A Father's Love

Happy Father’s Day to the fathers! Your love is so very important to us! It is the first understanding we have of our Heavenly Father’s perfect, eternal love; we come to know of Him through the daily experiences we have being yours.

I want to share a story about my daddy that illustrates this.

When we were still small children, every Saturday night, my siblings and I would play a family game of Hide-and-Go-Seek in the Dark. The rules were pretty simple: every light in the entire house had to be extinguished, every curtain drawn, every mechanical light covered. Thus, we purposefully plunged ourselves into absolute blackness. 

Next, we would gather in a bedroom that acted as base, count to one hundred, and wait while Daddy went and hid.

I should pause here and describe my dad’s physical characteristics to you. He stands over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long limbs, but he seems even larger when compared to my 4 foot 11, 90 pound mother. To a small child, Daddy is a giant. He has a deep, resonating voice, and his steps are firm and measured when he walks. To a small child, he even sounds like a giant.

Now when we played this game, we would search the whole house without our eyesight. We stayed in a huddled clump of children, knees shaking, blinding feeling our way through black rooms and even blacker closets. Most of the time, we were absolutely terrified.

When we found Daddy, he would roar and we would scream as he grabbed us mid run and tickled us to exhaustion. Maybe one or two siblings each round could run fast enough back to base to avoid being caught by the tickle monster.

But I was never that sibling.

In fact, I was the sacrificial child. My older siblings would speak silky words to me, promising me that Daddy wasn’t in that closet. When I became too smart for that, they would just shove me into the blackness as bait. And to this day, I have a hard time being in the basement by myself. I blame my siblings.

It became our favorite game, and our love for each other grew in the challenge and laughter and surprise of it all. 

There was, however, a turning point for me--a moment when I began to be the winner.

Eventually, I came to be unafraid as we sought after Daddy. It was Dad, after all, that we were seeking in the dark for, and I knew that no one loved me better or deeper than he did. And if--heaven forbid--in the searching, I should run into an actual boogie monster, all I had to do was yell and Daddy could easily rescue me because he was there in the darkness, anxiously waiting to be found. He wanted us to find him. 

After a while, I became so trusting in my Daddy’s love and so brave in my confidence in his ability to save me that I would saunter into dark abysses without any concern at all. I was bold and daring; I would leave the pack of scaredy cats and rush room to room, eagerly searching for Daddy. When I would find him without the others, he would pull me into his safety and we would both wait to scare my siblings. This was the ultimate reward for me, and I wholeheartedly sought after Daddy’s presence and safety with every round.

Family life is designed to teach us lessons about our Heavenly Father, especially His characteristics, His priorities, His power, His peace, His plan. I can’t help but see the parallels our game has to this life.

We have chosen to take the plunge into the uncertainty of mortal life. We are here as siblings, blindly waving our hands about in the dark, trying to find the path to God. There are moments of sheer terror, unwelcome pushing from others, unknown paths, silky words that intend to confuse us, and shadowy closets. Sometimes our knees shake and our faith fails us. Some experiences are so hard that we purposefully try to avoid ever being in risky basements of troubling doom, even though we must pass through them to achieve the objective. We feel alone and forgotten in a sea of adrift crybabies. There are even some moments so dark that we feel that it is impossible to ever win the game, and we question why in the world we are even playing this game in the first place.

BUT, like there was for me in our childhood game, there can be a turning point for all of us--a light-filled moment when we realize that we have the potential to win this game of Seeking in the Dark. 

This is the moment we come to know for ourselves that there was a sacrificial child.

Jesus Christ has experienced all threatening, overwhelming blackness, and He has experienced it all through our unique set of challenges, insecurities, fears, and doubt. He has conquered all the darkness that the adversary ever can gather, and He has promised the reward of happiness in this life and eternal life in the world to come. Any one of us can have JOY. 

We have only to seek Him. 

And I testify that He wants to be found.

He has commanded us: “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not.”

He has promised us: “Draw near unto me, and I will draw near unto you; seek me diligently and ye shall find me; ask and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”

He has assured us: “I will not forget thee; I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.”

In His infinite love, He will never force us to come to Him. We must make the journey through the darkness to Him. We must seek Him--deeply, daily, devotedly, diligently. 

We will not find the Lord and His promised peace and joy in criticism, doubt, sin, comparison, unrighteous judgement, disobedience, distraction, mindless wandering, or misplaced priorities. I know this for myself.

Conversely, we WILL find the Lord in obedience, self-reflection, remembering, repentance, forgiveness, worship, pure love, proper priorities, stillness, and second chances--including second chances for ourselves. I know this for myself.

Every time I have sought the Lord for comfort, healing, correction, direction, peace, safety, assurance, knowledge, deliverance, and blessings, He has kept His promise to me. Every time I have sought Him diligently, I have found Him. I know personally of His power, His promises, His priorities, His peace, and His plan.

I bear my witness that through our Savior, we can approach the throne of ourHeavenly Father--no matter the darkness that surrounds us or the basement of doom in which we find ourselves. He can be found. 

This Being we seek for is real. He is our Father. He knows our names. He loves us best. He stands ready at any moment to answer our prayers for deliverance from real live monsters of sin, jealousy, hate, doubt, fear, and uncertainty. The more we seek after His presence, the greater our joy will be. We will have greater confidence to walk into dark abysses--even the shadow of death--because of our trust in His presence and love. Through Him, we will ultimately overcome all darkness. 

I pray that we may all seek after His embrace and know for ourselves that His love and joy are real; that we will come to trust and love Him as our very Father. 

Childlike, not Childish

This event took place two years ago. I am just getting around to documenting it now. Thanks for indulging me.

I drove to the store with my little girls. Our local store is tiny and quaint and wonderful. It also happens to be about one quarter of a mile away--at the bottom of a very steep hill. This hill is so steep, in fact, that in the winter, my mini van (which is front wheel drive) cannot make it to the top; we just slide backwards down the hill.

We purchased what we needed, and when we came back out to the van, it would not start. The battery was dead, dead, dead.

I guess you have to drive longer than one quarter of a mile if you want your battery to charge.

Well, I was put out, to say the least. Now I had to trudge up the gruelingly steep hill with my small girls in tow and my groceries weighing heavy on my limbs.

I didn't cry. And I didn't scream. But I was huffy about it all.

Half way up the hill, when my breathing was becoming labored and my patience was waning thin, my five-year-old spoke up.

She simply, happily, declared: "I'm so glad Jesus gave me legs! Then I can just walk home."

My children have a grateful, submissive, joyful relationship with their God. I know why He wants me to be like them. I am thankful for the many chances I have to become as a child.

Winning through Him

Today I felt like I was failing at everything; that on some level, I was falling short in every aspect of my life.

Failing my husband. Failing my children. Failing my neighbors. Failing myself. Failing at my commitments and goals and dreams.

Have you had days like that? I like to think I'm not alone on this one.

Here's what I've learned about that. This is what I know for sure.

God does not want me to feel like a failure. Sure, there is always room for improvement, and I have to keeping stretching and growing and reaching.

BUT, failing?

That feeling doesn't come from God.

And what's more, it shows a lack of faith and hope in the redeeming power of Jesus Christ. And that's just a miserable place to be.

This is not the end for me. He died for me, and all of us, so that we can try again, begin anew, start afresh, change, grow, conquer, become.

Isn't that the very definition of winning?

Let's not give up on ourselves. He never has, and He never will.

I'll take a baker's dozen

I think it's good advice to learn a second language. So in my school years, through college even, I studied German.

It was by default, really, that I chose German. I wanted to speak French, but my mouth just couldn't form those beautiful words. When I said them (or read them), they sounded more like I was choking on a fresh croissant with too much Brie.

Spanish would have been my second pick, but I couldn't get the accent right. I sounded like I was reading a Taco Bell menu: See senior Rita, me goostah inch a lottas.

But German and I just clicked. It turns out I do guttural real well.

Now that I've been out of college for more years than I care to admit, my German has mostly by the wayside gefallen.

The years of tiny, dirty hands and looming laundry and school loans and little sleep has led me to whole heartedly embrace another culture and another language.

I'm fluent in cookie.

That's what I said. I speak cookie.

And they speak back to me on a regular basis.

Cookie is such a beautiful language! I like to let the small nuances of the intonation wash over me like a warm milk bath. Which, by the way, goes great with cookies.

Plus, the natives who speak cookies usually have such nice personalities! With soothing promises and nourishing encouragement, they rarely yell at me. Even the feisty ginger snaps are some of my closest friends who have proven, time and again, that they will always be there for me.

It's probably cliche, but my favorite dialect is the chocolate chip cookie. With interspersed, perfectly melted chocolate morsels, it is the vernacular that keeps on giving and giving and giving, until it disintegrates into folklore. Some days I just relate to that, you know?

I appreciate how cookies are an international language. When I grow up, I hope to be the ambassador of cookies everywhere. Then I can help those nations who tainted the cookie language by replacing jam centers with strips of lying papers. Clearly, a fresh tomorrow waits on the horizon for them.

Cookies understand me. They get me. They heal me. I would tell you about the conversations we've enjoyed together, but that would feel like betrayal. There is no Cookie-to-English translation book because it's different for each mouthpiece. I'm pretty sure one of my sisters has a negative relationship with cookies; they must yell at her and lay on the guilt real thick. She always reports the number she's eaten with disgust and surrender, like she's being arraigned before the Betty Crocker tribunal.

I'm not sure how long I'll speak this love language. Maybe someday they'll turn on me. But I doubt it.

And if they do, I'll just drown them in a tall glass of cold milk until they stop screaming, and then bite off their heads.

No matter the language, we must be clear in our communication, I always say.

Some Encouragement

I had another baby. . .NINE months ago.

The fact that I'm back typing away at this machine may make you think that I must finally have it all figured out; that I'm back in the saddle again.

If you're thinking that, you're wrong.

I don't mean to give the wrong impression here. I adore this baby and all my other babies. I wanted them, hoped for them, prayed for them. Their lives are miracles--each one. They teach me how to be like God, and they lovingly, patiently, happily encourage me on my journey to be His.

It's a messy journey.

An exhausting journey.

The kind of journey that dreams are made of.

It's imperfect. I'm imperfect. That's okay. This is what six children looks like for me,  and that's good, because it's my journey to take and my journey for which I will give an accounting.

On Boyhood

My baby boy turned nine last week. Nine years old! I'm cursing my bad memory for forgetting all the moments I've had with him. I wish I could play all of them back, over and over and over, like a soothing lullaby.

The night before his birthday, as I kissed him goodnight, I cried. He cried, too. It was a beautiful and terrible moment all at once. Time stood still for a few seconds; I remember the first time I held him; I thought I could see him going off to college. I breathed in his goodness, his loyalty, his faith, his fun.

His boyhood.

He awakened on his birthday with excited eyes and a shiny soul. He felt older. He seemed older.

He spent the day in his Spiderman costume, wielding Mjölnir, dressing his sister in a Spiderman costume from a past birthday and carrying her on his back around the house, fighting crime together.

There is nothing--nothing--in the world like a son. He slips his hand into yours, and for a moment, you know what godlike power feels like. Those hands will grow large and strong, and they will do important, ordinary things with extraordinary faith and courage. That little buddy that follows you around the house like a puppy, making sound effects and begging for food at all hours, will influence nations and change the destiny of the world--all for the better.

Sometimes I worry about the future of this crazy planet with people intent on living below their potential, full of doubt and jealousy and rage.

But when I see my son, I can't help but feel an overwhelming peace and assurance that his small shoulders will carry great burdens with joy and strength. His circle of influence will widen and swell, and join with the other valiant sons of the earth. They will be a formidable army of greatness and good.

For now, nine is fine and he is mine. And I couldn't be happier or more grateful about it.

Happy Birthday, sweet son of my heart!

Performance Review

I love my job. I'm just gonna say that up front.

I'm not the most qualified, talented, organized, put-together mom on the planet. I'm just gonna say that, too.

Some days I get some things right. Some days I get most things right. Most days I get some things right. Some days I get no things right. 

But at the end of every day, I am always overwhelmed with gratitude for these amazing people who fill my home and heart with the magnitude of their worth and potential and joy. Trust me: I didn't do anything that right to deserve all this. 

But I am, oh, so grateful!