>
>   IN GOD'S EYES
>
>by Candace Carteen, Portland, Oregon
>
>By the time I was ten, I was totally ashamed of my father. All
>my friends called him names: Quasi-Moto, hunchback, monster,
>little Frankenstein, the crooked little man with the crooked
>little cane. At first it hurt when they called him those things,
>but soon I found myself agreeing with them. He was ugly, and I
>knew it!
>
>My father was born with something called parastremmatic
>dwarfism. The disease made him stop growing when he was about
>thirteen and caused his body to twist and turn into a grotesque
>shape. It wasn't too bad when he was a kid. I saw pictures of
>him when he was about my age. He was a little short but quite
>good-looking. Even when he met my mother and married her when he
>was nineteen, he still looked pretty normal. He was still short
>and walked with a slight limp, but he was able to do just about
>anything. Mother said, "He even used to be a great dancer."
>
>Soon after my birth, things started getting worse. Another
>genetic disorder took over, and his left foot started turning
>out, almost backward. His head and neck shifted over to the
>right; his neck became rigid and he had to look over his left
>shoulder a bit. His right arm curled in and up, and his index
>finger almost touched his elbow. His spine warped to look
>something like a big, old rollercoaster and it caused his torso
>to lie sideways instead of straight up and down like a normal
>person. His walk became low, awkward, and deliberate. He had to
>almost drag his left foot as he used his deformed right arm to
>balance his gait.
>
>I hated to be seen with him. Everyone stared. They seemed to
>pity me. I knew he must have done something really bad to have
>God hate him that much. By the time I was seventeen, I was
>blaming all my problems on my father. I didn't have the right
>boyfriends because of him. I didn't driv e the right car because
>of him. I wasn't pretty enough because of him. I didn't have the
>right jobs because of him. I wasn't happy because of him.
>
>Anything that was wrong with me, or my life, was because of him.
>If my father had been good-looking like Jane's father, or
>successful like Paul's father, or worldly like Terry's father, I
>would be perfect! I knew that for sure.
>
>The night of my senior prom came, and Father had to place one
>more nail in my coffin; he had volunteered to be one of the
>chaperones at the dance.
>
>My heart just sank when he told me. I stormed into my room,
>slammed the door, threw myself on the bed, and cried. "Three
>more weeks and I'll be out of here!" I screamed into my pillow.
>"Three more weeks and I will have graduated and be moving away
>to college." I sat up and took a deep breath.
>
>"God, please make my father go away and leave me alone. He keeps
>sticking his big nose in everything I do. Just mak e him
>disappear, so that I can have a good time at the dance."
>
>I got dressed, my date picked me up, and we went to the prom.
>Father followed in his car behind us. When we arrived, Father
>seemed to vanish into the pink chiffon drapes that hung
>everywhere in the auditorium. I thanked God that He had heard my
>prayer. At least now I could have some fun.
>
>Midway through the dance, Father came out from behind the drapes
>and decided to embarrass me again. He started dancing with my girlfriends.
>One by one, he took their hand and led them to the
>dance floor. He then clumsily moved them in circles as the band
>played. Now I tried to vanish into the drapes.
>
>After Jane had danced with him, she headed my way. Oh, no! I
>thought. She's going to tell me he stomped on her foot or
>something.
>
>"Grace," she called, "you have the greatest father."
>
>My face fell. "What?"
>
>She smiled at me and grabbed my shoulders. "Your father's just
>the best. He's funny, kind, and always finds the time to be
>where you need him. I wish my father was more like that."
>
>For one of the first times in my life, I couldn't talk. Her
>words confused me.
>
>"What do you mean?" I asked her.
>
>Jane looked at me really strangely. "What do you mean, what do I
>mean? Your father's wonderful. I remember when we were kids, and
>I'd sleep over at your house. He'd always come into your room,
>sit down in the chair betwee n the twin beds, and read us a book.
>I'm not sure my father can even read," she sighed, and then
>smiled. "Thanks for sharing him."
>
>Then, Jane ran off to dance with her boyfriend. I stood there in
>silence.
>
>A few minutes later, Paul came to stand beside me.
>
>"He's sure having a lot of fun."
>
>"What? Who? Who is having a lot of fun?" I asked.
>
>"Your father. He's having a ball."
>
>"Yeah. I guess." I didn't know what else to say.
>
>"You know, he's always been there," Paul said. "I remember when
>you and I were on the mixed-doubles soccer team. He tried out as
>the coach, but he couldn't run up and down the field, remember?
>So they picked Jackie's father instead. That didn't stop him. He
>showed up for every game and did whatever needed to be done. He
>was the team's biggest fan. I think he's the reason we won so
>many games. Without him, it just would have been Jackie's father
>running up and down the field yelling at us. Your father made it
>fun. I wish my father had been able to show up to at least one
>of our games. He was always too busy."
>
>Paul's girlfriend came out of the restroom, and he went to her
>side, leaving me once again speechless.
>
>My boyfriend came back with two glasses of punch and handed me
>one. "Well, what do you think of my father?" I asked out of the
>blue.
>
>Terry looked surprised. "I like him. I always have."
>
>"Then why did you call him names when we were kids?"
>
>"I don't know. Because he was different, and I was a dumb kid."
>
>"When did you stop calling him names?" I asked, trying to search
>my own memory.
>
>Terry didn't even have to think about the answer. "The day he
>sat down with me outside by the pool and held me while I cried
>about my mother and father's divorce. No one else would let me
>talk about it. I was hurting inside, and he could feel it. He
>cried with me that day. I thought you knew."
>
>I look e d at Terry and a tear rolled down my cheek as
>long-forgotten memories started cascading into my consciousness.
>
>When I was three, my puppy got killed by another dog, and my
>father was there to hold me and teach me what happens when the
>pets we love die.
>
>When I was five, my father took me to my first day of school. I
>was so scared. So was he. We cried and held each other that
>first day. The next day he became teacher's helper. When I was
>eight, I just couldn't do math. Father sat down with me night
>after night, and we worked on math problems until math became
>easy for me. When I was ten, my father bought me a brand-new
>bike. When it was stolen, because I didn't lock it up like I was
>taught to do, my father gave me jobs to do around the house so I
>could make enough money to purchase another one. When I was
>thirteen and my first love broke up with me, my father was there
>to yell at, to blame, and to cry with. When I was fifteen an d I
>got to be in the honor society, my father was there to see me
>get the accolade. Now, when I was seventeen, he put up with me
>no matter how nasty I became or how high my hormones raged.
>
>As I looked at my father dancing gaily with my friends, a big
>toothy grin on his face, I suddenly saw him differently. The
>handicaps weren't his, they were mine! I had spent a great deal
>of my life hating the man who loved me. I had hated the exterior
>that I saw, and I had ignored the interior that contained his
>God-given heart. I suddenly felt very ashamed.
>
>I asked Terry to take me home, too overcome with feelings to
>remain.
>
>On graduation day, at my Christian high school, my name was
>called, and I stood behind the podium as the valedictorian of my
>class. As I looked out over the people in the audience, my gaze
>rested on my father in the front row sitting next to my mother.
>He sat there, in his one and only, specially made suit, holding
>my mother's hand and smiling.
>
>Overcome with emotions, my prepared speech was to become a
>landmark in my life.
>
>"Today I stand here as an honor student, able to graduate with a
>4.0 average. Yes, I was in the honor society for three years and
>was elected class president for the last two years. I led our
>school to championship in the debate club, and yes, I even won a
>full scholarship to Kenton State U niversity so that I can
>continue to study physics and someday become a college
>professor.
>
>"What I'm here to tell you today, fellow graduates, is that I
>didn't do it alone. God was there, and I had a whole bunch of
>friends, teachers, and counselors who helped. Up until three
>weeks ago, I thought they were the only ones I would be thanking
>this evening. If I had thanked just them, I would have been
>leaving out the most important person in my life. My father."
>
>I looked down at my father and at the look of complete shock
>that covered his face.
>
>I stepped out from behind the podium and motioned for my father
>to join me onstage. He made his way slowly, awkwardly, and
>deliberately. He had to drag his left foot up the stairs as he
>used his deformed right arm to balance his gait. As he stood
>next to me at the podium, I took his small, crippled hand in
>mine and held it tight.
>
>"Sometimes we only see the silhouette of the peopl e around us,"
>I said. "For years I was as shallow as the silhouettes I saw.
>For almost my entire life, I saw my father as someone to make
>fun of, someone to blame, and someone to be ashamed of. He
>wasn't perfect, like the fathers my friends had.
>
>"Well, fellow graduates, what I found out three weeks ago is
>that while I was envying my friends' fathers, my friends were
>envying mine. That realization hit me hard and made me look at
>who I was and what I had become. I was brought up to pray to God
>and hold high principles for others and myself. What I've done
>most of my life is read between the lines of the Good Book so I
>could justify my hatred."
>
>Then, I turned to look my father in the face.
>
>"Father, I owe you a big apology. I based my love for you on
>what I saw and not what I felt. I forgot to look at the one part
>of you that meant the most, the big, big heart God gave you. As
>I move out of high school and into life, I want y o u to know I
>could not have had a better father. You were always there for
>me, and no matter how badly I hurt you, you still showed up.
>Thank you!"
>
>I took off my mortar board and placed it on his head, moving the
>tassel just so.
>
>"You are the reason I am standing here today. You deserve this
>honor, not me."
>
>And as the audience applauded and cried with us, I felt God's
>light shining down upon me as I embraced my father more warmly
>than I ever had before, tears unashamedly falling down both our
>faces.
>
>For the first time, I saw my father through God's eyes, and I
>felt honored to be seen with him.
>
> From the book:
>God Allows U Turns: True Stories of Hope and Healing by Allison
>Bottke(Editor), Cheryll Hutchings
>
>Happiness often sneaks in.....through a door you didn't know you left open.
>--
>Come visit us on the Web at 
><http://furandfeathers.home.att.net/>http://furandfeathers.home.att.net.