God's story. My story.

Yesterday I realized that I had failed as a father with a simple pronouncement from our oldest. “I like black jelly beans. They are my favorite.” In that instant, I recognized that I had failed to raise up my child in the way she should go. How could it be that my child, the apple of my eye, should come to love black jelly beans, the bane of my existence? Oh, but the tragedy of my failure was far from short-lived, because the next words out of her mouth were, “Here Daddy, you can have this one. They are really good.” I wanted to curl up and die. I wished to evaporate in a puff of smoke, for now, now out of love for my daughter I had to place that bean that shall not be named in my mouth! The torment! The agony! The sheer betrayal. How could she not know? But she did know, and yet she behaved as if somehow she had missed how I truly felt about THOSE beans!

After I had recovered (barely of course!), I went about my life somewhat scarred but alive. With a bit of time and space, I began to ponder what had transpired, and I happened to wonder how many times I have done the same to my own father. How many times have I run to him holding up something I cherish, something I think is wonderful, something about which I know he does not feel the same. And yet, I think that somehow he should love it because I do.

I suppose I do this with many things, but what I offer him most is my religion. I have an assortment of practices and traditions of which I am very fond. There is nothing wrong per se with any of them. Some of them have been quite useful over the years. What draws me to them is that I can substitute these practices for myself. As I sit at my father’s table, and hear him ask for my attention, I am quick to say, “Here, have my Bible reading time.” He smiles but I can tell he is not really wanting that so I fish around for something else to offer. “How about that time I prayed?” This too is pushed aside. “I have this nice church attendance, and, OH, here is a lovely ten minutes of silence and solitude.” By now the pile is growing, and I am starting to wonder what my father really wants. I like these things which I am offering him. I like these things because they involve him but require so little of me. Ten minutes here. An hour there. An attendance, my physical but not necessarily my mental presence. All these I can do but then I am done. I am finished and free to go about my life, as I please. I love these things. They are deliciously sweet because they are easy. Check a few boxes. Engage in a few activities and I have a lovely assortment of things to offer my father. The only problem is that he doesn’t like these things. . .and I know it.

I keep hoping that one day he will decide to try one of them. I do so love them. Why can’t he love them like me? He is always kind and gracious when I offer them, but I can tell that they are not what he wants, not what he really wants. He just doesn’t seem to be all that fond of these things which involve him but require so little of me. Sometimes we chat about these things. We chat about how he wants me, all of me. I listen, but inside all I can think about is my precious practices and traditions. What about them? Why can’t he just love them? After all, they involve him and they require so little of me and I think that is wonderful. I like the freedom to live, to move, to do as I please, but this seems to be the problem. My father only seems to be interested in me.

Not too long ago, my father and I had a chat in which I expressed that I didn’t really see the point in all of this. What was so great about having me when he could have all these things that involve him and so little of me? Wasn’t it all about him anyway? With love and patience, he explained that he wanted me because he had big plans for me. He had some things he wanted for me. Actually, he wanted me to join him in some things he was doing, but that meant he had to have me, all of me. I have been thinking a bit since that talk. I still really like a few of these things I have been offering but I keep wondering about what could be, what could be if my father had all of me?

A fellow traveler,

Blake

We encourage you to consider engaging in the following as a way of deepening your own faith.

Offer yourself to God: In a relationship with God, God’s greatest desire is to possess us and not that we offer him religious traditions and practices. It is in the offering of ourselves to God, specifically with regard to justice, in the giving of ourselves to that about which God is most passionate, that we discover and experience a deep and abiding presence of God’s person. However, offering ourselves, or giving ourselves to that about which God is most passionate, does not come naturally. We would like to offer God anything other than ourselves. This week, consider taking some time to begin the journey of giving yourself fully to God. You might do this by sitting (or even lying!) before God. Starting with your feet, offer each part of your body and the ways in which you use them to God. Consider offering them not just to God but for the very things about which God is most passionate.