Father's food

As Younger Son was away all weekend, and the other two live far away, it fell to me to look after Husband on father's Day. For dinner he had smoked salmon and cream cheese roll-type things, followed by crown roast of lamb with apricot stuffing, new potatoes roasted in olive oil and sprinkled with salt, broccoli and carrots. And very nice it was even if I say so myself.

There was red fruit salad for pudding but he was too full (especially as he'd eaten half a box of Lindt truffles). (But I enjoyed some with strawberry cheesecake ice cream.)

Diet begins again today. Definitely.

Happy Father's day!

Husband - probably the best dad in the world - and his dad.

Father's Day

Last Sunday I was part of the team taking the services in prison. In the run-up to Father's Day we were looking at difficult father-child relationships.

A few years ago I was asked to write something for the Father's day service in church. Now I never knew my father so I wasn't really the best person to ask, but i wrote something that reflected that. I read it in prison last week, and thought it would be good to publish here as well. I shall probably get our old friend, Anonymous, accusing me of being a 'miserable so'n'so' again but I hope others will view it more positively.


I can call him Lord, God, faithful one, saviour, creator, anything, except Father. I can’t call him that.

I never knew my father. He disappeared before I was born. I can only assume he didn't think I’d be good enough to make hanging around worthwhile.
When you’ve never known a father, it’s hard to accept a father’s love. When all you have is an empty space how can you relate to one others call father?
All the parables, all the stories in the world, don’t make it real, can’t fill a void, make known the unknown. You can say, ‘Our father, who art in heaven,’ without feeling a word of it.
And yet.

Most of my life, I’ve lived a half life. But now, I is becoming me. I’m learning how to uncover the person I was created to be.
Through my words, written and read, I’m discovering who I am. My writing is an extension of me, it makes me whole
Through it my thoughts are given shape and substance. I have something worth saying, something worth hearing.
Through my writing I can view myself as valuable, worthy, not because I write or because of what I write but, by its very being, my writing earths my existence. My words are as much part of me as my eyes or my toes. Before finding them, I was missing an element as vital to my well-being as calcium is to my bones.
Releasing them allows me to be me, wholly me.

And the key to that release has been meeting God, being accepted into his family.
So I live in that new life, no longer a fatherless child. Instead one whose family has demonstrated a father’s love and allowed me to experiment, learn, develop and build confidence without fear of being knocked back.

I used to think that growing up without a father was my loss but maybe it was his.
I still can’t call God Father but one day, when we meet, it’ll be the only word I’ll need.