Dads

Dads

The Lord made an agreement with Jacob and gave the teachings to Israel, which he commanded our ancestors to teach to their children. Then their children would know them, even their children not yet born. And they would tell their children. So they would all trust God and would not forget what he had done but would obey his commands. (Psalm 78:5-7)

Here’s a letter from one of those children:

Dear God,

Thanks for giving me a daddy. You knew just what I’d need! In case you need to make daddies for other kids, I thought you might like to know what I like best about the one you sent me:

A good dad …(1) knows everything (like how to tie shoes and drive a car); (2) is really smart (he even knows where the wind goes after it blows through the trees); (3) has a forgiving heart (for when I mess up); (4) is loaded with patience, patience, patience (he probably won’t need it, but just in case…); (5) has a comfy lap and a big laugh (you understand about that, don’t you?); and (6) tells me all about you and your son.

Your friend,

Israel

P.S. I almost left out the best part! A good dad has real strong arms (to catch me when I fall. He says you’re just like that, too).

It seems to me that fathers and mothers enter the child-rearing business at two different times. Mothers decide to be mothers long before dads do. A mother carries a baby for nine months, giving her an opportunity to grow content with her decision to parent the new family member.

Dad, on the other hand, goes about his daily routine, pretty much unaffected by what’s going on inside the womb. Oh, he’s supportive and excited, but compared to Mom? He’s an observer. Until delivery time. Then Dad’s world takes on an entirely new meaning. He looks into the face of that new life and is faced with the realization: “I’m the father of this child.” You might call it a “delivery room discovery.”

At this point a good dad makes a big decision. He has to decide to become a father. And that decision sets up dominoes of decisions he will make for the rest of his life. It’s a rational choice to alter his life, schedule, direction and priorities in order to be a good dad to the tiny life in his arms.

Fathering a child, for most, is not difficult. Being a father is. It’s the first and most important decision of fathers: to make a conscientious choice to be a father. The decision to be a father is not just a delivery room decision, though. It’s a daily decision. A century ago, dads were on-site parents, working the farm or running the family store. Children spent a great deal of their time alongside their parents, working together. But in our modern culture, employment distances most dads from their kids.

Some dads leave home before the children are awake. Others arrive home long after the kids are home from school. As a result, it’s possible, even common, for a father to forget about fathering — to emotionally disconnect himself from his kids. Throughout the day, every day, dads need to renew their “dad” decision. “Will I attend this convention?” “Is this meeting essential?” “Can I rearrange these appointments to get home earlier?” On the way home from work, dads have to decide to take off the work hat and put on the “dad” hat. It’s a decision to manage his time, carefully reconciling work with the priority of family.

Being a good dad means making tough, sacrificial decisions. Decisions that tell our children what’s important to us. In his book, Achieving Success Without Failing Your Family, Paul Faulkner describes the decisions of a particular insurance executive. Speaking at a businessmen’s convention, the man stressed the importance of being a father first. The man’s daughter was seated in the audience.

…(i)n the middle of his talk he had turned to her and asked, “Sweetheart, do you remember the time I won the million-dollar roundtable three years in a row?” And she said, “No, Dad, I don’t guess I do.” And then he asked, “Well, do you remember when we used to have those Dairy Queen dates?” And she said, “Oh, yes!” And then he turned to the audience to make the point that daughters don‘t remember when you sell a million dollars’ worth of insurance, but they do remember your special dates.

Not only must dads decide to be involved with their kids, available and interested in what interests them, but dads must decide what kind of role models they’ll be. What an incredible privilege: the task of molding and shaping little children. Kids have a unique set of antennae — not only are they able to see much and hear more, they replay the behavior they see in their parents.

Paul Harvey tells a story that’s a good example of this point. Our “For What It’s Worth Department” knows that when Grey Baker goes golfing in Jackson, Mississippi — he has taken his three-year-old grandson Trevor along as a companion… The boy has been learning the game by watching. Last week Grandpa Baker brought the lad a set of play golf clubs of his own. This past weekend — during a family cookout in the backyard — the little lad who’d learned golf by observing Grandpa announced, “Watch me!” And he said a no-no word and threw his golf club up into the pear tree.

Of all the fathers in the Bible, one stands out in particular for his decision to be a godly father. He intentionally decided to be an adoptive father to his orphaned cousin, Esther. He could be called the father of courage, because he instilled this trait in his daughter. Do you remember the story?

The small book of Esther reveals the story of the beautiful Jewish girl whose clever courage saved her people. Mordecai raised his daughter to take a stand at the right time, and to do the right thing.

Because of her beauty, Esther becomes Queen of Persia. Mordecai wisely advises her to conceal her heritage from King Xerxes. When Mordecai refuses to bow down to the king’s officer, Haman, he placed himself in jeopardy because of his convictions – he would bow before no one other than Jehovah. As a result, Haman conspires to destroy not only Mordecai, but all the Jews as well. Mordecai urges Esther to appeal to the king on behalf of their people. “(Y)ou may have been chosen queen for such a time as this.” (Esther 4:14) Esther must have trusted Mordecai a great deal because she determined to stand before the king for her people, “(a)nd if I die, I die.” (Esther 4:16)

Words of faith, words of courage. Words that a daughter could say because she was raised by a father who made the right decisions. Remember this: a crisis does not develop character; a crisis reveals character. The character Esther revealed must have been learned from observing her father’s character. And as the plot twists and turns, Mordecai and the Jewish nation are saved and Haman is executed.

Usually, when we study the story of Esther, we see her strength and devotion to her people. But God used someone else in this story to accomplish his purpose. God used a faithful father — a father who impressed a young daughter to have courage in her convictions. At the right time, Esther did the right thing, because she had been raised by a godly father. A father who knew that the decisions he would make as his daughter grew up would help her learn to make godly decisions later in life.

 

Remember that time when you dropped your child off for their first day of kindergarten? You knew it was time. You knew it was right. And you knew he or she would be just fine. But you never knew it would be so hard to say, “You’ll be all right. Come on, I’ll walk you to class.” But one step into the classroom, the cat of curiosity pounced on your kindergartner. And you walked away. You gave her up. Not much, but you gave him up as much as you could that day.

It’s events like that which take us from black-and-white theology to Technicolor reality. “What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all — how will he not also, along with him graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:31-32)

So, is that how God felt, too? Is what we felt that first-day-of-school morning anything like what God felt when He gave up His son? If so, it may explain a lot. It explains the proclamation of the angels to the shepherds outside Bethlehem. (A father announcing the birth of his son) It explains the voice at Jesus’ baptism: “This is my son in whom I’m very pleased ….” (A proud father acknowledging his son) It explains the transfiguration of Moses and Elijah on the mountaintop. (A father sending encouragement to his son) And it explains how God’s heart must have ached as he heard the cracking voice of his son, “Father, take this cup away.”

On that first day of school, we released our children into a safe environment with a compassionate teacher who stood ready to wipe away any tears. God, on the other hand, released Jesus into a hostile arena with cruel soldiers who turned the back of his son into raw meat. We said good-bye to our kids knowing that they would make friends, laugh and draw pictures. God said good-bye to Jesus knowing he would be spat upon, laughed at and killed.

We gave up our kids fully aware that, were they to need us, we would be at their side in a heartbeat. But God said goodbye to his son fully aware that when he would need him the most, when his cry of despair would roar through the heavens, God would sit in silence. The angels, though positioned, would hear no command from God. Jesus, though in anguish, would feel no comfort from God’s hand. “He gave his best,” Paul reasons, “why should we doubt his love?”

Perhaps we should sit in silence, not like we did after we watched our child walk into that classroom on the first day of school, but before our Father. This time not sad over what we had to give, but grateful for what we’ve already received — living proof that God cares.

Grace,

Randy