I Remember The Letter

I will never forget the day I opened my mailbox and found "the letter"---the letter signed by the men of the church, the letter telling me how much they each loved my dad, the letter detailing his sins: the breaking of his vows, the destruction of his and another's marriage, the shaming of the congregation, the abandoning of his family, and the breaking of my mother's heart. I remember that letter, that letter telling me that in an effort to bring him back, he had been disfellowshipped, and that he was not only no longer their minister but neither was he a member of that congregation. I read and reread that letter, crying and confused, wishing it to be untrue. I remember that letter!
I am not sure I can describe how that letter made me feel. Surely, there was hurt and anger. Surely, there were feelings of betrayal and bitterness. But mostly, there was sadness, a sadness bigger than myself, deeper than my thoughts and stronger than my strength. A sadness beyond all sadness. My mother and my sister came to live with us for awhile, and the sadness grew even greater. I saw in Mom's eyes the pain, the anger and the betrayal, and I was powerless to help. In my little sister, I saw mostly rage and disgust and I could offer no comfort or peace. That made me even sadder! I was confused about how I could love him so much and still be angry and hurt. Confused about how I could love my mother and my sister and not hate the one who'd wounded them so deeply.
The "love him or hate him battle" raged in my soul---it kept me from sleeping, it caused me to alternately cry and pray. But, hate doesn't come easily to me and so I sent my dad letters telling him that I loved him and that I was praying for him. I sent him pictures of his new grandson begging him to come and hold him. I left messages on his phone asking him to call me, telling him how much I missed him. The letters and pictures were returned-----the phone calls were not.
It would be February 22nd, almost a year later, before I would see my dad again. Earlier in the week, I'd called to tell him that my sister, his nineteen year old daughter, had died unexpectedly. He showed up at her funeral. He looked so much older and even frailer than I'd remembered. He was grief-stricken, haggard and blaming himself. I hugged him for a long time, his hug so tight, I thought he might break me. As we cried on each other, I realized that he would always be my dad and I would love him no matter what. We grieved together that day, no, not as an entire family, but as a daughter and her father, as a father and a sister. We grieved together not just for my sister, but for all the losses of the past year.
That day would birth a change in our lives. We would talk on the phone and write letters. And eventually the vast sadness would be replaced by the joy of his repentance. Our life could not ever be the way it was before, for neither of us were the same people. My sister would not be there to celebrate my dad's return to his faith. She would have been so happy. My dad, his sins ever before him, would struggle with forgiving himself. And there would be some who would choose to doubt his repentance and question his faith, rather than share in our joy. Twenty + years later, some still choose to remember his past. They choose to remember that letter.
Throughout the years, I have learned a lot from my dad. One of the greatest lessons is that sin is real and that sin causes pain. Sin hurts not only the sinner but those who love them. Sin challenges our faith and our willingness to forgive. But I also learned that God loves the penitent and that love heals. And that love endures, it never gives up, in the very face of sin, love still is. Love does not die, in spite of the past and regardless of what is said in letters.

Peace
Neva