"Trouble With The Curve"

We went to a movie Friday night. Ron was excited to see the baseball movie "Trouble With The Curve" starring Clint Eastwood. He was ready for an action flick that would "make his day." The movie was about baseball, but more than that it was about a young woman's relationship with her aging father.

I listened quietly while he voiced his disappointment at the crass language, and how slow the movie was, but he was surprised and taken aback by my reaction. I was mad. Really mad. I haven't felt that mad for a LONG time. Like Ron, I wanted action, but not pretend action. I REALLY wanted to punch someone. Specifically MY parents. You see I AM "Mickey" the daughter played by Amy Adams.

Mickey felt abandoned by her father Gus (Clint Eastwood) who sent her away at the age of six to live with an uncle she barely knew after her mother died. Then later he sent her to a boarding school, when all she ever wanted was to be with him, and to please him. What really made my blood boil was the fact that Mickey's father would NOT talk to her. No explanation—no reason—he just wouldn't talk.

To be abandoned is a terrible thing. It takes away a HUGH piece of who you are, not just as a child, but for the rest of your life. The worst thing is the feeling of not being loved. How do you ever trust, how do you ever really know you are loved, when the people who gave you birth just throw you away seemingly without a look back. Yeah, that's me.

The movie had a sweet ending. Gus finally opened up and let Mickey in—let her understand WHY! 

I met my father on only three occasions in my adult life before he died, and the last time he actually came to my home.  When I asked why, he freely explained some things—gave me a chance to see his perspective—to understand and begin to forgive. When I hit forty, during my mid-life crisis, I called my mother asking for the same thing from her. I just wanted to know what happened. I needed to understand WHY? She called me a liar and hung up the phone. I sank to the floor shaking and crying. From that moment I quit trying to have a relationship. In my heart I wanted—I NEEDED her to come to me, to call back—to talk to me! She never did. I learned to live with the fact that my parents truly didn't love me. 

If Ron was stunned at my reaction to this movie, I was even more so, because I truly believed that I had forgiven them. I went to bed Friday night very troubled.

Then I had a dream.

Oh, how I wish I'd had a pencil and paper on my nightstand like Elder Scott has counciled us so many times. I didn't, and I was too sleepy to go find one so I don't remember details, but I KNOW I felt the sweet, sweet spirit fill my heart. I awoke with peace, a feeling of being loved, and a phrase from Isaiah running in my head:

Isaiah 49:15  Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.

 16 Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands . . .

Now, as I write, I realize that my anger is a stage of grief. I know about grief! I haven't stopped grieving over the loss of my parents love, but I have forgiven them! In spite of it all, I have had a great life. I have a wonderful husband, wonderful children, and I have ALWAYS had the Lord's love.

He NEVER forgot me! And that is enough!