A Trilogy:
The Father, Son
& Brother's Ghost
(Publisher's note: This first appeared as a short-story in the June 1993 issue of
the Electric Consumer, a magazine serving the customers of Indiana's rural electric
cooperatives. All rights reserved.)
Mad at Dad
on Father's Day
©1993
by John Wayne Samples
Have you ever been mad at your father? Did you express it or just keep it
bottled-up
inside? Did you feel guilty about it?
I am not a psychologist of any sort, but I recently had to deal with these questions
myself when a co-worker, whose husband was going through a tough time of unemployment,
asked me if I had ever been mad at God. The connection may not be obvious, but this is
what came to me as I struggled to respond to the question:
-------------------
"When I was growing up I can only remember two things I was ever angry at my dad
over. There were probably more, but only these two remain in my conscious.
The first was when I was about 8 or 9. I wanted a pony so bad I couldn't stand it and
none of Dad's reasons made any sense. At least I assume they didn't -- as I think back now
I can't remember him giving me any. Just no. A lot of my friends had ponies, and I thought
I really deserved one. Much later I found out things like what our financial condition was
at the time, the problems with dealing with horses where we lived, and so forth. I still
didn't like not having a pony, but I was fortunate to have eventually learned some of the
reasons why it didn't happen for me.
I also wanted a motorcycle so bad I couldn't stand it (I still do, but that's another
story). As a teenager, I was even prepared to pay for one myself, so I knew I had Dad
behind the proverbial eight-ball. I needed the transportation because our rural home was
so far from school and friends; I had demonstrated my dependability in several areas; and
Dad just couldn't say no.
But he did. Just no. For weeks and months. Just no.
As my anger over this began to invade the rest of my relationship with Dad, I decided
one day to force the issue. With a quivering voice and sweaty palms I notified him that I
WAS going to get a "bike" and since he really hadn't given me any good reasons
why not, he couldn't stop me.
The silence was deafening for about a minute. Then, when he looked at me, I saw the
hint of tears in both eyes. For reasons I still don't understand I remember that it was
3:30 on an early April afternoon, I remember right where we were, and I remember exactly
what he said: "John Wayne, I want you to have that motorcycle so bad I can hardly
stand it. I can't really tell you why I won't let you have it, except there's just
something inside me telling me it's the wrong thing to do." I never gave the rest of
my prepared remarks. That was the most powerful "just no" he ever gave me about
anything.
I still didn't understand. I still didn't agree. I still was angry. But I became
suddenly aware of a trust in my father's judgment which I never realized before. About a
week later my brother was involved in a rather serious accident riding a friend's
motorcycle without Dad's permission.
Case closed.
-------------------
So, what's the point? Where's the connection?
These memories began haunting me a few years ago during my own nine month period of
unemployment and related marital problems. I had never allowed myself to be mad at God
before. It just seemed like some kind of cardinal sin and I just wasn't going to do it.
And then one day I just couldn't hold back anymore. I let loose verbally and loudly and
angrily and tearfully and frightfully and specifically at God. I still don't know if it
was the "right" thing or not, I just know that it happened. I suspect it also
happened with Moses and some of the prophets, perhaps the apostles in their frustration of
not understanding what was happening, and maybe even Christ in the Garden.
What I do know is that the day I let loose on God, my relationship with Him was
profoundly, positively affected in a way that has completely changed how I think, worship,
communicate and seek to serve. Whether I'm justified or completely out of line, knowing
that I can be emotionally honest with God and not be struck down by a bolt of lightning
has been an on-going revelation to me.
The connection to the memories of being genuinely and openly in disagreement with my
earthly father are clear to me and very strong.
Anger is not something to seek out or to express lightly or on a whim. But it can also
be very real and can get in the way of our worship, especially when we deny it by acting
like everything's all right when we pray or commune. If He knows our love, then He also
knows our anger. I don't think we are ever chastised for our emotions, just our behavior.
Or lack of it.
The first time I got mad at God, He blessed me in such a way as to say "I'm going
to show you why this time, but next time you've got to trust Me." I felt very
fortunate to have been shown, but also felt a certain shame. Not shame that I had
expressed my anger, but that I had expressed my lack of vision and trust.
I still get mad at God. I doubt that I've ever been justified in my positions, but I
don't think I've been wrong in expressing them. It still doesn't feel right, but it is a
real, if infrequent, part of my relationship with Him. Just like it is with my dad."
This letter was first written in late March of this year [1993]. I shared a copy of it
with my dad in early April. About a week later, my brother died very unexpectedly while
teaching a class at the University of Cincinnati. He leaves behind a blossoming career,
heart-broken parents, a frightened wife, 14-month old twin boys, and a brother who is
desperately searching for another connection to help it all make sense. While I'm hoping
to find a reason for this loss, I realize we may never know the whys of our grief. Will
understanding that be enough to keep away the anger? Probably not.
But I also know, based on all my experience, that the Father is faithful. In His time.
In His way. And sometimes that just makes me so mad I can't stand it ...
JSam
The
Father, Son & Brother's Ghost Trilogy: