Dads
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. (2 Corinthians 4:16–18)
For many years, I drove the family to Grandma and Grandpa’s for a summer’s vacation. And on one particular occasion, three hours into the eleven-hour trip, I realized that I was in a theology lab. A day with a car full of kids will teach you a lot about God. Transporting a family from one city to another is like God transporting us from our home to his. And some of life’s stormiest hours occur when the passenger and the Driver disagree on the route.
A journey is a journey, whether the destination is to a family reunion or the heavenly one. Both demand patience, a good sense of direction, and a driver who knows that the fun at the end of the trip is worth the hassles in the middle of the trip. The fact that my pilgrims were all under the age of ten only enriched my learning experience. As minutes rolled into hours and our car rolled through the San Joaquin valley, I began to realize that what I was saying to my kids had a familiar ring. I’d heard it before – from God. All of a sudden, the car became a classroom. I realized that I was doing for a few hours what God has done for centuries: encouraging travelers who’d rather rest than ride.
For instance, in order to reach the destination, you have to say "No" to some requests. Otherwise, can you imagine the outcome if a parent honored every request of each child during the trip? We’d inch our stomachs from one ice-cream store to the next. Our priority would be popcorn, and our itinerary would read like a fast-food menu. “Go to the Chocolate Malt and make a right. Then, head north until you find the Chili Cheeseburger. Stay north for 1,300 calories and then bear left at the Giant Pizza. When you see the two-for-one chili dog special, take the Pepto-Bismol Turnpike east for five convenience stores. And at the sixth rest stop …. ” Can you imagine the chaos if a parent indulged every indulgence? Can you imagine the chaos if God indulged each of ours?
"No" is a necessary word to take on a trip. Destination has to reign over Dairy Queen. “For God has not destined us to the terrors of judgment, but to the full attainment of salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (1 Thess. 5:9) Note God’s destiny for your life. Salvation. God’s overarching desire is that you reach that destiny. His itinerary includes stops that encourage your journey. He frowns on stops that deter you. When his sovereign plan and your earthly plan collide, a decision must be made. So the question becomes, “Who’s in charge of this journey?” And if God’s in charge and must choose between your earthly satisfaction and your heavenly salvation, which do you hope he chooses? Right. Me, too.
When I’m in the driver’s seat as the dad, I remember that I’m in charge. But when I’m in the passenger’s seat as a child of my Father, I forget sometimes that he’s in charge. I forget that God is more concerned with my destiny than my stomach. And I complain when he says “No.”
Now, don’t get me wrong. The requests my children made while on the road to Grandma and Grandpa’s weren’t evil. They weren’t unfair. They weren’t even rebellious. In fact, we had a couple of ice cream cones and probably more than a few Cokes along the way. But most of the requests were unnecessary. Now, my then five-year-old daughter would have argued that fact because from her viewpoint, another soft drink is indispensable to her happiness. I know otherwise, so I say “No.”
And a forty-year-old adult would argue that fact. From his standpoint, a new boss is indispensable to his happiness. God knows otherwise and says “No.” Or a thirty-year-old woman would argue that fact. From her standpoint, that man with that job and that name is exactly who she needs to be happy. Her Father, who is more concerned that she arrives at his City than at the altar, says, “Wait a few miles. There’s a better option down the road.” “Wait?!” she protests. “How long do I have to wait?” Which takes us to the next point.
Children have no concept of minutes or miles. “We’ll be there in three hours,” I said. “How long is three hours?” (How do you explain time to a child who can’t tell time?) “Well, it’s about as long as three Sesame Streets,” I suggested. The children groan in unison. “Three Sesame Streets?! That’s forever!” And to them, it is. And to us, it seems that way, too. But “He who lives forever” (Isaiah 57:15) has placed himself at the head of a band of pilgrims who mutter, “How long, O Lord? How long?” (Psalm 74:10; 89:46) “How long must I endure this sickness?” “How long must I endure this paycheck?” But do you really want God to answer those questions? He could, you know. He could answer them in terms of the here and now with time increments we understand. “Two more years on that illness, and ten more years for those bills.” But he seldom does that. He usually opts to measure the here and now against the there and then. And when you compare this life to that life, this life isn’t very long.
“Our days on earth are like a shadow” (1 Chronicles 29:15), and “each man’s life is but a breath.” (Psalm 39:5) “You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14) “As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more. (Psalm 103:15, 16) “It’s a short journey,” I offer to the children. “We’re almost there.” I can say that because I know these things. I’ve been there before. I’ve driven this road. I’ve covered this territory. For me, it’s no challenge. Ah, but for the children? It’s eternal. So I try another approach.
“Just think how fun it will be when we get there,” I say. “House boating, waterskiing, swimming … I promise you, when you get there, the trip will have been worth it.” But they still groan. Why? Because children can't envision the reward. For me, eleven hours on the road is a small price to pay for a vacation. I don’t mind the drive because I know the reward. As I drive, I can see Lake Shasta. I can hear the dinner-table laughter, and smell the smoke from the barbeque. I can endure the journey because I know the destiny. But my children have forgotten the destiny. After all, they’re young. Children easily forget. Besides, the road is strange, and the night has come. They can’t see where we’re going. It’s my job, as the dad, to guide them. I try to help them see what they can’t. I tell them how we’ll play on the inner tubes and fish the lake. How they can spend the night under the stars in their sleeping bags. And it seems to work. Their grumbling decreases as their vision clears – as their destiny unfolds.
Perhaps that’s how the apostle Paul stayed motivated. He had a clear vision of the reward. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:16–18) It’s not easy to get three kids under the age of ten to see a city they can’t see. But it’s necessary. It’s not easy for us to see a City we’ve never seen, either, especially when the road is bumpy, the hour is late and companions want to cancel the trip and take up residence in a motel. It’s not easy to fix our eyes on what’s unseen. But it’s necessary.
And one line in that 2 Corinthians passage really makes me wonder: “our light and momentary troubles.” I wouldn’t have called them that if I were Paul. Read what he called "light and momentary" and I think you’ll agree: imprisoned; beaten with a whip five times; faced death; beaten with rods three times; stoned once; shipwrecked three times; stranded in the open sea; left homeless; in constant danger; hungry and thirsty. (2 Corinthians 11:23–27) Long and trying ordeals, perhaps. Arduous and deadly afflictions, OK. But "light and momentary trouble"? How could Paul describe endless trials with that phrase? Well, he tells us. He could see “an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” And for some of you, the journey has been long and stormy. And in no way do I wish to minimize the difficulties that maybe you’ve had to face along the way. Some of you have shouldered burdens that few of us could ever carry.
You’ve been robbed of life-long dreams. You’ve been given bodies that can’t sustain your spirit. You have bills that outnumber your paychecks, and challenges that outweigh your strength. And you’re tired. It’s hard for you to see the City in the midst of the storms. The desire to pull over to the side of the road and get out entices you. You want to go on because some days – frankly – the road just seems so long. But, it’s worth it.
Looking back over those early family vacations, once we had arrived, no one talked about the long trip to get there. No one mentioned the requests I didn’t honor. No one grumbled about my foot being on the accelerator when their hearts were focused on banana splits. No one complained about the late hour of arrival. Yesterday’s challenges were lost in today’s joy. And I think that’s what Paul meant. God never said that the journey would be easy, but he did say that the arrival would be worthwhile. God may not do what you want, but he will do what is right … and best. He’s the Father of forward motion. Trust him. He will get you home. And the trials of the trip will be lost in the joys of an endless summer.
P.S. The following year, however, I drove during the night – while the kids slept.
Randy
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