For all that he is and for all he is not, I must admit that I am my father’s daughter. Sitting in the house where I haven’t lived since high school, it was kinda like a slow dawning, even though it was intuitively obvious.

As I ambled to the kitchen for more of mom’s delish organic soup, I saw the “welcome station” stocked with popcorn, fresh citrus water, and other snacks. Then I realized, “As a daughter, I don’t only have access to what’s offered or set out…I can have anything in the house because I am an heir and it’s my inheritance!” I know it’s really simple, but in this moment, it struck me as profound. I peeked under the bathroom cabinet and saw 2 unopened bottles of fragranced hand soap – and knew that I only had to ask if I wanted to take them down the road with me (side benefit of coming from a family of unconfessed hoarders…I know she’s got more soap stashed somewhere else…probably a tip-off from the 4 boxes of Lipton Onion Soup Mix in the pantry along with various groupings of other shelf-stable apocalyptic staples).

Anyhoo, I started to really look at the black-and-white pictures displayed of my relatives I’d never met – wondering what their facial expressions were revealing or masking. And I realized my place in this microcosm called family. And I was grateful to be part – and in this very place, at this precise moment…rife with all its complexities, unanswered questions, and latent possibilities.

“But now, O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand.”
(Isaiah 64:8)

“Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful.”
(Luke 6:36)

“I and my Father are one.”
(John 10:30)

© Copyright 2019 by Kayren J. Cathcart