Viorica Manole

Chisinau, Moldova

In father's arms

          The moment when I fell asleep in a wheat field; when I was trampled on foot by Alunica, our cow; when by main strength I was trying to massage his hands injured by purulent bulbs; the brown chair that he sat on when injecting with insulin – are some of the few memories of my father. I was 8 years old when he died. It was March 14 when I learned of his death. Mom was about to go to the hospital to visit him after an intervention due to ear complications caused by diabetes. On the 19th we buried him. It was Sunday. A crowd had gathered at the gate. Daddy was a respected person in the village, "good-natured" as my neighbors still say today. I didn’t understand what was happening. I was running in the yard of the church, I was playing with children in the cemetery. "Go in the church, it's the last time you see your father." The little girl within me didn’t understand anything of what was happening.

          I grew up hearing often: "If only your father was alive to see how big you are." I started to miss my father at school parents’ meetings, at discussions about family within the classroom lessons, at times when my mother needed to take care of all the household chores. But most of all I started to realize and live daddy's death at the coming of age, being a college student. The professor of Universal Literature was the same age as daddy would be that moment; he usually was dressed in a gray suit with a big brown bag, just like my dad had. The little girl within me was in search of her father. I was looking for daddy in any man from the street who was past 50 years. The image of a father who walks through the park with his daughter who in her turn had a child, tore my heart. I understood I would never have the possibility to enjoy such a walk, and the way to the altar will be done by myself, without being accompanied by that man with wrinkles who cries like a baby...

          I don’t remember myself ever asking God "Why". Since I began reading the Bible, I became increasingly convinced that He doesn’t make mistakes, that absolutely all things work together for my good. For me this "all" included also father's death, living without that love, male protection, without the words "I'll tell dad!" after which any offended child is hiding. But when I think of how God took care of me, I realize that He is the father that I had needed and need now. I knew God as a Father who indulges me, concerns to not lack anything, that looks at me with longing and contemplation, always available to listen and guide my steps. Sometimes I feel like an 8 year old girl who dances in front of her father, searching for the gaze that approves and values any earnestness to impress! But I know that I don’t need to impress, I know that I’m fully accepted and known completely.

          I continue to want to have an earthly father. God didn’t burst in upon that place in my heart that could be filled with my daddy. There are still days when I cry of longing for a hug, when I feel like a helpless little girl. Sometimes I dream of the day when I will know my future husband’s father and I already know that I love him. But despite these things, I have a firm conviction that God fulfills His role as a father as no one would be able to do on this earth! And I know that when I will go to the altar or go for a walk with my child, I will not be alone.

          Would you like to know more how did I experience God as a Father? I would like to tell you more about this! Please, feel free to write me!!!

— Read more —
Contact me Learn more about Jesus

Similar stories