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Message in a bottle.

I got me a Lovin' Dad but some don't.

Sometimes you can see the Daddy Wounds that live in folk's worries but sometimes folks carry them around as broken bits inside of them. Sometimes, the bits are sharp and push through so everyone around feels the sting. Others can keep them settled inside so as to only damage one heart at a time.

Once, I saw a father use his own saliva to try and soothe his son's burnt fingers but his mouth was on fire from the lies he told and only platitudes were spoken.

Sometimes, reaching deeply, a hidden affliction is given a voice that reveals the aching behind a bitter facade. There's not much for it, here on Earth, and this special brand of wound often lurks around a lifetime, fighting for the right to curse the generations to follow.

Once, I knew a father who graciously opened his heart to his daughter but only wide enough to allow her to see what she was missing because he felt confident she would understand there just wasn't room for her.

A daddy is not a momma, who nurtures and fusses, but we need him all the same.

We need him to provide and conquer so we can rest easy. We need the assurance of his word. We need the strength of his touch. We need the gentleness of his sacrifice. We need him to define us and step out of the way so we can show him what good stewards we will be of his special brand of lovin'.

Twice, I've known a father who cast aside his own reluctance, wrestled with his anxiety, set aside his daydreams and sought to Give and Be a man who earns respect and adoration.

A daddy is not a momma and we all need them the same.


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