Forgiving a Parent (My Story, Part Two)
Let’s Chat Afterglow #7
My Dad was an excellent guitarist playing lead guitar in some successful rock bands throughout his life. He was highly sought after for his musical talent. It came naturally to him. He actually taught himself to play and could play multiple instruments. So, when I asked him to teach me to play guitar, he showed no mercy. He just couldn’t understand why I couldn’t automatically do the riffs he was showing me. I didn’t even know how to play chords yet. He would get so frustrated with me, bordering on anger, but I wanted to learn to play. I dreaded the lessons. My Mom would sit at the bottom of the stairs and listen. She couldn’t believe that I didn’t get up and walk out. Little did I know that it was God’s grace that was keeping me there.
My Dad and I never had a connection. As a matter of fact, he was never interested or involved in anything that I was. I was a star athlete in three sports all through high school and even played some college ball. He never came to one of my games or attended any of my sport banquets where I was usually honored with top awards. I was a great student, tapped into the National Honor Society, and recognized for several academic accomplishments. He just showed no interest. I never knew if it was because he wasn’t my biological father or if he just didn’t like me. He did everything with my brother, his son, from baseball to bow and arrow fishing, to arrowhead hunting, to dump digging, to buying him go carts, minibikes, mopeds, and on and on. So, I developed a complex. As difficult as it was to learn from him, it was at least a connection. I had met my Dad on his turf and became what he wanted me to be, a musician.
The first song he taught me was, “House of the Rising Sun.” We skipped right over “Mary had a Little Lamb” and all of the other little ditties that most people learn when they take guitar lessons. Hey, that’s something. And then, he asked me if I wanted to hear a song he had written when he first received Christ as his personal Savior. Of course, I said yes. Before you know it, he was pulling out of his treasure trove half a dozen or so Christian songs he had written and began teaching them to me. As the days and weeks went by, some of my friends joined us in our jam sessions. The group grew from two, to four and, eventually, six; all girls and all from my circle. We became very good and started to play at festivals, events, churches, anywhere they would have us. We played all original music, my Dad’s songs, and had a unique, fresh sound, which got us invited to a lot of gigs. We definitely weren’t making a living at it, but we were gaining popularity. My Dad made us all better musicians and singers, but he was hard on us, me taking the brunt of it. I would get so nervous setting up for shows that things wouldn’t go well, and he would get an attitude that was nothing short of nasty. But, when the music started, life was good again.
Several of us decided to attend the Toronto Airport Blessing at the recommendation of friends. We had all returned to Jesus with our whole hearts through the music and wanted to get closer to Him. We went with open minds and expectation. When we heard the very first song that the band played, we were mesmerized. It was so different, so powerful, with all the feel goods, and you talk about a unique sound. It just made you want to do better, to be better. We were all laid out on the floor, which none of us had ever experienced. We were of the Baptist and Methodist persuasions. While we were down on the floor, Holy Spirit ministered to each one of us. We all had words of knowledge spoken over us and all of them had to do with music. I was told that I had the heart of the Lord and that I would be writing love songs to Him soon, which came to fruition. After spending a couple of long weekends in Toronto, we knew that we didn’t want to be a performance band anymore. We wanted to be a worship band.
It was also during one of those meetings when my Dad came to me and asked for forgiveness. He said he knew he didn’t treat me well as a child, that he had ignored me and didn’t support me. He was in tears and genuinely remorseful. I forgave him then and there. It was like the Lord just took away all the anger, all the pain, all the bitterness, and replaced it with love. I was truly able to let it go. But that didn’t mean we were best friends, buddies, or a beautiful father/daughter combo. The complexities of our relationship would take a lifetime to work through and it would have never happened without the music.
After playing hundreds of shows together and stepping into the world of worship, several of the band mates began to wear down and Dad’s command wore thin. They could walk away, I couldn’t. Eventually all that was left was my best friend, Chris, with her keyboard and her sweet, velvety Mama Cass-like voice, myself, and my Dad. Things were changing but we didn’t want to quit at this point. We felt like the Lord had more for us.
We got plugged into a church that was charismatic and operated in the gifts of the spirit. The pastor asked the three of us to fill in one Sunday for the praise and worship team. She had never heard us before, and she was taken aback. She said we were anointed and definitely had a gift to lead others in praise and worship and to usher in the Holy Spirit. We didn’t really know what we were doing because we were used to performing and this was totally different. However, we found our sweet spot and began to flow in the spirit and make beautiful music for the Lord.
It still wasn’t easy with my Dad. He didn’t do well with people, he had minimal to no people skills. I was always running interference trying to still stirred-up waters. He offended a lot of people but most of them looked past that because of the music and how it blessed them. I always felt like I was carrying the load. Eventually, Chris decided to move on and then there was two. The way it started was the way it ended. For half of our 25-year stint, it was just the two of us.
