Glass half full or glass half empty—in the end, it doesn’t matter. You drink it up, because that’s all there is.
Sweetness and bitterness in the same cup.
Gratitude and grief, spinning, swaying, dancing together. One leads, the other follows. Sometimes synchronized, sometimes conflicted, neither lets go until the final bow.
For some, the music is a distant lullaby, a reminder of a sweeter and gentler time. Salty memories spill from sadness-softened eyes, even as upward-curled lips attempt to mask the discord. We sing along through the tears.
For others, pain takes the lead—beating, beating—ever louder than the almost-imperceptible melody of hope. Memories, unkind. Almost too much to bear. Hide away. Escape the day. Hope for a gentler song tomorrow.
Fatherless daughters and sons, searching for identity. Silent, unanswered questions. Why? What now? Who else? Affection starved and feeling abandoned. Afraid. Confused. Distraction numbs the hurt, but the wounds run deep. Suppress the tears; anger, panic, self-harm… it all feels safer.
Solo mom, hiding fear behind determination. Crying herself to sleep. Lonely. Tired. Aching. Starving. Trying—failing—to be enough. Clinging. Afraid of forgetting. Weary of remembering. Longing for respite. Desperate for peace.
This is what Father’s Day looks like for so many. Dancing, singing, smiling on the outside. Dying on the inside.
You may not know this world…yet. Count your blessings. Better yet, share your blessings.
Step into their grief tango. Dance with the broken, the fatherless, the widow. Sit at their table and drink of their cup. Show up.
Then, keep showing up until the final bow.
This. This is what Jesus-people do.
🩷 Audra
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Pure and undefiled religion before God the Father is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself unstained from the world.
James 1:27