Dad
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? 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 arrive 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
ventured. The children groan in unison. “Three Sesame Streets?! That’s
forever!” And to them, it is. And to us, it seems that way, too.
“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? He
could, you know. He could answer in terms of the here and now with time
increments we understand. “Two more years on the illness, and ten more years
for the 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 see. I tell them how
we’ll fish at the lake. How we’ll play on the inner tubes. 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 troubles”? 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
the paychecks, and challenges that outweigh the 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, but
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.
P.S.S. Thanks, Dad. I love you.
Grace,
Randy