The Fatherhood of God: Reflections on the Anniversary of Losing my Dad

During my gap year between high school and college, I took part in a six-month Bible school in France and Senegal.  The first three months, various speakers taught on a different subject each week.  The week on “The Father Heart of God,” grown men and women around me wept from the pain stemming from their broken relationships with their fathers.  I witnessed the turmoil so many of my peers were experiencing, and couldn’t identify.  My relationship with my dad was marked by love and acceptance.  My daddy, Juan Guillermo Velásquez, made it easy to believe that God is my loving heavenly Father.  He thought I was the most beautiful, intelligent, kind, hard-working young woman in the world.  Any insecurities I’ve had about my appearance or my abilities have been despite my dad and not because of him.  

At the heart of the Christian faith is the theology of adoption – God the Father sends his beloved Son to save his lost children.  By dying in their place, Jesus reconciles enemies to God, who adopts them as sons and daughters.  He loves us with an everlasting love, not because we are lovely or lovable, but because he is loving and love itself. 

Believers who have lived through significant trauma due to their family background often have difficulty believing this truth about God.  Even those who had well-meaning but rigid fathers project such attributes onto their Heavenly Father.  I recently heard Christian singer-songwriter Michael Card recounting an episode from his own childhood that illustrates this.  As a high school student, he worked hard and performed well academically.  The day he brought home his report card with straight A's, his father coolly replied, “If you can get straight A's, you can get straight A+'s.”  As I listened to him recount this story, my heart was filled with compassion not only for Card, but also for friends who have lived through similar hurt. 

When I was seven-years-old, my parents sat my brother Juan David and me down and told us they were getting a divorce.  Shortly thereafter, my mom, Juan, and I moved to Costa Rica, where we lived for three years.  I missed my daddy so much, and prayed every day that my parents would get back together.  He would come visit and we would make trips back to California when we could, but the separation broke my heart.  I once dreamed that he’d flown in for a visit and was sleeping in the next room.  Imagine my sadness when I looked for him the next morning only to discover that he wasn’t there, that it had only been a dream.  Fast forward a couple of years and imagine my happiness the day I learned my parents were getting back together.  The Heavenly Father had heard that little girl’s prayers and brought her home to her earthly father.

Today marks one year since I lost my father.  I still dream about him sometimes and awaken only to find that he’s gone.  On those mornings, I’m once again a sad nine-years-old little girl who misses her daddy.  I have a friend who lost her father while in college.  In his honor, she has kept his family name as her middle name.  In memory of my own dad, I do the same.  I love being a Thornton, but I will always be a Velasquez.

Angie Velasquez Thornton