Daily Excerpt: GodSway (Keathley) - Daddy's Girl, Part 2
Excerpt from GodSway (Keathley):
Daddy’s Girl (part 2)
On weekdays, late in the
afternoon I sensed when it was time to start listening for the sound of the
Ford Fairlane pulling into the driveway. Sometimes Dad would stop at the
grocery store to pick up a few things we needed before the weekend shopping. If
he was much later than I thought he should be, I would fret and hound Mom every
minute or two with my insistent question, “When is Daddy going to be home?!”
Finally, I would hear the car
outside the window and race to hide behind the front door. I wanted to jump out
and “scare” him as he came in. Many a time, Dad stumbled through the living
room with a grocery sack in each arm. With me hanging for dear life onto his
leg, he was trying not to step on me and fumbling to keep his balance long
enough to set the groceries on the dining room table. Then, he’d scoop me up
and give me a bear hug. The best part of my day was just beginning.
He used to wrestle and play with us kids in the floor.
Ham that he was, he’d feign injury, telling my older sisters or Ken, “Oh, you
broke my leg!” or “Whew! You’re too strong for me. Uncle! Uncle!” Well, being
the daddy’s girl that I was, I thought it was my job to take care of him as
much as it was his to take care of me. I would shout “Don’t you hurt my daddy!”
and lay into the others with both arms flailing so fast that Dad would get
tickled at my “windmill treatment.” He’d have to fess up and call the game off
so that no one would really get hurt.
To keep the noise and
bickering to a minimum on long car trips—a staple with four young children in
such tight quarters—Dad would invariably start singing. Mom would soon chime in
since she knew every word to the favorite songs of the period. I was enchanted
from the beginning to hear them sing together. When Dad would forget the words,
he’d let Mom continue in the lead, and he would start humming a harmony part.
My first favorite songs were theirs—memorable tunes from their youth and the
post-war era like “Shine On, Harvest Moon“ and “Young at Heart.”
I remember vividly the time I
asked Dad to teach me to sing harmony. As he taught me to find the third note
and listen for chord combinations in a certain key, I cut my teeth on classics
like “Church in the Wildwood,” “Down by the Old Mill Stream,” and Mom’s
favorite hymns like “Love Lifted Me” and “Ivory Tower.”
Dad was creative in the ways
he countered our sibling rivalries and inevitable squabbling. He taught us a silly game in which two people
would face off, one the kitty and the other its owner. The kitty was to meow,
act distressed, and try to make the owner laugh. The owner was to pet the kitty
on the head and say “poor kitty” three times without laughing or cracking a
smile. We would giggle immediately at Dad’s goofy faces and silly antics when
he played the kitty, but there was rarely so much as a hint of a grin when he
was the owner.
In fact, in an instant, in
the middle of a belly laugh at something, he could draw a hand down his face
from his forehead to his chin and reveal a calm unsmiling demeanor on the other
side and maintain it. His restraint was remarkable to me even as a child.
I practiced not allowing
myself to laugh, along with more and more outlandish versions of a meow and
increasingly exaggerated facial expressions as the kitty. Eventually, I
mastered the arts both of soliciting laughter and of stoic composure and won
every game with my siblings and friends.
Those ‘skills’ came in handy
repeatedly later. When I needed to avoid would-be ticklers, Dad would respond
to my complaints with “Just pretend it doesn’t tickle, and they’ll leave you
alone.” I followed his advice and endured the tickling for a minute or two
without giving in to laughter and found he was right. My older cousins left me
alone after that. I’d taken the fun out of it for them.
Years later, as a teacher, it
was easy to connect with students when I could laugh with them, even at myself,
to put them at ease. Or I could put on my stern ‘teacher face’ in an instant
when the occasion called for it.
On Sundays, Dad would brush
out the dried pin curls, fold my lace anklets down perfectly, and tie the big
bow just right in the back of my dress to go to Sunday school and church. He
wasn’t going with us, which bothered me immensely at the time. I didn’t
understand until many years later why. He was the epitome of love, strength,
wisdom, and safety for me. He knew everything and could do no wrong, well,
except the bangs. Those were blissfully happy early years.
Then, sometime when I was 4-5 years old, I started having
horrible episodes of fear. I think they began shortly after Uncle Oscar died.
My Grandma Harney’s oldest brother was scary enough when he was alive: old and
scraggly-looking, with long yellow fingernails. He had false teeth that he
would thrust out suddenly at us kids for the sole purpose of hearing us squeal.
He would laugh gleefully at his success and then wiggle his bony
tobacco-stained fingers, making the eerie “Wooooo” noise to get another rise
out of us. Being so young, I didn’t understand his odd sense of humor; those
were not particularly good experiences with him.
Then suddenly, there he was
lying all stiff and waxy-looking in an open casket in Grandma’s living room.
Everyone was sad and crying. I didn’t know what to think of it all, and it
raised so many questions—questions I would struggle for years to find answers
to.
The fear came on unexpectedly
after that, at the mere mention of illness, death, heaven, hell, eternity. My
thoughts would spiral out of control and waves of sheer terror would wash over
me. I never knew when it would hit me.
One such occasion was triggered by a turtle expiring in
the science room at
I was upset all day at school
and inconsolable by the time Dad got home from work. I climbed in his lap and
asked him to tell me about heaven. People always pointed up toward heaven, and
my childish mind couldn’t imagine much beyond some sort of giant attic in the
sky. What would it be like? How would it look? Would we be able to walk around?
Would we all be together? Would there be room
for everyone? That was a genuine concern for me since I had a very large
and loving extended family on both my mom’s and dad’s side, whom I wanted to be
included. I had so many questions.
That night was my first realization that my Daddy didn’t know everything. He didn’t have all the answers I needed. At least, he was honest with me. I never thought until years later about how hard it must have been for him to look into his daughter’s adoring, searching eyes and say those words so void of comfort, “I don’t know, honey.” He didn’t try to make anything up. He was quiet for several minutes before he went on. “I don’t know what heaven will be like, but if God can make mountains and trees, I’m sure heaven will be beautiful.” His answer seemed inadequate, at best, for me, and I suspect now, for him, too.
Book Description
Diana Skidmore Keathley’s powerful memoir traces a lifetime of extraordinary encounters with a God who speaks, heals, and transforms. From a childhood marked by divine messages and unsettling fear to a harrowing spiritual attack that brought her to the brink, Diana’s story is one of wrestling with darkness and daring to believe in God’s love. In a desperate moment of surrender, she challenged the very heart of that love—and heaven answered. What followed was a remarkable outpouring of dreams, revelations, and miraculous events that reshaped her life and forged a bold, unshakable faith in a God who is both powerfully present and deeply personal. This is a testimony of transformation, hope, and the relentless love of a Creator who refuses to let go.
Keywords:
Christian memoir, Journey of faith, Spiritual transformation, Divine encounters, Christian testimony, Miracles and faith, Hearing God’s voice, Overcoming spiritual warfare, God's love, Christian inspirational story, Childhood faith, Christian dreams and visions, Faith in adversity, Deliverance from fear, Holy Spirit encounters, Personal relationship with God, Trusting God in darkness, Spiritual breakthrough, Prayer and miracles, Audacious faith
Book Review for US Review of Books by Barbara Bamberger Scott
"Friends, these are not coincidences. They are God’s way of getting our attention to show us how close He really is."
The author shares a multitude of stories offering proof of God’s intervention, several times with life-saving results. Growing up, her father projected a strong positivity to overcome all challenges, and her mother faithfully accompanied the children to church. Yet the girl was afflicted by panic attacks related to the mysteries of the eternal afterlife. Improvement began when she heard God communicate to her while a preacher spoke of mission work.
Later, as a teen traveling in Mexico by train and almost penniless, she and a friend were offered a full meal by two men in blue who suddenly appeared in the dining car and as quickly disappeared after performing their good deed. A terrifying road accident once left her stranded on a deserted highway until an old man drove up, helped her, and was gone before she could wave goodbye. Her son would later survive a prolonged, dangerous illness. Family members were saved when their house caught on fire. The author came to anticipate that negative happenings could be convincingly erased by miraculous outpourings.
The author was led through language study to a career in education and assistance to immigrant families. The fascinating examples she offers in the narrative concerning her sense of God’s presence convinced her that God is guiding her and will do the same for others, sparking her zeal for outreach to those in need and, sometimes, to what she characterizes as divine revelations among those to whom she offers assistance. Her passion comes across in her writing, showing that even small occurrences can bring about change and a deeper connection to God’s purpose. The author’s well-considered, personally grounded work is meant to intrigue and inspire and will doubtless guide and motivate many readers.
NEW YORK BOOK FESTIVAL HONORABLE MENTION
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