Chapter 2: Monte Carlo Dad

“But as for me, I trust in You O Lord, I say, 

‘You are My God, My times are in Your hand.’”

- Psalm 31:14-15a

Even though I don’t much like unpredictability, mystery draws me. Since my girlhood, I’ve been intrigued by the miracle stories in the Bible – like when the sun stood still, and the Red Sea waters parted, and food suddenly appeared or multiplied, and people rose from the dead.  

But when the miraculous mysterious un-understandable turns toward the personally un-advantageous, I grapple. Like, in a huge way, when a child is abused. Who is this God I’ve been looking to all my life? What’s He or She all about? Why did IT do THAT? Or allow THAT!

On a much smaller scale – of neglect not nearly comparable to abuse – I share a story of the night my dad left me on my own in a casino in France. Mostly I share it just because it’s a good story.

Based on experiences with my dad, my picture of God has both positive and negative hues. Dad did many things well: he worked long hours and provided well. He found us a house with a swimming pool, he took us out to eat on Sundays with only a modicum of hesitation to our begging, he suffered through long car rides with us on family vacations, he footed the bill for the family to go to Hawaii. He even gifted us with taking his offspring, one at a time, along on his many trips to Europe.

Dad had his reasons to travel: like attending a play in London over an extended weekend, or like picking up a Volkswagon auto from the factory and driving it to the northern Germany coast for shipping.

The car pick-up was the purpose for my trip with him.

I’ve heard it said that “there’s no such thing as a bad experience; there’s only good material.” In that spirit, my favorite story to recant happened on that tag-along-with-Dad-to-Europe trip.

Having a knack for black jack, Dad enjoyed a good gamble.

[An aside, on that idea of Dad liking a good gamble: In 2016, we uncover – while going through the hope chest upon Mom’s death – love letters that Dad wrote to Mom in early 1954 when he was 20. In them we learn that Dad was excited about making a potential profit on his $800 investment in raising chinchillas, in five years or so, by selling their pelts. 
He writes, “I believe there is potential in chinchillas. But don’t be concerned, darling, I love you a million more times than my chinchillas – believe me. But it’s fun to start on something comparatively new. That’s what makes life interesting – to gamble on something. Now don’t think I’m such a big gambler, honey. If you didn’t want me to gamble honey I wouldn’t… It’s just doing something different and if you succeed you get more pleasure out of it."]

Back to my early 20s: we arrive in Monte Carlo by train as the 1979 Grand Pri race is just ended: I observe a sea of humanity ascending the hill and coming toward us on their way out of town while at the same time we hope to descend to the casino near the coastal heart of the city. 

Making our way through the immense crowd, we arrive at our casino destination. At Loews Casino, the black jack dealer is a feast for the eyes. He is a dark and handsome Frenchman, and while my dad plays cards, my entertainment is enjoying the eye candy. Our outing is to be just for that evening, with hotel room in Nice about a 20-minute train ride away. Traveling by EuroRail pass is Dad’s preference, likely because it’s the cheapest mode of travel until we’re to fetch a newly minted VW toward the last part of our trip.

I pass some time at the casino by becoming acquainted with a couple of young adults about my age: one a rather cocky, young American male of the United States Navy; the other, a polite Lebanese young man named Bilel. Dad is winning at his black jack game, but as the night wears on the alcohol intake causes some impairment. I occasionally gently suggest that we leave the casino so that we might catch a train back to Nice, but Dad is having too good a time and wants to stay, and says repeatedly when I suggest leaving, “We can catch a taxi back.”

As the hours tick by, I tire, and Bilel notices. He graciously offers to take me to his friend’s apartment where he is staying. I can rest there, he offers, and he will come back for my dad.

I think, “Foreign land, unfamiliar male. Alone. NOT SAFE!” and say, “No thanks, I guess I’m not so tired; maybe we’ll get a cab soon.”

Much later, around 3 AM, Bilel offers again to take me to his friend’s apartment. I think of an easy way out: I tell Bilel, “I’ll ask my dad.”

When I relay Bilel’s offer, Dad too quickly responds, with hand gesture for emphasis, “SURE, you go.” 

Flabbergasted, I think, “What? He’s going to let his ‘little girl’ out of his care into the hands of a man he doesn’t know and into a situation of potential danger?” Shocked, I fumble my way out of going away alone with Bilel, feebly offering,

“I guess I’m not that tired.”

About an hour later we cash in the chips I hoarded while Dad was winning. Since there are no longer any transports back to Nice that early morning, we take Bilel up on his kind offer. Both Dad and I follow him to his friend’s apartment and crash for a couple of hours, before rising at 6 AM to get a train back to our hotel room in Nice.

In case anyone wonders: Bilel was a perfect gentleman.

I think back to that story when I feel like I’m on my own, and try to remember that my heavenly Parent is different than my earthly father on that night. It comforts me to recall God’s word to God's people in Isaiah 49:15-16a, “Can a woman forget her nursing child and have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget but I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands…”  Jesus reminds us in John 8:29 “He has not left me alone.” Deuteronomy 31:8b reveals, “The Lord will be with you. He will not fail you or forsake you.”

I used to more easily cling to the ‘truth’ that our Father God, Abba, does not leave us alone. In my head I’ve acknowledged what those verses proclaim – that God is a “will not forget you” kind of mother and a “will not fail or forsake you” kind of father. But in my heart, I have wondered. Sometimes it FEELS like a benevolent God is not much with us, and maybe impaired as Father. 

I’ve felt abandoned and quite alone. I muddled through many months when that aloneness was almost unbearable.