If my Daddy had been a harsh, mean man. . . If he hadn’t loved my Mama or his six children so intently. . . If his name in the community had been spoken behind the hands of gossips or been wine in the mouths of bar maids. . . If these days would be, of necessity, a time to mend fences and build bridges, how very much harder this would be.
But this pain, though so very real, and deep, and even sometimes scary, is nothing like it would be if there was unfinished business, or hearts broken by painful memories or public humiliation or a shady character.
When I go to the bridge, it’s already there. I don’t have to wade muddy waters, or swim against a raging current. I don’t have to check for weakness because of faulty foundations or eroding elements. The bridge is there. Like a faithful example of a loving Heavenly Father, my Daddy has made it easy for me to come to him, and find that he has already done his part to lead me safely home.