What's in a Name?

Heritage is a strange thing. We look in the mirror, and we see our father’s nose, and mother’s eyes. But, what about the deeper things? I have being thinking about my own inheritance from my father. He died twelve years ago; yet, it was not until this week that I could articulate more fully the gifts that he bequeathed to me. That I could do so was only a work of the Heavenly Father and Holy Spirit.

The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." Romans 8:15

 

The Lord has been speaking to me about the spirit of adoption; I call it the spirit of belonging, knowing that one is a daughter or son. The key to this heavenly adoption hinges on an earthly reality: are we our parents’ children? Do we respect and honor them? We learn how to be children in our parents’ household … or not. If not, we will struggle with trusting God to be a perfect Father. We will struggle with the act of submitting to being a child.

 I found it difficult to understand how to honor a father, long-deceased; a necessary step, but daunting, nonetheless.  My father was no more perfect than anyone else’s; he struggled during his life with illness, addictions, and other problems, but God showed me that much of what I take for granted about who I am- the good in me came from my father.

I had an astonishing dad, not in the traditional sense. I lived in a home that valued history. He barely finished high school, but could have taken on any history professor at Harvard on the topics of American presidency and wars.

He loved to cook, and we watched chefs prepare meals. Something, I am sure not too many African-American dads did in the 1980s with their kids. While my mother baked from a recipe, he baked from scratch, often improvising.  Something,  that I still do this day as I cook and bake for over 100 people at the YWAM base.

He also had a lovely singing voice. The fact that I know Marty Robbins, Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Bobbie Blue Bland, Janis Joplin, and Johnny Cash is thanks to him. He introduced  me to gospel, rock, folk, early country, blues, and soul. Later, as I studied music, I would add jazz, classical, and international musicians to those genres.

He was a great athletic. He was invited to play professional baseball with a Houston-based team.  Personally, for over decade, I have taught at YMCA, Curves, and other establishments as a fitness instructor. I have been an enthusiastic bicyclist for twenty-five years.

He was preacher although I am not sure how good of a pastor he made.  My handling of the word of God takes its roots from both my mom and dad. I have preaching since I was 18 years old, but devouring the word of God even before then.

He authentically loved children and fathered orphans. I have worked with children since my teens ; I began ministering to see them protected and loved. Through him, I met and learned about other cultures. His life crossed religious, ethnic, racial, and socio-economic lines. My first travels were with him in the car delivering albums to buyers. I have since traveled to over thirty countries. Now, I am in South Africa working with girls who live in impoverished areas because of him.

Much of who I am is because of him today.

When we think of the gifts our fathers give us sometimes we don’t really see clearly until God shines a light. What our are idiosyncrasies? What sets us apart? If you don’t understand or know who you are, think about your father.

Fathered,
MJ