God sings over him too.

Of all the things that have ever complicated my life, my relationship with my father is one of the heaviest. It's strained, almost nonexistent, and for the longest time, I’ve not known how to define it. I think I just put it in a box labeled “too complicated to touch” and left it to gather dust. There are things that should be easy, like talking, hugging, calling each other for no reason but with us, even the basics come with tension. Hugging him feels like touching a brick but I do it still.

One time, I was ranting to my friend Value, listing all the things I felt, all the hurt and absence I carried around like a second skin, and in the gentlest, most disarming way, she said, “Remember he is God’s child too. The same way God sings over you, God sings over your dad.” I froze. I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t ready for it. I went back to my room and sobbed. Deep, heaving sobs becausethat moment, I saw him not as just my father, but as someone’s son. As someone deeply known and loved by the God I run to for healing. That moment broke something in me. Or maybe it began to build something new.

The irony in all of this is how alike we are. People say I look like him, and not in the vague way people say children resemble their parents just to make small talk. No, it’s real. Our faces mirror each other. Our mannerisms sneak up on each other too. We both walk like we’re trying to beat the air to its next location; quick, purposeful, like we’ve got places to be and stories we won’t be telling.

Sometimes, little things happen that make me pause. Like the day he bought me my Oraimo watch. I hadn’t told anyone about it. It had been sitting quietly in my cart for weeks, waiting for a “one day.” I don’t know how he knew to get it for me. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was the Spirit nudging him to see me for a moment, but when he handed it to me, I was shocked. Not just at the gift, but that he somehow knew something I hadn’t said. It made me feel seen, and that feeling is rare between us.

Sooo, we are two people, joined by blood, mirroring each other in unexpected ways, walking fast and carrying stories we don’t often say out loud and still, God sings over us both. In the spaces between the silence, the disappointments, and the strange flashes of tenderness, God is present. Holding all our mess and our resemblance and our failed attempts and quiet redemptions in the same hand. Maybe that’s enough to begin again. Maybe that's enough to believe healing isn't too complicated to touch after all.

I didn't call or text to wish him Happy Father's Day today, and I won't but I'm most grateful for the man whose validation I've sought for the long time.