Fathers be good to your Daughters

So, I know I've been on this whole "Dad" thing for a while, but bear with me because this post is different. I come from a family that is pretty awesome. It wasn't always easy, mind you. There have been some really tough patches, but overall I feel incredibly blessed. If you know me well at all, you know how deeply attached I am to my Mom and my little sister. I've always done the best I can to love and protect them. But something that took me a lot longer to realize was that I was blessed beyond measure. You see, I got two Dads. No, not because I have a gay parent...but because my biological parents got a divorce when I was very young. Now, most people see step-parents as the bad guys. There's the wicked step-mothers from Cinderella, Snow White, Ella Enchanted, The Parent Trap, and there are horror movies about step fathers like...well, The Stepfather. These movies teach our children that step-parents are awful creatures and not worthy of their love. 

Our culture has come to believe these things. 

I did too.

Here's the deal. I count myself lucky to have my "step" dad. 

When I was certain that my biological parents would (and should) get back
     together, and was sure that he would ruin that, he loved me. 

When I was a little girl, who was angsty, protective, and stubborn, he loved
     me. 

When I went out of my way to show him that he was not my "real dad," he loved
     me. 

When I tried to take his role as the protector of our family, he loved me. 

When I pitted my parents against each other, he loved me. 

When I was angry, bitter, and venomous, he loved me. 

When I yelled, cussed, and threw a tantrum, he loved me.

When I complained about him to my friends, he loved me. 

When I made him feel like an outcast in our family, he loved me. 

When I got in a screaming match with him, he loved me. 

When I shut him down time and again, he loved me. 

When I made it clear that I didn't want to try in our relationship, he loved me. 

When my own biological Dad flaked over and over again, he loved me (and
     showed it by always being there). 

When I got older and started wanting a good relationship with him, he loved
     me. 

When we stopped fighting and he started asking me for hugs, he loved me. 

When I wasn't sure what to do with that response, he loved me. 

When I asked him if I could talk to just him, without interruption, he loved
    me. 

When I was so angry at everyone in the world, and for the first time ever
     he was the ONLY person I wasn't mad at, he loved me.

When I bawled my eyes out in the doorway of his office, he loved me. 

When I told him that I didn't know how to cry anymore, that I didn't know
     how to mourn, that I didn't know how to stop being angry at everyone
     for no reason, he loved me. 

When he told me, "You're doing it right now," he loved me.

When he let me sit and unload my burdens, he loved me. 

When he told me that it's okay to grieve differently, he loved me. 

When we had this thing in common, our biological Dad's dying, he loved me. 

When I knew that I could come to him, he loved me. 

When he took me as if I was his own daughter from day one, he loved me. 

He didn't have to.

He was marrying my Mom...not her two daughters.

He loved me.

What kind of love is that? He chose to love me like his own daughter. His own, biological daughter. Sure, we had our fair share of fights. You will never catch me denying that fact. However, I don't know what I would have ever done without him. Mark is the reason that I didn't give up on "dads" altogether. He taught me through his commitment to me, that love stretches beyond who is "biologically" related to you. He taught me that running away is not the answer. He taught me that love is worth fighting for. And he taught me to fight hard for what I believe in. He taught me that I have to be my own person, I can't float on my parents coattails through life. He taught me that I need to follow Jesus, set my own boundaries, and stick to them. He taught me that it's okay to be broken, it's okay to come and ask for help in putting the pieces of your shattered heart back together. He taught me that sometimes...you just have to admit that you can't do it alone and allow other people in. The greatest gift that the death of my biological dad brought me, was a closer connection to my real dad, Mark. When no one that I loved really understood what I was going through, he held me through the storm. He reminded me that the pain won't just go away over time, it will linger. It will fade, but you will always miss that person. He told me that it's okay to cry when I need to cry. 

He reminded me that I don't have to be strong for everyone. 

That I can't be strong for everyone. 

That I shouldn't be strong for everyone.

It's okay to let other people be strong for me, for once. It's okay to be vulnerable. It's okay to let people in. It was hard to see when I was looking through the lens of a selfish little girl, but my real Dad has been Mark all along. Don't get me wrong, I love my biological Dad and I am so glad that I was close to him. But Mark has been the one that showed me what dads do. Dads love their daughters. They make them follow really strict rules even if it's annoying a lot of the time ;) They teach them to be independent, but always remind them that they have a place that they can come back to and be loved. 

I am the worlds most blessed woman because 
I have a beautiful family that loves me imperfectly. 

I have a Dad who knows what it means to love his daughters.