I'm supposed to be doing a workshop this week about 'Why do we pray?', and I sat down the other day to try and plan it. What came out of my head however, was a story. I read it to my brother and he said, "You should blog that." So I did. Enjoy.
Once upon a time there was a Dad who loved his daughter. He loved her very much. But she made him very sad indeed. She made him sad, because she never talked to him. When she came home from school he would always be waiting for her, sitting in the kitchen with two cups of tea, one for her, one for him, hoping to hear what had happened that day. But every day she walked in, picked up her tea, and went straight upstairs to her room, or into the living room to watch TV. He would cook dinner each night and sit down with her to eat – and he could see from her face that some days she really liked the food, but she never told him that it was delicious, not once.
And every year when it came to her birthday, he would make
the most beautiful gifts for her. Once he spent weeks carving a present for her
out of wood, another time he planted a whole garden of flowers just for her.
And every year he would give her the gift, and she would take it, and almost
always she would play with it, or admire it, or show it to her friends, but she
never looked into her father’s eyes and said thank you. Not once. Sometimes he
wondered if she even knew that it was him that had given the things to her.
Sometimes he wondered if she really knew he was there at all.
One day she burst into the house in floods of tears, make-up
smudged all over her face, and her Dad was so upset, he ran out to her to give
her a hug, but she just ran up the stairs to her room and slammed the door. Her
Dad went slowly upstairs after her, and stood for a long time outside her door,
listening to her crying, with tears of his own running down his cheeks. And
then he grabbed some paper and wrote a little note:
I’M RIGHT HERE, IF YOU EVER WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.
SO MUCH LOVE, DAD
and slid it under the door. And he sat down on the floor outside her room and waited. It got very late, and very dark, and he couldn’t hear her moving or crying anymore and he knew she was asleep, but he kept waiting just in case. Until eventually he fell asleep himself, curled up on the carpet.
I’M RIGHT HERE, IF YOU EVER WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.
SO MUCH LOVE, DAD
and slid it under the door. And he sat down on the floor outside her room and waited. It got very late, and very dark, and he couldn’t hear her moving or crying anymore and he knew she was asleep, but he kept waiting just in case. Until eventually he fell asleep himself, curled up on the carpet.
But as dawn broke the next morning something new happened.
As his daughter woke up, and came out of her room, she noticed him. She saw him lying there on the carpet and wondered why
her Dad was lying on the carpet outsider her room. So she bent down and shook
his shoulder gently. As he opened his eyes, she asked:
“Dad, why on earth are you sleeping out here?”
And he looked at her, and he smiled the biggest smile he had ever smiled. His heart beat faster and he felt like if he’d had a tail he would of wagged it.
“Dad?”
She looked at him closely and he looked back at her.
“I was waiting for you. I thought you might want to talk.”
As she looked at him she could see that his eyes were red, and his cheeks had that weird wet look that only comes when people have been crying.
“But, you’ve been crying, why were you crying?”
“My daughter, I was crying because you were crying. And because you didn’t want to talk to me about it. You were upset and I didn’t know why and I wanted to help but you didn’t want to talk to me about it. And I could have helped. I could have listened, and I don’t even just mean that I could have actually done something, I could have actually fixed it. But I was crying because you wouldn’t ask me to fix it. I was crying because you wouldn’t ask me anything, because you never want to talk to me about anything. Because I wasn’t sure you even knew who I was. Because I missed you. Because I love you.
And as he spoke she could see that there were new tears running down his face, and she could feel new tears on her face as well.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said, “I never – I didn’t – I didn’t think. I didn’t think there was any reason to talk to you. I knew you were there, I knew you did all those things, all the presents and everything. I knew it, I just didn’t really think there was anything for me to say. You knew I liked them, you could see that. I’m sorry I just didn’t think about it. I never knew... I don’t know. I suppose, I never knew, how much you cared.”
And so, since she had run out of words to say, he hugged him tight. And he hugged her back. And from that day onwards the daughter and her Dad talked about everything. Every day she would come home and sit down with him and tell him all about what she’d been doing, and how she was feeling. And then she would listen as he told her stories of his own life, and gave her advice and wisdom. And some days he would share her happiness, and some days he would share her sadness, but every day they would be together. And every night at dinner she would look him in the eye and tell him just how great the food was, and what bits were her favourite, and every day – especially her birthday – she would say thank you for all the things that he did. And her Dad loved her very much. And it made him very happy indeed.
“Dad, why on earth are you sleeping out here?”
And he looked at her, and he smiled the biggest smile he had ever smiled. His heart beat faster and he felt like if he’d had a tail he would of wagged it.
“Dad?”
She looked at him closely and he looked back at her.
“I was waiting for you. I thought you might want to talk.”
As she looked at him she could see that his eyes were red, and his cheeks had that weird wet look that only comes when people have been crying.
“But, you’ve been crying, why were you crying?”
“My daughter, I was crying because you were crying. And because you didn’t want to talk to me about it. You were upset and I didn’t know why and I wanted to help but you didn’t want to talk to me about it. And I could have helped. I could have listened, and I don’t even just mean that I could have actually done something, I could have actually fixed it. But I was crying because you wouldn’t ask me to fix it. I was crying because you wouldn’t ask me anything, because you never want to talk to me about anything. Because I wasn’t sure you even knew who I was. Because I missed you. Because I love you.
And as he spoke she could see that there were new tears running down his face, and she could feel new tears on her face as well.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said, “I never – I didn’t – I didn’t think. I didn’t think there was any reason to talk to you. I knew you were there, I knew you did all those things, all the presents and everything. I knew it, I just didn’t really think there was anything for me to say. You knew I liked them, you could see that. I’m sorry I just didn’t think about it. I never knew... I don’t know. I suppose, I never knew, how much you cared.”
And so, since she had run out of words to say, he hugged him tight. And he hugged her back. And from that day onwards the daughter and her Dad talked about everything. Every day she would come home and sit down with him and tell him all about what she’d been doing, and how she was feeling. And then she would listen as he told her stories of his own life, and gave her advice and wisdom. And some days he would share her happiness, and some days he would share her sadness, but every day they would be together. And every night at dinner she would look him in the eye and tell him just how great the food was, and what bits were her favourite, and every day – especially her birthday – she would say thank you for all the things that he did. And her Dad loved her very much. And it made him very happy indeed.
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