On Saturday, we found out that my dad is in trouble.
We found this out because he committed a crime, a small one, a compulsive one, and let himself get found out, and confessed to it. We are all a little in shock, partly because he has an inner life none of us knew anything about, and mostly because it is painful to consider how deeply my dad has been suffering all alone.
Over the past few days, I've thought a lot about how to tell my dad that he is loved, as we all are, in his brokenness. My aunt and I had a phone prayer date yesterday, and mercifully she opened and closed and I just said "Amen," because she is eloquent and I am not.
When I pray, all I seem to be able to say is, "God, help my daddy."
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