Article May 31, 2004 Issue

What can heal our yesterdays?

Everything Seems To Be Going Well during my ten-minute drive home after dropping my daughter Tracy off at her house—until Anne Murray begins to sing on the radio, "Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?"

By Ginny Luedeman

Suddenly I feel a flood of old familiar pain, from 40 years ago, when Dad left us in the middle of the night. He had made lots of promises to me that were never kept. And I had wanted him with me for "the rest of my life," as this song is now reminding me.

I was 15 when he left. With so much water gone under the bridge, I feel anguish that this scar is resurfacing. Why can't I let go of the longing to see Dad's beautiful face? When will I find complete forgiveness? With tears now running down my face and my heart reaching out to God for a deeply needed hug, I pray, What do I need to see, Father, to get over this?

Tracy and I had just returned from a trip to Seattle, enjoying a closeness we've long cherished, buzzing down Interstate 5, laughing and singing at the top of our lungs. Joy poured into my thoughts as we sang together. When Tracy and I sing, our tone is so similar that we both feel a bit weird—as if we're hearing our own voices coming from each other. It has even caused us to laugh—or try not to—when we sing hymns in church.