Transformation

For we are

4 we R

we R

R His

we R His

His work we R

R His work

His workmanship

His we R

His work

His ‘craft’

His ‘poem’

His ‘masterpiece’

for we are His workmanship

His ‘masterpiece’

His ‘poem’

His ‘craft’

His work

His we R

His workmanship

R His work

His work we R

we are His

R His

we R

4 we R

For we are

Parenting

A Father’s Touch

He had been complaining of nausea all morning and the night before, but without any incident. But soon after the family had settled in for worship he seemed be in distress so I asked him if he needed to head for the restroom. Bravely, he said, no. I put my hand on his back to let him know that I was aware of his discomfort and if he changed his mind I was ready to help.

The church that we were visiting that day was on our route home from vacation and was known for great doctrine and beautiful tradition. The sanctuary was magnificent, arched, columned, stained glass and high ceiling. Central, was the pulpit, which rose like a tower to elevate the supremacy of the preached word. The sound from the pipe organ confirmed and conveyed the beauty and importance that song has in the worship of our Lord. I was glad of heart to sit with my family and celebrate covenant renewal in such a place, even though my attention was compromised by my 12 year old son as he struggled to man-up when he really didn’t need to. Really, all he had to do was say the word and I would have taken him outside. We could wait in the van for the others until church let out. But he stayed, so we stayed.  

As we listened to the minister’s sermon, I raked my fingers through the back of his hair and soon thought about how I never had the same experience with my father. Suddenly I was seriously conscious of what my hand was doing, stroking his hair and lightly rubbing his shoulders when he was able to sit up; drawing small circles on his back when he bent over. I wanted him to know that I was there—I was there for him like my dad wasn’t for me.

Don’t read too much into that. I loved my dad and he loved me in his own way. He was wired differently and that I say to defend him. I know enough about his life and his past to realize that he probably gave me more than he had to give.

How appropriate that all of this was taking place in my heavenly Father’s house. I have no love of my own to give. I love this son of mine (and my other sons and daughters) because I am loved by God. He loves me—I love Him—I love my children by Him and because of Him.

Being there for my children is only a reflection of the Lord being there for me. Without God I only would love myself.

So I make sure that this son of mine and my other sons and my daughters know that I am always there for them. Not out of some reaction to my own childhood deficit, for that type of well is always dry and the motive isn’t so much to give but to desperately receive. That’s why love is so important and necessary for our being. All of our wells are dry but by the Spirit of God, we can be all springs and overflowing.  

He almost made it through the service. When we rose to sing the recessional, he started shaking and said that he needed to go. He only just made it out of the pew and vomited in the aisle.

I crouched by him as his sickness defeated his will and like the sincerest confessor, he spilled his guts. As the congregation sang on we knelt together and fellowshipped in each other’s suffering: he, because of illness and I, because of empathy.   

Bile, mixed with food particles, splattered making a putrid smelly puddle all over that beautiful tile floor. Thankfully, we were sitting over to one side of the sanctuary so most of the congregation was spared a scene that those sitting next to us are likely never to forget. “Remember that Sunday when a visiting family’s kid threw-up all over the right side of the church?”  

When and if they retell that story, I hope that they don’t forget the part about the kid’s dad. About how that he wasn’t embarrassed and how he was there for his son during the whole ordeal. About how he was so close that his shoes were also splashed and that through his entire son’s discomfort he stayed with him, with his hand on his shoulder.   

    

Providence

‘Wish Dream’

I recently confessed to both of my teenage daughters my sorrow for not having built the family dream house that they have heard about their entire lives. They are 18 and 19 now and they still occupy a small bedroom together. It is so small that if we didn’t have bunk beds they would probably have to climb in through their window to enter the room.

“You know, Daddy is sorry that he was never able to build the house we always talked about. I wanted, by now, to have you waking up in the morning in your own room looking out your window to see trees and sky.” They both responded with an “It’s ok Dad” which gave me little relief for, you see, I still have a Wish-Dream.

Loss of investments, personal failure and a predilection all my life of taking jobs that do not pay very much has stifled my ability to build the house. And there are other things besides the house that I have on my list that have never been accomplished. In these I have failed or have been providentially hindered. I am left seeing what is not there, and knowing what is missing. I am sure that you know how I feel. And this where we all can find ourselves calling for another round, drinking in more regret while we consider the what ifs.

But believing in the loving sovereignty of God I am deeply comforted and relatively satisfied. There is always more that I want and want to accomplish but (thankfully) never to the forgetting of what I already have. Cramped as they may be in their tiny room my daughters have seen the world through books and travel and relationships. They know that there is an invisible realm—a kingdom that manifests its presence through the Wind, the Holy Pneuma transforming the hearts and lives of men. When called upon, they rise to help others dutifully and with cheer. They are rich in friendship and wealthy in experience and in exposure to the world as it is and how it can and how it should be.

This, by God’s grace, I have given them…and it is better than square footage.  They live within the environment of a sacred community that is sustained by the One who created all things. I have found it true and can testify, unless the Lord builds the house, the life, the community, they labor in vain…

What my girls actually have is more than my imagination could ever have conceived. Our lives are so much more special and spatial than my wish-dream for them; and for my whole family and all the families that dwell with us. The parameters and scope of our lives constantly expand in both the visible and the invisible universe; physically and spiritually.

There are many people who accomplish all that they have set out to do and I pity them. There are many more who live their lives believing that they are the have-nots and that this is ‘just how it is’. I pity them too because there is so much more for everyone. And I am not talking about the unbelievers—I mean people in the church.

What everyone really wants is to be happy. And too often happiness is defined by what you have or what you want. That is the illusion based on the lie that the apostle Paul warns about in his opening chapter in Romans. “They…exchanged the truth of God for the lie, and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever.” The illusion/lie is ascribing worth to your dream, your way, more than to the worship of God. Seeking first the Kingdom of God allows for the prosperity of Job and the poverty of Lazarus but surely both found themselves, at times, chaffing at God’s providence in their lives. We have plans—and plans are not bad in themselves, if fact, they can be very wise—but God has plans too.

So, I see that my family is rich in some ways and poor in others. And here is where I think we all should consider our respective wealth. For I do believe that there are ‘riches’ that God wants all of His children to have and financial worth and social standing do not factor here. But peace, joy, love, contentment, shared life, wisdom, patience, godliness, kindness, virtue…these cannot be bought or bartered for.

The Lord promises food, clothing and shelter to all who seek His kingdom first. Sometimes the floors are marble and sometimes packed earth but if the heart is right, then heart is right.

And just so that you know, I haven’t given up on building the house (don’t tell Angela and the girls). If our fortune changes and the Lord is willing, I have plans.