For My King
FOR MY King
As my young life fades into the dark
Reach out for your light
Where do you hide
Can't you see me as I drift and slide
In and out of anger, desperation,
No Anchor
Cause of the words that you aren’t here to say
CHORUS:
Have I had time to fall this far
Always wondered where you are
Father shouldn't you be the one I call
Said you would be the one I call
-But the battles I've won don't free my heart
Cause for my king they were never enough
Walking the earth
Over this screaming heart I can't hear a softer voice
Searching for a map to find my king
But I found it tore
Reaching deep down into the pockets
Of the wise to find a key
But its rusted and broke
Reaching out to the one who I should know
Pleading to hear you say the words
Confess you brought my birth
Searching for you to find you gone
CHORUS:
Have I had time to fall this far
Always wondered where you are
Father shouldn't you be the one I call
Said you would be the one I call
-But the battles I've won won't free my heart
Cause for my King they were never enough
Conquered the world all by myself
Could topple your crown from where I stand
And I don't feel that you
Even know I'm here
Cause for my King I am never enough
For My King is about the fathers who never “fathered” us, and for those who did out of their fear or out of their ignorance or out of their brokenness. We have all had these fathers, even if they were only broken for a moment, these are moments that can leave a permanent mark on our lives. Then when we become fathers and mothers, we learn just how easy it is to leave that mark on a child’s heart dealing with our own stresses and struggles and fears just trying to survive while being responsible for a smaller human being becoming a better human being than you yourself were hopefully. We all seem to treat these “father wounds” as John Eldredge calls them in his book “Wild at Heart”, differently from our siblings but there are patterns. Some seek to become the one who gave the scar, some seek to be like them but a better version who succeeded where their own father could not, and some abandon both the vices and virtues of their father in order to become the total and complete opposite despite any clear direction otherwise, just “different from him”. It’s as Mat Kearney sings “I’ve been looking around for someone to tell me who I am. And it’s funny which words stick around twenty years down when you’re driving alone. What’s a boy to do, when there’s no man at home?”
For some, “father” even becomes a curse word to only be murmured if it is required to be spoken, for some it’s the face they are hoping to find in everyone they kiss, or everyone that acknowledges their successes, or even everyone who is the victim of their victories. They leave wounds in us that only a bigger, better, Father can heal, the original father before the “image” was tainted by the Sons of Adam who have sewn fig leaves of every variety to hide their weakness and fallibility and most especially, their vulnerability (sports, career, adventure, religious duty) even “manliness” or a cartoon version of manhood anyway. The strange part of our journies is the “Fathers” who are sent to us once we can murmur the word again without biting our tongue or clinching our fists as the syllables fall from our lips. We are sent father’s through our employers sometimes, or a teacher (as my adopted dad was in the martial arts), or of drill sergeants, or our father-in-law, or our spiritual fathers, as many come to have a ‘father in the faith” and a ‘father in the field” and a ‘father in the Ryu (martial arts clan)”. These fathers are almost always upgrades, and as with all gifts, they are meant to be passed on to those who have yet to receive. The fathered give the gift of fatherhood to the orphans in both body and heart. In fact, one of the most repeated Commandments in Scripture is to watch over the Fatherless. Mistreating the fatherless in particular promises a powerful curse on those who would abuse the children without a father’s covering. Apparently the Father Above was intent of His People not leaving His Prodigals to be orphans, despite the epic failure of the Church in this sacred duty.
“Father of the fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation.” Psalm 68:5
The story of my father and myself is tragic, and I’m sure that yours is as well and possibly more so. My father was raised in a Tennessee town in the 50’s and 60’s by my grandfather who served in the Korean War as Military Police and then as a Firefighter and Sherriff’s Deputy and also developed land for a living. One of his friends was the famous Sheriff Bufford Pusser whose legend inspired the movie “Walking Tall” and as you can imagine, this was a household that allowed no tears, no weakness and no failures in manliness such as losing a fight (even if you are outnumbered 5 to one). So as could be expected, my father set out to prove his “manliness” every single opportunity he was given from volunteering for Vietnam to pickingfist fightswith the Black Panthers and the Hell’s Angels, to “outworking” everyone on the construction site to the point of nearly being fired for moving the project ahead of schedule. Maintaining this reputation also involved attempting to become a professional wrestler and many encounters with the police department's tactical team. This only got worse with alcoholism and drug addiction came into the picture, and fever pitch after my mom died. Though I heard he repented later, we weren't on speaking terms until he breathed his last labored breath.
“You said to let the poets cry themselves to sleep, and all their tearful words turn back into steam, but me I’m a single cell on a serpent’s tongue in a mighty field once where a garden once. Me I’m glad you got away but I’m still stuck out here, and my clothes are soaking wet from my brother’s tears” Bright Eyes “Poison Oak”.
Then I came along, the firstborn son, the hope of passing on another super country boy alpha male to cut down logs in the woods and build a cabin with them by hand like my grandfather and father and uncle had done to build the house we lived in as a child, and to play with shotguns and rebuild engines and drink whiskey and throw footballs because a trophy should be the goal to prove the worth of your existence. Unfortunately for him what he received was a male child so shy that he would hide in the bathroom when a stranger visited and wet the bed until he was ten years old. A boy that needed glasses and his tongue clipped so the elementary school listed him as slightly mentally retarded who also hid behind his momma both before and after two year of speech therapy so he wouldn’t have to speak in front of strangers. The son he was given at first would later find out that his personality type is the rarest of all 16 Types, (INFJ), which is only half of one percent of the male population. The type of boy statistically most likely to be a published author, and also least statistically likely to make it to or even care for watching, the Superbowl. In fact, this boy would grow to dream of a wedding ring the way most boys covet a Superbowl Ring. He would also go onto live in Germany as an exchange student, to attend Seminary for a year, to study Marriage and Family Counseling, to become a published writer, and to be all manner of unmanly in the way he writes like a Hallmark Card and loves blue roses and unashamedly tells his daughters they're beaufitul, but also couldn't change the oil in a car to save his life and still fears the buzz of a powersaw and the pop of fireworks. My father’s second son, mercifully for them both, did not disappoint as he loves football, the smell of fresh cut grass and fresh cut lumber and a cold beer after a hard day. So in the end, before he died when I was 20, my father got the company of his alpha country boy his heart had always desired. My Father in Heaven redeemed me though, with many fathers. He sent my father in the martial arts (who happened to also be named Jimmy), and my father in the faith (Norman) my mother’s father (Harry, who died while I was studying in Germany) who took me in as a teenager when my dad decided to throw a full quart of beer at my head in my grandfather’s presence and he simply said “get in the car boy, you’re coming to live with me” (with tears in his eyes), my mother’s brother (Rick) who was taught me what it means to be a responsible member of civilized society, and even a grandfather in the faith (Pastor Coleman at my home Church) after both my birth grandfather’s died.
We are only given new fathers I believe, when we can begin to release the original ones. We can also only be given our inheritance in the Kingdom of our Heavenly Father, when we can release the debt of our Earthly Father’s towards us. Just as Joseph could not be placed in charge of Egypt until he would no longer kill his brothers (as John Paul Jackson points out), we cannot fully receive our place at the table or on the throne until we can speak of our father’s without slaying them with our words. We may be given a crown (position) but we will lack a scepter (authority), as we have yet to take on the nature of the one who forgave us all. (I am obviously still floundering in this regard). My Dad drowned when I was 14 years old, (3 months after my mom died), its the newspaper article at the top of the page. For whatever reason I jumped in the pond and pulled him out and did CPR, have the newspaper article posted on my Facebook page. Sad part is how long I stood there contemplating whether I should or not.That was a defining moment in my life, as two paths were set before me and I was given a vision almost of the heartless bastard I would become if I could watch my own father drown, and also I was well aware of what would happen to my little brother and I in foster care, and my little brother was also standing there watching his father drown (which would scar him for life if I allowed him to be a witness to the demise of my nemesis and his hero). So I dove in and pulled him unconscious to shore, and was being thoroughly cursed out a few days later for not cranking the lawnmower before my tenth attempt, after the tadpoles were pumped from his lungs in a helicopter on the way to a Memphis Emergency Room.
Fathers may be the hardest people on Earth to forgive. He eventually died for the last time when I was 20 and serving in the Air Force in Europe, it was the 4th of July Weekend, which was fitting for him. My last words were unkind, and through that bitterness I can only beg you to make sure that yours are sweet, as they may be the last ones you allowed to share. *I cannot recommend enough “Wild at Heart” the book by John Eldredge and his “Killing Lions” Youtube series, as well as John Paul Jackson’s “Power and Authority” on Youtube, plus Mat Kearney’s song “What’s a Boy to do”. All of these works have affected me greatly and helped bring this book to you.
https://www.youtube.com/
Prayer For Those Searching for Their King
To Abba God, The God who Fathers the Fatherless
We ask that you Protect us where our Fathers were Not
We ask that you Provide for us where our Fathers were Not
We ask that you be a Priest for us where our Fathers were Not
We ask that you Lead us places our Fathers would Not
We ask that we become the Men or Marry the Men our Fathers were Not
Finally, We ask that you help us Forgive our Fathers for being the Men that they were Not
“He will turn the hearts of fathers to the children, and the hearts of children to their fathers—else I will come and strike the land with utter destruction.”
Malachi 3:24 Tree of Life Version
Resource: ”The Father Effect” with John Eldredge
Comments
Post a Comment