Dear Daddy

Dear Daddy,
    I am thankful for you. I wish that I had known you longer. Then I could have known for certain that my quirky interest in quantum mechanics, superstring theory, and the existence of black holes came from you along with my tin ear for music and my once incredible memory (age is getting the better of me now). When I was younger I used to look in the mirror, desperately searching for some physical proof of your DNA manifested in the reflection there. Yet, these days when I think of you I find the predominant emotion is mostly a pervasive sense of peace. And for that I am doubly thankful.

   I am thankful for your legacy of honor. I am thankful that a country boy from a small town in southern Alabama with no political connections persevered against all odds to make his dream of attending West Point come true. I am thankful that you swept my mother off her feet 64 years ago and gave her a love that has never faded despite the fact that you have been gone these nearly 52 years.

   I am thankful for my sisters. You and Momma gave me the gifts of a lifetime when Cindy and Julie were born. Thankfully we have matured past our childish propensity to squabble into women who love one another dearly and always have each other's backs. I think you would be proud. When one of us is hurt, we all three hurt. When one of us rejoices, we all three rejoice. It wasn't easy for Momma to raise us after you passed away, but she made the sacrifices of love over and over again without complaint. She has always put our needs above her own, just as she always put your needs above her own. She taught us to honor your memory and she kept close the ties with your parents and sisters. We grew up loving the small town of Opp that you called home. Momma taught us what it meant to be a Scofield and to wear that name with pride.

   I am thankful for the gift of our extended Scofield family: grandparents who loved and adored me, aunts who influenced me and boy cousins who provided relief from a female dominated family structure. Some of my best memories are of riding in the back of Uncle Fred's truck with Russ and Jud bumping over the cow patties in the pasture and laughing with great glee when one or the other of us would fall (on purpose, of course!) off the tailgate to land in the field.

   I am far from the little girl frozen in time in our last family picture. I have been happily married nearly 40 years to a good man. We have four grown children, (three sons and a daughter), and two granddaughters, one grandson and another soon-to-be-born grandson. I even named one of my sons after you, Daddy. His name is David Scofield White. He is tall like you and favors the Scofield side of the family, but oddly enough, it is my youngest whom they say looks the most like you once did. I don't know if that's really true, but it makes me happy to think that it is.

   I am comforted now by the thought of being your child, but for the longest time, I just wanted you back. I just wanted a Daddy. I was the little girl who could never seem to grow past the emotional ties that once bound me to you. But thankfully as the years have gone by, Abba has brought deep healing to my heart. My savior Jesus has bathed me in a grace and mercy that have finally filled the longing that once consumed me. I am also greatly comforted knowing that your faith in Christ Jesus was as important to you as it is to me. I remember watching you read your Bible and how you loved going to the house of the Lord.

   Although I have run from God in seasons of my life, I am thankful that He has never run from me. I am thankful to be both Abba's child and to be your daughter, as well. I believe that we will see one another again in heaven and have the joy of worshipping at the throne of of our Lord side-by-side. I am not sure how all of that is going to work. I am not that little girl anymore, but I still believe that somehow you will know me. I sure hope so. I am looking forward to catching up...

   
Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I will never forget you. I will always be proud to be your daughter.
Love always,
Kathy
 

David's Daughter

We have gathered from near and far to pay final tribute to a much loved aunt. Ours is a family where the generations glide over one another in such a way that you cannot tell where one begins and another ends. It is hard to explain to strangers, but it feels very right to us. Once again the warp and woof of life have become integrated in such a way as to illuminate the tapestry of family in the midst of shared grief and celebration.

Out of necessity, weddings and funerals have become the means for our extended family to gather.  They serve to draw us close to one another. I rejoice to find that laughter and tears once again flow seamlessly in the sparkling gem of the house at 403 Park Avenue that my aunt lovingly restored and brought back to life. It has been the family home for more than seventy years, where it now faithfully bears witness to the passing of the generations.

Earlier, at the visitation I had taken my place in the receiving line alongside my eldest aunt.  I, who left home for college at 18 with a restless searching heart, have come home to roost in this place of honor at my aunt’s side. I am the oldest of three sisters. We stand in a row: Kathy, Cindy, Julie. Our names comprise a litany of remembrance in a small town that knows our history as well as we know it ourselves. In our lives away from this place we are wives, mothers, educators, volunteers, denizens of our communities and more.

But today we are David’s daughters. We shake hands, hug necks, and repeat the words over and over again.  I am known once again by my maiden name. We hear stories. At one point I turn to my sisters and say, “I am past middle age and I have never really thought of myself as simply David’s daughter. I have never said these words so many times before today.” My baby sister who was four when our father died marvels that she can never ever remember introducing herself this way. I start to cry. There is something treasured about being known as David’s daughter.

I look at the faces of my sisters and the soul hole gapes open for a second. Suddenly, I am bereft once again. This older woman is still a fatherless daughter even now. I wait for the old wave of pain. It eludes me and suddenly something deep inside shifts.  The carapace over my soul softens. The joy rises up unbidden in my heart and breaks forth over the wall of the dam to flood my soul. I can scarcely breathe. All is still inside of me, waiting.

I stretch forth my hand to take the hand of the elderly man standing in the line before me. I look him in the eye and say again, “I am David’s eldest daughter.” His eyes twinkle as they meet mine. “I know,” he whispers. “I see the Scofield in your face.”

I lie abed this morning in my Momma’s house and replay the hours of yesterday. I recall the words that were spoken at the funeral by those that I love. I smile at some of the things I learned about my aunt. I ponder the beautiful words of an old hymn, unfamiliar to me. 

I talk quietly to God. I marvel that as I whisper aloud the words, “David’s daughter,” the familiar ache is no longer patently obvious. Could it be that the death and the hole and the scar that have shaped my life are finally healed? Could it truly be? Until the tears slide down my face to wet the pillow, I am completely unaware that I am weeping.

God works in mysterious ways. I have traveled 400 miles to bury a loved one only to find that my soul has taken the longed-for journey of a lifetime. I look into the place of familiar sorrow and at long last find only a glorious peace rising up to meet me. The elongated shadow of the valley of death is no longer falling over me, holding me in its thrall.  

I question myself once more, “Could this be real?”

The scripture immediately leaps to mind: “He whom the Son has set free is free indeed.” Suddenly I am walking, no, running in this newfound freedom. 

Why today? Why now?

I close the door to my skeptical self and choose rest. I whisper, “Baruch Hashem Adonai.” There are no more words. The most profound sense of awe and gratitude holds me fast.

I know it to be the kiss of God's grace.

My father, David

My Precious Little One

I am sitting on the couch with my husband and daughter. Yes, I have a beautiful daughter that could keep her parents occupied and in awe by just being. It is amazing the way a grunt, a grin, a sneeze, and a lifting of the head can keep you watching when you love someone so much. I had a dear friend ask, "Is it really true that you can't understand a parent's love until you have your own children?" My answer is YES, but I want to give a small amount of insight in my six weeks of expertise, ha. I will also be putting in the random stats on my little one so that I can remember so please bear with me. I also will likely not be using proper grammar which is going to be very difficult for the Scofield side of the family! I better watch out as my mom aka Honey might edit some of this.

Current stats: Little One is cooing and smiling a lot. She will coo back to you when you talk to her. Amazing! She also is tolerating tummy time more and will lift her head and turn from side to side. Last night she slept for 6 HOURS!! Definitely gaining weight and outgrowing all Newborn clothes and in 0-3mths. Still kicks her right leg a lot especially when upset.

Here is a short blip I wrote in November to try to remember the one month mark:

I am exhausted beyond any point that I have ever reached in my life. The level of tired is so much more as it has been long hours awake for one month and not one weekend. Again, worth it. There are small things, like her breath when she yawns, her hair that won’t stay down, her belly button, and her nostrils that are different sizes that I love. Most people won’t notice these small details but her mom and dad do. They love staring at her and do this more than they watch TV. 

Things I love: grunts and noises as she falls asleep and wakes in the morning. her lips that are perfectly shaped and full of color. her ears that are not small but lay down so nicely. her lip quiver. her pouty face that looks like her father and also sleeping with her mouth open just like he does. her long torso from who knows where (ha). her toes and fingers so delicate. her face so beautiful and so feminine.