many evenings breaks a family down. It’s like driving with a flat tire–you veer to one side and the ride is bumpy and loud. Work is one thing, as is volunteerism, but when there’s no balance dopey, preventable things start to happen. With the Reinstain’s and the Nadalet family, there must have been more balance than not. (BTW Mr & Mrs Nadalet celebrated their 90th birthday’s this past summer–Praise God!)

Although Bob and his family lived up on a hill and I lived at the bottom, the Nadalet’s never made me feel bad that they were on one side of middle class and my single, working mom, brother and me were on the other side. I loved being at their house because each member of the Nadalet family “just was” which meant that I could “just be.”

As Bob and I got older, about our junior and especially senior year in high school, my reputation (a not a so lovable one) may have reached the Nadalet home. I began to hear a slightly different tone, like I had been guilty of scraping some of the Teflon off of Mrs. Nadalet’s frying pan. I felt bad about that and tried (possibly too hard, a-la Eddie Haskle on “Leave It To Beaver”) but the “just be” had left the building! I sincerely wanted them to know that I cared so much about what they thought of me, but I didn’t know how.

A few years after high school, Bob got married. Bob’s older brother and I stood up with the groom. Although I was honored and proud to be part of the wedding, I felt like my involvement was a source of stress for Bob’s parents–whether it was in my head and nothing could have been further from the truth, I felt a little sheepish.

I can’t remember if we rented suits or not, but I do remember buying a new pair of black shoes, and I worked hard to write a loving toast to the bride and groom.

The wedding was beautiful! The reception was festive, but before I had too much fun, I was nervous and wanted to go over the parts of my toast that hadn’t yet been committed memory. I ran out to my car to retrieve my notes and was on my way back when my new shoes failed me. I slipped on the highly polished floor as I was passing the grooms parents. Flat on my back, Mr. And Mrs. Nadalet looked down at me like I had turned out to be the black sheep they feared was true, and in doing so, scraping off way more Teflon than all of her Nadalet men combined!

I looked up at them and said, “I promise, I’m not drunk!” I didn’t want to disappoint them and knew that I had. No promises, no loving words to their son and his bride could restore the Teflon pan that I had now all but destroyed.

Life became busy after that day. I’m not sure that I’ve spoken to Bob’s parents since that day. Even now, almost 50 year’s since I met Bob and his dad, I have to hold back tears at the thought of letting Bob’s parents down. Isn’t it odd that we can hold onto feelings all of our life? Even if the issue was resolved or just something an over-active, or less-than-others mind grinds on you when the thought comes up–feeling less-than does not build relationships, it pulls someone you care about in with one hand but pushes them away with the other.

I choose to think that Mr. and Mrs. Nadalet’s disapproval was because they worried about me. They knew I was capable of better. They cared and that to me shows love. I love them back!

God allows circumstances in our life so that we can learn something on the other side. The “other side” may not be when a circumstance happens, or even a few days after. Sometimes it’s months or years later, depending on how thick headed you are, before the “other side” dawns on you. When we arrive at the “other side” we can learn from the circumstance(s). We learn there’s a better way, a way to pass on, a way to love others. I’m so thankful for the Nadalet’s, and so many others that helped teach me by modeling love.

God allowed Jesus to go through circumstances that were not of His making. (Matthew 16:21) They were our circumstances, our misgivings, our sin. But Jesus sacrificed himself for us and took away every sin. (1 Peter 3:8) By recognizing the sacrifice Jesus made, by thanking Him, asking for His forgiveness, and asking for a new life, a Christ-centered life, a life that loves God and loves others, He is so ready and willing to forgive you! (1 Peter 1:8) Did you know that there’s even a party in heaven for you? (Luke 15:10) Did you know He will take away the guilt and shame, and turn into love for Him and love for others? (Hebrews 2:17) Even what you perceived as other’s being afraid of you is changed to love. (Revelation 21:5)

The old life is a scratched up, crud-clinging fry pan! The new life is a scratch-free Teflon pan where every scratch is turned new again by our Father in heaven. That to me shows love. I love Him back!

Until next time, peace and joy,

Steve

“and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you,” ‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭1:4‬ ‭NIV‬‬

The 10 and 2 Position

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dummyA couple of weeks ago I listened the podcast of a message by Ben Applebee at Watermark OC Church. Watermark OC had a series on Legacy and Ben wrapped up the series with Biological Legacy. I pray you’ll take the opportunity to check out Ben’s message, if not the whole four part Legacy series. Ben’s portion of the series walks us through the biological and spiritual raising up of our kids, at home and at church, to reach the Christ shaped outcome of a discipled life.

In Biological Legacy, Ben mentioned “helicopter parents,” and provided a video illustration, the 2015 Hyundai Genesis commercial, “Dad’s Sixth Sense“, that is hilarious! While the dad in the commercial is able to snatch his son from imminent harm throughout his time-lasped-years growing up, “Helicopter parents” are those parents who have only five senses so they over protect and over save and ultimately under prepare their children to be real adults who are able to navigate our real world.

The commercial illustration actually reminded me of the time my son was just learning to walk. I was sitting on the edge of the bed in our master bedroom and my son was walking to me. Big smile on his face, mirroring the proud, excited smile on mine. As he came within arm’s distance from me he tripped and fell, and I didn’t react fast enough. When I lifted him up from hitting his head on the metal bed frame, him screaming and me hurting along with him, I saw the gash on his forehead that I knew would need stitches–eight to be exact.

I have the very same feelings telling that story today as I had when it happened–heartbreak for his heartbreak, my own heartbreak, and GUILT FOR DAYS! The “what-if’s” still run through my mind, but I have always known that I wouldn’t always be able to catch or wouldn’t be there to catch my son when he fell. That’s one of the toughest aspects of being a parent, even tougher than the things you think you could or should have been able to control (or in my case, catch).

Like our relationship with God The Father, we are not in control. Just the same, though our relationship with God is our choice, He doesn’t control us. We have free will whether we’re in control or give Him the steering wheel. And though parents have their hands at the 10 and 2 position of their children’s steering wheel, the roads are icy, have pot holes, are unpaved, and no matter if we turn into the skid or finesse the wheel to avoid danger, a kid’s going to do what a kid’s going to do even if it means crashing into the guardrail.

Father God shows up (actually He is with us before, during and after we wrap our car around the guardrail) and rescues us, but He doesn’t live our life for us. And though He rescues, there are real life consequences.

If we as parents are consistent (Deuteronomy 6:6-7/Proverbs 22:6) and never afraid to show that we are mere flesh and bones, but lead, parent, then we provide our children a base for “success.” God showed us His flesh and bones through His Son. Jesus modeled His Father’s desires for us, His children, for “success.” Its up to all who know Jesus to model Him so God get’s what He desires, and so do we. Sure, we fail in weakness at times, but if we simply cry, “Abba! Father!,” He is faithful to hear.

“The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs–heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with Him in order that we may also be glorified with Him.” Romans 8:16-17

Peace and joy,
Steve

twitter/instagram @stevedubu1

(Ben Applebee is pastor for The Garage ministry (students, grades 7-12) at Watermark OC Church in Costa Mesa, California. Ben has a young family and is an super positive bundle of joy and energy for Jesus, and is blessed with knowledge and wisdom beyond his years. I wanted to highlight his work in honor of those like Ben who come along side parents each Sunday, Wednesday night, at youth camp, “like a father with his children,” to exhort and encourage each one “to walk in a manner worthy of God, who calls you into His own kingdom and glory.” A shout out to Mark Jackson (aka that’s @MrMarkJackson to you, Steve) who is Youth Pastor at Pacific Church in Irvine, CA and blogs out of Equipped for Christ; and to Kenny Conley (@kennyconley) the NextGen Pastor at Gateway Church in Austin, TX, who has an amazing resource, Children’s Ministry Online; and last but NOT least, Stan Lake, who has a wonderful and unique ministry for young and old alike through Catching Creation, though I think our youth may connect in more ways with @Stan_Lake than older, squeamish crowds. Each of these men and so many women and men like them across the country bless our children with sound teaching, prayer and love in Jesus Christ. Please remember to keep your own youth pastor in prayer and let them know they are valued.)