A YOUNG MAN'S CRY FOR HELP
By Dr. Stephen Phinney
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I can vividly remember the day my mentor, Keith Fredrickson, stopped my internship and sent me back to Iowa to reconcile with my father. Stating, "You will be impotent as a counselor until you make things right with your father."
I walked out of that session enraged. After I got back to my intern office, I dropped to the floor in a fit of despair AND rage. For the next two hours, I beat the floor, cursing my father until I broke in exhaustion. A fellow intern, hearing this breakdown, quickly went to Keith and announced what was happening. Keith's reply? "Leave him alone. God is about to make a man out of Steve."
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Before We Move On | The Backstory
Today it is my honor to call my father my friend, but it didn't come without a price. He has been my hero since the day I realized he was my father. However, my father had three boys, and he wanted all three to serve in the armed forces. I was the only one who did not. This resulted in horrific rejection. The kind of rejection where my father did not acknowledge my carrier as a ministerial counselor until shortly before his death.
Around the time my father retired from the military as a "lifer," something went up-side-wrong. After 21 years of military service, my father was stripped of most of his rank – one of the worst things that could happen to a war vet who fought for his country and had earned some of the highest military citations. My mother told me that he got into a heated discussion with a superior officer who happened to be African American, who both were drunk at the NCO Club. That "heated discussion" turned into a fistfight, which resulted in my father assaulting him. You see, my father grew up in a Quaker/Friends church that believed that "black" people were the cursed generation and were not to be accepted by church members. Growing up, I have tons of memories of my father having a conflict with African American people, but his bitterness toward this race was horrid. After being demoted, my father would refuse to be served by an African American. I believe this false teaching affected him in his adult years and certainly became one factor in being stripped of most of his military rank that he had earned over the 21 years. It is no wonder why he was bitter at the government. He remained bitter until his 40th wedding anniversary when he was re-presented with his military honors by Army and Air Force representatives.
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After my father's demotion, my father was a different man. My first memories of my father being out of control began at this point in my childhood timeline. Since I had never seen my dad act in such a way, I was perplexed about what was going on. Not realizing at the time, the event of being stripped of his rank caused my father to slip into post-traumatic war episodes after becoming intoxicated. The kinds of episodes where, after being intoxicated, he would at times begin to speak Japanese, one time grabbing a gun and hunt me down as if I was the enemy on the frontline. I would always ask myself, "why me?" That answer came on the day of our reconciliation many years later.
The night I tried to kill my father.
At the ripe age of seventeen, I heard yet another disturbance downstairs. At the time, I was the eldest sibling at home. After arriving downstairs, seeing my father beyond intoxication - I immediately saw blood squirting from my mother's head. It looked like a massacre was in process, blood everywhere. I knew I had to get him out of the house. Frantically I said, "This is the last day you will hurt our mother." With that, I ran outside, crawled onto the hood of his idolized car, and began to jump on the hood. As predicted, he came for me. I quickly got into my car to start a chase scene, intending to kill him in his drunken condition, which gave my mother time to contact the authorities. This cat & mouse game went on for some time. Then it dawns on me. His car lights were not in my rearview mirror. I panicked and made a beeline back to our farmhouse. Upon my arrival, I watched my father "take down" a deputy and then worked on the Sheriff, proving fruitless. He was arrested.
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After my father got out of jail, he packed his bags and started a carrier as a truck driver. My mother had peace for the first time in many years. I shifted into protection mode, self-committing to never leave my mother unprotected again. Since my mother never learned to drive, I became her chauffeur. Where she worked, I worked. Where she socialized, I socialized. Where she went to church, I went to church - ultimately leading to my salvation in Christ.
After moving my mother to a "new" home, two years after this event, my father showed up on her back porch, on his knees, I might add. She opens the door, and he says, "I am sorry, will you please forgive me? I will never hurt you again." You would have to know my father, but he never made a promise he didn't keep. He was not the type of an abuser who made broken promises, and my mother knew that. As miracles would have it, she said "yes." As predicted, he never laid a hand on her again outside of expressions of affection. My mother referred to this moment as the greatest miracle she had witnessed.
To advance the story to my horrid experience with Keith Fredrickson. Before his challenge, I told Keith of a visual that haunted me since early childhood. In this visual, I was at the feet of a woman while blood was dripping on my arms and hands as I clutched her legs. While he had no clue how to connect this visual with my past, he did share something that makes me weep to this day. He said, "Until the Lord reveals the real story behind this haunting, consider this. Allow Christ to use this trauma to communicate the Grace He displayed for your salvation. How His blood was dripping over your life as you received salvation." The words no more got out of his mouth; I began to weep a heart-wrenching sob. With that, he sends me off to reconcile with my father, who, I might add, was halfway across the country. He further added that my internship was on hold until this mission was accomplished.
I packed my bags, leaving my little family in Denver, and traveled fifteen hours by car. Plenty of time for the Lord to prepare me for this regretted event. With me, a list of twenty offenses I committed against my father. Furthermore, this homework assignment came with a condition. I could not bring up a single sin/offense that my father committed. Really, Keith?
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I safely arrived at my parents. I got out of my car, walked into the house, asked my mother where dad was and walked into the living room to greet him. My father said, "Who died." I replied, "I did. Could we go outside to talk?" To my amazement, he said, "sure." Once we got in the garage, we sat in his favorite chairs with the door open to an awesome sunny day. I told him exactly what Keith said, this isn't about you dad, but rather what I have done to offend you. As I was going down the list, I looked over to see that my father was crying. Something I have never witnessed. As hard as it was, I continued down the list having to say, "I was wrong for _____ on each item. Once concluding the list, I asked if he would forgive me for these deplorable deeds. Through a bit of shock, hesitation, and loss of words, he said, "I forgive you." Folks, this is the day I call 'Father's Day.' After this monumental day, I switch from calling him father to daddy. Yes, a grown man with his own family referencing his father as daddy. Our relationship was not only different from that day forward, but shortly before his death, I was privileged to lead this rebellious "preachers-kid," my daddy, unto the Lord for salvation.
In the garage that day, my father opened up emotionally. He told me stories that I alone will hold dear to my heart. One being why he did not acknowledge my carrier. Further noting my pathway reminded him of saying "no" to God when he, too, was called into ministry at 19-years of age. Another being why he targeted me with his rage, which was due to my mother standing between me and his rage throughout my childhood. In fact, I have zero memories of my father hurting me physically - he would chase, and I would hide. My mother often joked that I spent more time sleeping on the house's roof than I did in my bed. No truer words. However, my mother and siblings were not as fortunate to escape the harsh post-war trauma reactions.
During this same visit to my folks, I told my mother about the haunting image in my mind. She weeps immediately. She said, "Stephen, that was an actual event. I was standing between you and your father, choosing to take the beating to protect you." Then I wept. She explained to me that due to my frail condition as a child, she knew by instinct that I had to be protected. This is most likely why I was called "mama's boy" throughout my life at home, which today I am honored to be titled with such a label. It not only shaped my view of moms, but God used it to send me off into the world to help those who suffer from trauma.
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In Memory of Charles L. Phinney |
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In preparation for his death, he asked my eldest sister to make sure Stephen is at my side when I die. She honored his request. Moments before his passing, my family and I were in the back of the hospital room. She announces my father's dying request. I came to his bedside, took his hand, and I instantly saw a vision of my father telling Jesus he wasn't ready. I whispered in his ear, "Daddy, let go. Jesus is calling you. I will keep my commitment to you in reconciling the family to one another." With that, he took a deep breath and died.
My whole life story came together in that single visit. Reconciliation is the most powerful act of humanity. Today, I can call my daddy my hero, friend, AND father. Throughout all my years growing up, I knew that monster that would occasionally show up - was NOT my daddy. Deep down inside, I knew who he really was. I also knew intuitively that he wanted freedom. I am honored beyond all human understanding to be a part of his healing - not only here on earth but life Eternal.
Happy Father's Day, daddy!
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The Book Birthed from Pain |
The Book of Prayers, Learning To Pray Covenant Prayers. If we don’t align our thinking with the New Covenant message, our prayer requests will take the pathway of selfish praying. New Covenant thinking is all about fulfillment versus asking for things – it is more like claiming what is already true about us and the allotment of our daily circumstances. Without this modality of thinking, the enemy will shift our focus from accepting existing sovereignty to begging for God to change His sovereignty to match our panic and fears.
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