It was the first meeting to plan our wedding.
All of us involved in the preparation were buzzing with ideas and enthusiasm, right until the pastor turned to me and asked, “Who would be walking you down the aisle?”
The brainstorms gave way to a deafening silence – I had no ready answer.
Who would walk me down the aisle?
My parents separated when I was only four.
We had a few scheduled monthly meetings and a handful of awkward holidays, but I saw my dad less and less with each passing year.
It came to a point when I stopped missing him altogether – it didn’t matter whether I saw him or not. But when the pastor asked me that question … It finally struck me that I hadn’t forgiven my dad all these years.
But memories are funny things. Whenever people ask about my dad, I have difficulty remembering my experiences with him. I have to ask my mum what she knew of the time I had with my dad.
He gave up His most beloved son in exchange for sinful, flippant and selfish people like me.
She has an endless string of wonderful things to share, complete with photo albums filled with evidence: The biannual beach holidays when we had picnics and built sandcastles, the season when we did cycling trips, that one family holiday to Disneyland.
It was as if my mind had a built-in defence mechanism which caused me to somehow forget the period surrounding the divorce proceedings — along with all the good memories of my dad.
Despite the years of estrangement, my fiancé (at the time) thought it would be best to let my dad do the honours. “It might help the relationship”, he said optimistically.
He had no idea how difficult it was for me to even initiate that first meet-up, much less broach the request. Nevertheless, I decided to give it a go, choosing to meet at lunch because that would limit my time with dad and any awkwardness that might ensue.
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Unfortunately, the meeting didn’t go great. Meeting a distant parent is not quite the same as meeting a long-lost friend. Instead of sharing sentimental hugs and enthusiastic updates, it was formal and distant – no different from meeting one of my primary school teachers.
Dad quizzed me about how I did in school, asked about what I did for work, and finally asked about the family. Lunch was full of niceties and roundabout conversations while I avoided broaching the subject.
That night, I could not sleep. As I reflected on how our conversation played out, it became obvious to me that I was still bitter towards my father. Years of respectful and courteous meetings had merely built walls between my dad and I.
And after two decades, these walls had unknowingly become an impenetrable fortress. The reason I did not want him to have a share in the joys of my wedding day was because I still harboured hatred in my heart towards him. I felt abandoned and unloved.
Ironically, my Bible reading plan that week led me to Luke 15 – that familiar series of “lost” parables. I read the parables of the lost coin, the lost sheep, and the lost son.
It felt like a mockery of sorts reading about the prodigal son who left his loving father after taking all his inheritance. A voice in my head scoffed: “It’s the father who was prodigal in my story – I was innocent, thrown away!”
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But as I read the chapter again, the full weight and meaning of the word “found” hit me.
In order to find me, my loving Father God had to do much more than what the father of the prodigal son or the woman looking for her coin did. He had to allow His precious Son to come to earth, live as a man and die for my sins. Had He not sent His son to die on the cross for me that day – had He kept Jesus in heaven – there would have been no way I could become a child of God.
He gave up His most beloved son in exchange for sinful, flippant and selfish people like me.
When I realised this – I was overwhelmed. I saw the depth of God’s love for me, demonstrated when He didn’t spare His only son Jesus to save me.
You can still see the tear stains on the pages of my journal, where I wrote down a faith conviction that day.
“How can I, a mere sinner, loved and found by the Most High God, harbour any hatred or bitterness in my heart? The sheer love of God fills my heart to the brim and overflows. With the power of the Holy Spirit living in me, I release the hurt, the anger, and the pain to make way for His love which has found me once again, even now.”
A week later, I met my dad again. This time it was at his house and on a weekend. There was no escaping or skirting around the issue. To my surprise, when I finally asked him, he was touched and grateful that I would let him do the honours.
He even offered to get a suit for the occasion and participate in the rehearsal at the church! That being said, forgiveness did not miraculously come instantaneously. But that day was certainly the start of my journey towards reconciliation with my dad.
Four years ago on my wedding day, my father took my arm in his and walked me down the long aisle. He gave me away to a man whom God had prepared years beforehand – a man who promised to love and never forsake me until I am received into the arms of my Heavenly Father.
