my tree of life.

About a month before my college graduation, I asked my dad how he felt about me getting a tattoo before heading to the PeaceCorps the following summer. He basically told me he would kill me if I ever got a tattoo.

Fast forward 2 and a half years to last night when my dad accompanied me to Superchango Tattoo for my first tattoo. Inspired by the contents of from the forest comes life, I tattooed the "Tree of Life" on my inner left ankle. When I asked my dad again a few weeks ago about getting a tattoo, he said he approved on one condition: that he could be with me when I got it done. Deal. In the parking lot before we left, I had a chance to tell my dad precisely how grateful I am for him.

Growing up, I was a big-time Daddy's girl. I remember signing all of his birthday and Father's Day cards, "To Daddy Waddy from Wydia Wudy." I remember learning to read Green Eggs and Ham on his lap in our living room on Kury Lane. I remember all the baseball, softball, and basketball teams of mine he coached. I remember swinging practice in our lawn and catching drills on my knees in the dirt. Sometime in my teenage years, things started to change between my dad and me. We'd argue more often as my interests no longer aligned with his strengths as a father. Before we could recover from the downswing in our relationship, my parents filed for divorce.

A flood of thoughts, feelings, emotions, misunderstandings, and lies take over a child's mind during a divorce. All of my negative thoughts and feelings about my dad intensified during the divorce. Coupled with my dad's thoughts and feelings (which I won't go into given he's not here to defend or explain his side of the story), we dug our heels in and spent the next six years fighting for and against, for and against, for and against a healthy and lasting relationship. There were moments where he was ready to give up, moments where I was ready to throw in the towel. God never threw in the towel, though, and he and I both can testify to that grace and persistence being the reason I can write this blog today--a story of gratitude.

It is obvious to me which of my campers don't have a consistent and loving father figure in their life. They are the ones who are automatically repulsed by female authority figures, the ones who are too hard for their own good, the ones who don't understand how to give and receive love and respect. They are the ones who sit by and watch as a female gets threatened and assaulted. They are the ones who will graduate the program and still have miles to walk before they experience healing.

If I worked with girls right now, this may even hit closer to home, but the simple knowledge that the consistent factor in each of these boys' lives is the lack of a father at home stops me dead in my tracks. I can write for days about the hardships that my dad and I have been through. I can outline each negative obstacle we've faced and tackled. On the flip side, I can write out every single good deed he has done for me and for others, highlighting the generosity and caring nature of my dad. But today, I am grateful mostly for the small things. For the gift of an active and present father, I am eternally grateful.

So to you, Papa Bear. Thank you.

Thank you for being there even when it got hard, for coaching me to be strong, to stand up for what is right, to never quit when faced with a challenge.

Thank you for never giving up on me, for always supporting and providing for me, for teaching me how to support and provide for myself.

Thank you for taking the life you were handed and changing your stars, so that mine could be brighter.

Each day with you on my team is an example to me of God's love, grace, and persistence. Each day is proof to me that God is still working miracles and hope that miracles are being worked in the lives of my campers.

You and Mom are the roots of my Tree of Life--no matter how far those roots spread apart, they are still a solid foundation for the reach of my branches.