Anne Peterson

Healing words for wounded souls.

a ballerina

I used to be a ballerina. Not professionally, just a private one. My sister Peggy and I would tuck our little dresses in our underpants, taking a little bit out; our rendition of the tutu we always wanted. We didn’t see the bunchiness, we thought we looked beautiful.   

Our dad would tell us to stiffen our legs as he lifted us one at a time to reach the sky. He would smile and for those few moments everything was right in the world. But then we grew up and he put his smile away. 

Today is Father’s Day. Dads all over will be handed cards, some hand made, some store bought. But, not everyone will be giving a card.

Some dads will be receiving cards. Cards held in little hands while faces beam with anticipation. Cards with scribbled writing, by beginning writers, or those in a hurry.  But, not every dad will be receiving cards.

Some dads no longer have relationships with their sons and daughters. Some dads have lost a son or daughter. Today is a day of celebration, but not for all.

Father’s Day is a day of reflection. 

I’m thankful for the memory of being a little ballerina. But, I’m even more thankful that I know God in a personal way and He has been my heavenly Father who is healing a lot of painful memories.

God can comfort those who are hurting today. Those who are feeling lonely. 

God became all the things I needed:  

He’s my GUIDE showing me which way to go when I don’t know.

He LOVES me unconditionally.

He’s THERE for me, all the time.

Today, I won’t feel alone because I have an everlasting Father.

One who always smiles, even when I’m not dancing.

About Anne Peterson

I write words you can feel, sometimes they rhyme. If I'm not writing, I'm telling stories from my head, to little ones who call me grandma.

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