“How beautiful are thy feet with shoes,
O prince’s daughter!”Song of Solomon 7:1 (KJV)
Once upon a time, I was a blonde haired, blue eyed girl who adored my father. I was the only sibling who looked very much like him. I remember taking his hand and walking with him along the river bank of our home. The sand was white and clean and the clear water lapped the shore gently. Peace surrounded us. It was a lovely way for a seven year old school girl to begin the day. As we walked, my eyes focused on my father’s shoes. They were black with white tops.
“Oh, I want to have shoes like Daddy’s. I want to be just like Daddy.” It was an unusual longing for a young girl. But my heart swelled with pride at the thought of being just like my daddy.
But how could that ever be? I was female and my father, a WWII Purple Heart recipient, was every bit a man. How could I ever fill his shoes? But the memory of my father’s shoes always brought strength—comfort. It was a memory, a longing that never left me. It hung in the corners of my mind and remained for the most part—silent.
Until another day came—not like the other one, not like the serene walk on the river bank. No, this day was filled with tears. I had to surrender. This time I was with my heavenly Father. I buried my head into His lap. I had been here before, but this time as I surrendered my dreams—surrendered my purposes to Him—He opened my eyes to see—what He saw.
The silhouetted figures of father and child walking hand in hand flashed before me and I remembered. I remembered Daddy’s black with white top—shoes. Instantly I saw another pair of shoes, those of my heavenly Father. And I knew— I could wear His shoes. I knew I could be just like Father. And so I put on His shoes and declared, “Father, I will walk in your shoes. I will go where you go. I will put on your garments and place my hand in yours. I‘m not afraid…because you hold my hand… because I go with you.”
When my earthly father passed away, I thought I’d never stop crying. I had watched him all my life but his light had prepared me to receive my heavenly Father’s love. Shortly after my father’s death I surrendered my pain and asked my heavenly Father to be my earthly Father. He has become that—and more. He is everything to me. I call him—Daddy!
Dear One, Do you have a story to share about your earthly or heavenly Father? I’d love to hear from you!