Who's Going to Love Me Now?

Ok, folks, so—here's the deal: I was up until about 11:30 last night fretting over last-minute travel details, and then I got up at 4 to make sure I got to the airport in time for a flight. And then I flew to Boston and wandered around said city until I passed out and a homeless person had to carry me back to my hotel. (Ok—that last part didn't happen. But it could have with how tired I feel.) I also ate copious amounts of seafood.

So, here I am, lying comfortably on a bed that very closely resembles a marshmallow. But, try as I might, I can't get to sleep. The thought keeps running through my head that this post needs to be shared, and I had better get it done. So—I had better get it done or else I won't be sleeping very well tonight. And that would be tragic, because I need to have ample energy for more exploring (and a conference, I guess) tomorrow.

Here's what I'm thinking about: families. Parents—and, more specifically, the role of a father in a family.

I have a few thoughts to share on the subject. The first stems from this new Carrie Underwood song that I just love and have listened to more times than is probably psychologically healthy.... Anyway—here it is:

It's so true. Once, while dj-ing a school dance, I played a song and called it the "parent-child dance."  I will forever remember one father—a tall and stocky gentleman—as he lead his tiny daughter through the dance. She barely reached his knee, even as she stood on his shoes. Her hair had been put in two little pig-tails, each with a pink bow to match her frilly pink party dress. The looks on their faces were precious—a father who clearly cherished his baby girl. And a baby girl who clearly idolized her father. Maybe I'm just naive, but I believe many of the world's social ills could be solved if every little girl had a father who invested in her, cheered for her, and bolstered her up in the midst of societies so often trying to tear her down.

But girls aren't the only ones who need fathers. Little boys (and big boys) need fathers too. Just as I remember the happy moment between a father and his daughter, I just as vividly remember another event involving fathers. But this one is more tragic. In one of my years of teaching, I encountered a little boy who was quite sensitive to the feelings of others. He was bright and cheerful and always tried his hardest—even though academics didn't come easily for him. One day, he pulled me aside and said, “Miss, I don't know what I'm going to do.” As tears welled in his eyes, he continued, “My real dad used to play basketball with me, but I was stupid, and he left us. Now my step dad is moving back to Texas.... Miss, who's going to love me now?”

We both had a good cry as we hugged it out. And I've never forgotten that question, or the desperation in which it was asked. “Miss, who's going to love me now?”

Perhaps as a result of this event, or the result of many others, I found myself calling my own father. I remember, on more than one occasion, venting to him that there were children—too many of them—who wondered who was going to love them, some of them not even knowing who their fathers are. I had known children despised by their fathers. Beaten by their fathers. Molested by their fathers. The task felt insurmountable to combat such deplorable circumstances. I remember speaking poorly of these wretched “fathers” who didn't deserve their titles. I remember, during one conversation, telling my dad that every one of my students would be so much better off—and not just academically—if they knew they had a father (or father figure) who loved them.

And his answer to me was this: They do have a Father who loves them.

That was all I needed to hear. Such a simple, yet complex, concept.

They do have a Father who loves them—immeasurably and perfectly—even at their weakest. It's been said that “Heavenly Father sees us in terms of our potential.” (I think it was Dieter F. Uchtdorf who said that, but don't judge me too harshly if I'm wrong.)

If I were only allowed to preach one doctrine from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, it wouldn't be about controversial decisions made by church leaders. I wouldn't teach of church history or the Book of Mormon or even the Atonement. (Though, those are great topics of conversation.) The doctrine I would preach for the rest of my life would be this: That every member of the human family has a Father in Heaven who cherishes them, invests in them, cheers for them, and wishes to bolster them up in a world so intent on tearing them down. It would be that everyone has a Father in Heaven who will continue loving them in spite of whatever errors they make.

This is a truth I would shout from the rooftops and defend to the death. Because everyone deserves to know that they need never ask the question “who's going to love me now?” Especially because one particular Father never has—and never will—stop loving us.