When I was growing up, I knew from a very young age that I was super sensitive. Words hurt me or built me up with incredible ease on both accounts. I would mull over what was said, trying to squeeze every inch of meaning out of the words. I would analyse until I could go no further. Sometimes it took me down a very lonely road; there were times when I felt that nobody cared. Other times, I would soar on the wings of elation for weeks after a beautiful comment was made.
No words meant more to me than those of my father. For some reason, his words mattered the most. If Dad said it was going to be okay, I relaxed. If Dad said something looked good, I believed him. If Dad said something was worthwhile, I pursued it, or felt guilty for not having looked into it at least. Dad stopped me from making many dumb decisions, all with his words.
Fast forward to today – his words still matter a lot. I have learnt to brush off things that aren’t quite true, measuring them against the truth of my Heavenly Father’s words. Yet a compliment will still carry me a thousand miles. No matter what, I love my Dad very much.
This week I had cause to thank him for helping me buy the most expensive pair of shoes I have ever owned. All in the name of helping my very sore feet. We had planned to go halves, but when the cost was a lot more than we hoped, he still only asked for the agreed amount from me. I wrote Dad “Thankyou xo” and I received a most unexpected beautiful reply…
“No thank you for the privelege of being your dad”.
I will walk for many a mile with the cushioning of those sweet words.