Man of Peace

The Way My Father Loves

A reflection on my dad, my faith, and the long arc of trust.

I asked my dad once how he fathers me the way he does, when his dad was so different than him. He paused, really let himself consider my question, and then answered. The answer was beautiful - raw, honest, and love-filled, but what stuck with me most was his openness to my question.

And this is the way with my dad. I have always been able to ask him anything without fear of how he’d take it, whether he’d be offended, or hesitation about whether a wonder, a doubt, a frustration was “allowed.”

I went to Christian schools until college, and each had varying levels of religious rigidity in their curriculum.

I would come home, tell my dad what my bible teacher had taught us and ask him earnestly if it was true. He would never answer quickly. Sometimes he’d say, “let me get a good answer for you,” and then he’d study, or research, or learn, and then come tell me what he’d found and why what was taught to me was or was not within the character of the Divine, and why he believed his conclusion.

Sometimes, he’d invite me to join him, and we’d search the bible together. And sometimes, when he was feeling particularly cheeky, as he often was, he’d say “I think you know what’s true - what do you think?” And he’d listen patiently while I told him, over and over and over again about how I know God loves me, and every single person and creature alive.

He’d grin, that knowing grin, and assure me “that’s right, Kiddo.”

It was only in the last several years, as I’ve created a new relationship with my faith, my spiritual life, and my beliefs, that my questions became less frequent. Not because I thought they weren’t welcomed anymore, but because I needed external consensus less and less. The roots of love my parents had planted in me had stretched far and wide, and my trunk felt sturdy.

What I did fear though, is that my father would worry for me if it appeared as though I didn’t align anymore. And the idea of causing my dad fear, that did shake me. Sarah Bessey, in her book Field Notes for the Wilderness: Practices for an Evolving Faith writes too, about how important her relationship with her dad is, and how much his trust of her meant.

So I took the risk, and on one of our hikes, I tearfully shared with my dad that I was worried that he was worried for me, and for my heart, and for my evolving and changing faith.

He slowed his pace, took a breath, and told me “I don’t worry for you because I know how you love. And as long as you keep loving people and the world the way that you do, it will all be just fine.” He became tearful at his own compassion, a surprise to him, and we stopped, and hugged a good hug. A knowing “all is well, and all will be well” kind of hug. Right there on the trail, in the middle of where we both experience the Divine the most - creation.

I could write novels about how nourishing it is to have the dad I have. I could tell you about how his tenderness and gentleness was honey to my heart growing up. I could tell you how he and my mom were and are, the perfect guardians of my soul.

But I’ll leave you with this, my father’s name is Manfred. It’s German, like we are, and it means “Man of Peace”…and he really is.