Shoo Me, Daddy!

Mom? I think you’re probably pretty jealous of me and Elle.

Oh? Why?

Because Daddy doesn’t shoo you when he gets home. He only shoos me and Elle.

unnamed-1One of our steadfast rituals when Frank gets home from work is that he must, no matter what, lift the girls high into the air. On the sound of the garage door opening, Bea runs down the hall yelling, Shoo me first! Shoo me first!! Elle is fast on her heals, squealing and insisting that her turn isn’t far behind.

There is something incomparable to daddy’s throws into the air. The feeling that you know you’ll be caught; that you aren’t really too far out of the reach of his hands.

Perhaps Frank can’t actually shoo me into the air, but of course there are so many ways he supports and lifts me up – by encouraging my gifts, but listening to my processing, by working hard so that I get to experience these fast, little years with the girls.

And, what Bea doesn’t see is that I shoo Frank, too. It makes me think about our perception of God – how so many people struggle (and rightfully so) with the image of God the Father. That some human fathers have so failed to shoo their children that the idea of a benevolent Creator is too much to comprehend.

As I watch Frank shoo our girls, both physically as well as emotionally and spiritually, I am grateful that their image of a Father-God will be one of lifting them high, of catching them, of not letting go.

Do you remember being lifted by your dad? What is your view of a Father-God?

Linked with Kate Motaung’s Five Minute Friday, a time to write without editing. Today’s prompt is “lift.”