Surviving Father’s Day when a piece of your puzzle is missing

Last month we celebrated Mother’s Day. This Sunday is set aside to honor and celebrate Dads. These are special and  good days to pause in our routine and express our gratitude and that’s always a good thing.

They’re also hard days for so many whose stories are not written the way they would have preferred.

Just as with Mother’s Day last month, I’m praying for you. The daughter whose Daddy is off serving our country in a land that is not his own. The Mama whose been doing this parenting thing alone for too many years to count. The son whose missing Dad because he left this world much too young. Know that you are being prayed for this weekend …

| Following is a revision of a Mother’s Day post from last month |

Surviving Father’s Day when a piece of your puzzle is missing

The past weeks here have included a few Father’s Day projects. That has been fun.

But in the back of my mind, I’ve been pondering and praying for those who have been dreading Father’s Day. Those who really are not up for brunch, or church or a gathering of any sort. And those who have no idea how to even muster the strength or courage to get out of the house at all. Or the bed, for that matter.

These holidays can be special and it’s always good to recognize the impact of others on our lives. And yet, there’s so much anticipation and even hype it becomes even harder for those of us who feel like a piece of our puzzle is missing.

For me, it’s my Mama. Last month was our sixth Mother’s Day without her. We have always recognized the day in some way, though often not with extravagant gifts, that’s just not who we are. Some years were given more attention than others. But, not being able to see her or send a card on that one day with so much focus on Moms has been tough. The grief has eased in unexpected ways and yet there are still those raw moments that hit out of nowhere.

I don’t know your story, but I’ve brushed shoulders with enough people to know that those of us who feel like pieces of our puzzle are missing tend to outnumber those who don’t. Perhaps, you’ve lost your Dad physically.

Perhaps it’s the first year that you won’t be gathering at the same table for a special dinner because of a big move. Or maybe your relationship with your Dad has never been what you had hoped or needed.

Perhaps it’s a brother you are grieving. One who was taken too early, or is somehow unreachable.

Perhaps it’s a child. One who was gone long before their time. Or one whom for one reason or another, you’ve never even met. Or one that you have not seen or spoken to for years.

Perhaps it’s the yet to be realized hope of marriage and children. And the waiting just feels unbearable.

Deuteronomy 33:27
Surviving Father's Day when a piece of your puzzle is missing
The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms.

I do know that grieving is tough.

I do know that the years can somehow soften grief a bit .

I do know that the deepest of friendships can come from walking through loss with kindred souls.

I do know that somehow intentional gratitude can help lighten the weight.

I do know that I have been and will continue praying for those who are feeling a bit lost as Father’s Day approaches.

I do know that God is my dwelling place. That His arms hold me. And that beyond the shadow of a doubt, He will never leave.

I pray that you may find peace and comfort even in the very midst of your missing puzzle pieces.

About Beth Moore

A Christ-follower, wife, mom to 4, lifestyle blogger, seamstress and seeker of daily glimpses of God's grace and redemption.

2 thoughts on “Surviving Father’s Day when a piece of your puzzle is missing

  1. Thanks Beth! I am feeling the double whammy each year now with both my mom and dad gone. But for some reason, it is harder this year in missing my dad. It has been seven years and I’ve seen reminders of him lately in every day life. From the big John Deere tractors mowing the sides of the highway, to the gentle smiles of a grandfather to his grandchildren who call him “Papa”, and then my own grandchildren’s blue eyes. Just today at the lodge where we were vacationing, a short stocky bearded man came in to eat breakfast in overalls and whistling “Danny Boy”. His wife was fussing at him about his blood sugar. He just nodded and smiled at her like my dad did to my mom. Maybe it’s the seven year mark, but I miss him. Once a daddy’s girl…..

  2. Always a Daddy’s girl. He always had a smile and whistle and robust greeting of some sort. I was not surprised but amazed at his celebration of life service to see such a mass of people whose lives he had touched. He was a special man and a fun uncle. Praying for you this weekend Kathy and I’m sorry you have to walk this road. Love ya!

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