Quitters Aren't Losers

We are all seated on the soft grass, licking our BBQ-pork sticky fingers.  The guy who won the race is a Brazilian tourist who decided to use his vacation to support a worthy cause with his faster-than-five-minutes-mile legs.

We all laugh because we realize nobody in our group is a match for a Brazilian tourist with such legs and such heart.

Our neighbor is next to me, positively glowing.  The moment is magical because, as she said,

I know for a fact that without Jesus I wouldn’t be here today.

We both know what she means by that and we savor the moment like the BBQ sandwich in our hands.

Our speedy-Gonzales child is chatting happily with the friend.

This race would have been SOOOO BORING without you! I am so glad we got to do this together.

The child who quit before the finish line is sitting alone to the side. All the festivities of the day seem to exacerbate the big gloomy cloud spelling F-A-I-L-U-R-E that hangs over his head. I inch towards him, re-positioning my stiff legs.

I am SOOOO glad you quit, pops out of my mouth, we are both equally surprised. I am sorry to hear about your injury. I had no idea.  It must have been excruciating trying to keep up with the rest of us dealing with all this pain.

He shifts slightly, and the cloud seems to shift with the movement.

It wasn’t so bad. He says, looking away. Just swollen, that’s all.

It could have been worse if you didn’t quit.  I am glad you didn’t injure yourself further. It was brave of you to even try… I stop, holding the weight of what I was going to say next before I say it… and even more brave to recognize when you should stop…

The Great Unravelling

All the wonderful talk about team-manship, and unity, togetherness and sticking out for each other, the lofty ideas of adjusting our pace to the slowest in our herd… well, it turned out to be just that – mere talk. 

Apparently, some of us happen to be more competitive then others.  For them, the pace was too slow. There was this running energy inside them that couldn’t be curbed .

We’ll see you at the finish line, shouts out the fast child, trotting off with a friend of comparable energy and stamina.

There goes our unity, I gasp torn in half.  We watch the stragglers pass us one by one, a 78 year old lady in turquoise tights and matching visors who flashes us a big smile, a toddler with a giant teddy bear and a pregnant mother with her brood of four. We are well on our steady way towards leading the very tip of the tail.

Last shall be first and first shall be last, I am trying to cheer myself up with aptly quoting Bible verses out of context.  My dreams and expectations for the race long left behind wallowing in the START line dust, I hang onto glass-half-full.

At least we are all still in the race.  It’s all about finishing after all.

That was at the mile marker two.

The kind volunteers hand us cups of water and shout their disingenuous,

You are doing great!

Almost there!

Way to go!

As if we don’t know how pathetic we feel and look.

At about 2.2 mile marker, I turn around and see my husband catching up with my neighbor and me.

You are alone! I cry out, my heart draining out of the hole in my running shoe. Where is…?

Dropped... out…  Had a knee- injury last night at the lock-in… Too much... pain… Couldn’t…... finish…

Plans Would Be Perfect If It Weren't For the People

It’s just minutes before the race is supposed to begin and there is a bag of popcorn inside the mouth of our Child #1, and our suddenly energized Child #2 is bouncing barefoot inside the bounce-house surrounded by a flock of bouncing toddlers.

C’mon guys! We have to START the race, if we are ever going to FINISH it. I grumble, my children’s lack of focus and abject distractibility unwelcome mirror of my own.  And no, you can’t run in the race barefoot. You HAVE TO put your shoes.

 I am a mean mother and I know it.

I watch in horror as Child #1 picks up a half a dozen bags of popcorn and an equivalent of a gallon of water, with a clear intention of bringing them along.  This is the child that likes to be prepared for every eventuality.

Absolutely no popcorn and no dragging a barrel of water with you. If you need water, they will have disposable cups along the way. You are not going to die of either hunger or thirst. We’ll have the BBQ at the end.  I add compassionately, wondering where I went wrong in all my years of parenting. 

Finally making it to the START line, socks and shoes on, popcorn bags discarded, we catch the last few chords of national anthem. 

And then, we are on! 

We don’t want to get trampled by the 5k buffs averaging a mile in 72 seconds, so we hold back and  let the real runners go ahead of us.  We stick somewhat together for the first 30 feet. 

From there on, it’s one steady unraveling after another. 

The Race is On

The decision was unanimous. Nobody was forced, coerced or manipulated. Each person was in of their own free will. Each of us knew – or at least thought we knew - what we were getting into and accepted the challenge.

Our first ever family 5k.

It was a fund-raiser for a great cause. My husband and I have participated in it in the years past, but the most our kids have done was a one-mile run. When the opportunity presented itself, we discussed it as a family and decided that we wanted to do it together – start together and finish together. 

Are you sure?

Yes! 

Absolutely?

Yes!

We agreed that we will adjust the pace to the slowest person in our group.

We will be a team. One for all and all for one.  

The goal of the day wasn’t beating the clock but unity, comradery and, of course, crossing that finish line - together.

And we WILL have fun.

 

It all made sense, it all sounded great until the day of the race. 

There was an all-night lock-in at our church to commence the beginning of Spring Break for our middle-schooler.

And a neighborhood garage sale that morning.

But, race is a race and we somehow managed to leave the chaos of the day behind and slump exhausted into the car - our adventuresome neighbor joining us last minute. We made it all the way from the parking lot to the registration table together.  

After that some of us saw bounce houses and others popcorn stands. 

The running shoes were off and the party was on.

Minutes before the race! 

Spotting the Countefeit

We got the new $100 bill for the first time just a couple of days ago.  At a garage sale, of all places!

I eyed it suspiciously.

Are you sure? I ask my husband frowning. Doesn’t look real to me!

He takes it back and looks more carefully.

Let me see… no, it’s real.

The debate over whether the note was a counterfeit or not continued through the weekend. 

The power of the counterfeit is in its stunning resemblance to the real money. All the obvious similarities. The big numbers and the main images. The color and the shape. If you are unfamiliar with the real, it’s quite unnerving.  The bigger the investment, the greater insecurity.

This morning, while I was reading, our son came into the bedroom and took the bill in his hand and started examining it methodically.

It’s real. There is a watermark, and the security thread, and see the color shifting ink… He held the note towards the light moving it back and forth. Plus the micro-printing… notice all the minuscule details?  

I really don’t want to hear about his findings because I feel interrupted. In my Bible reading, of all things! I am about to kick him out of the room when a tiny light bulb flashes inside my head.

In the realm of spirituality, there are many who make bold claims. Quoting Bible verses. Jesus, Buddha, Moses, Mohammed, Dr. Phil. All good guys. We all use same words. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference between valuable and worthless. They all look alike on the surface.  

How do I know what is real?!!!

Suddenly, it occurs to me that if the United States Department of Treasury goes through so much trouble to protect us against counterfeits, wouldn’t God do the same? 

Wouldn’t He put in place unmistakable distinguishing features, impossible to falsify details that ensure we are able to tell the difference between real treasure and worthless imitation? 

So anyone who wants to can know... 

My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me. John 10:27

You will know them by their fruits. Matthew 7:15-20

Now these were more noble-minded than those in Thessalonica, for they received the word with great eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see whether these things were so. Acts 17:10-12

The Proof is in the Pudding

We all live in this bipolar world – of body and soul; thoughts and words; intentions and actions which don’t necessarily correlate. Sometimes they are outright at war with each other!

We think one thing, then say another and do the third, all this in random order. Based on our fears, desire to please, impress, manipulate, avoid pain, gain advantage - you name it.

When Jesus entered our world, everybody assumed He was just like us. Say things – some even outrageous things – but not really mean them.  Not really do anything about them. We are so used to this we rarely hold anybody accountable for such despicable behavior.  Because, we all do it. By pointing one finger at you, I point three back at me. 

But, when He said He forgave the paralytic man his sins, … well, that pushed some people’s envelope.

Who can forgive sins but God alone?

Jesus, you've crossed the line. You are out of bounds now.  You've gone too far. Reel it back in. Lower the ball. 

But, Jesus doesn't lower the ball.  He doesn't reel it back in, He doesn't apologize for going too far and out of bounds. 

In fact, He welcomes the opportunity to challenge our bipolar world view.

Why are you so skeptical? Which is simpler: to say to the paraplegic, ‘I forgive your sins,’ or say, ‘Get up, take your stretcher, and start walking’?

Suddenly, He brings our bipolar world together. Sets the record straight.

Well, just so it’s clear that I’m the Son of Man and authorized to do either, or both . . .” (he looked now at the paraplegic), “Get up. Pick up your stretcher and go home.” And the man did it—got up, grabbed his stretcher, and walked out

Voila.  Just like that.

Indeed, the proof is in the pudding. 

Too Close For Comfort

At the very beginning of His public ministry, Jesus was given the book of the old prophet Isaiah.  He opened it and read the following passage:

God’s Spirit is on me;

He’s chosen me to preach 

the Message of good news to the poor,

Sent me to announce pardon to prisoners and 

recovery of sight to the blind,

To set the burdened and battered free,

to announce, “This is God’s year to act! Luke 4:18

To the people listening, this was all well and good.  They’ve heard it many times before. Nobody can argue with such nice, encouraging words written long ago by a great but dead prophet.  But, that’s all they were – nice, encouraging words dangling in their hearing like a lame man’s legs, without power.

Not much different from how we read our Bibles today.

Jesus sits down.  He looks around at their burdened and battered faces and says,

Today…

…this Scripture…

…has been fulfilled…

…in your hearing.

Today.

Scripture.

Fulfilled.

The people, of course, didn’t believe Him.

 In fact, they were filled with rage for getting into their faces so much so that they intended to kill Him by throwing Him off the city cliff. They liked their God kept at arm’s length. Confined to His sky and here, on Earth, to the pages of an old book. Kept on dusty bookshelf. Handy, in case we need Him. 

But, none of this Word-Made-Real, Word-Made-Flesh business. 

It was just a bit too much, too close for their comfort. 

Words and Power

I often wondered why these words of Jesus’ have rattled some people cages so much.

Perhaps I’ve become jaded, being accustomed to living in the world where words are high on calories and low on substance.  Where talking is cheap.  

Where words rarely match their meaning. And I am not thinking, politicians or preachers only. 

It's all the rest of us. 

We just say things.

We don’t really mean them.

How are you?

Fine.  And you, how are you?

Oh, just  fine.  Great. How are you?

My questions are as empty as your answers.

As a result, we’ve all become a little jaded… a little deaf… a little hard of hearing.

We hear words but we’ve learned to ignore them. Tune out.  Dismiss.

Truly, this may not be all bad, it might be a sheer survival skill because much of what is being communicated is not worth hearing. Not worth hearing at all. 

But, in the process, something incredibly valuable gets lost.  In the process of voicing our meaningless words, we’ve stripped them of their true power. The way we treat our words – every day, in all our ‘casual’ and 'formal' interactions - we've earned our right to be ignored.  

 

Children start out differently. 

They discover this potent gift of language and they begin to use it about the age of one or two. 

They say things, and Mom does them - it's powerful! 

They express what they want, feel and think with disarming honesty.  It's quite delightful (unless you are their parent!). But sooner or later, heartbreak and ridicule eventually teaches them to become hardened just like the rest of us. 

They learn to hide behind their words rather than to reveal. To cover up rather than express. 

But, not so with Jesus.

Beyond the Labels

The man’s problem was obvious to all. It was his bodily malfunction.

That’s what we see.

We see an obvious problem.

Stick a designated label on it that defines this child, this young woman, this old man..

ADHD.

Anorexia.

Bulimia.

PTSD.

Bipolar.

Now that we have successfully isolated the problem from the whole person, now that the diagnosis has been made, we can proceed with a prescribed cure. To fix it.  To fix the problem with the obvious solution. Preferably with a pill.

Case closed.

And thus we miss the forest for the trees. We fail to see that tucked inside this malfunctioning body is this amazing, marvelous, complicated, deep, vast dizzying terrain of the human soul made in the image of this amazing, marvelous, complicated, deep, vast dizzying Eternal God.

We look at the person and reduce him or her to the problem that needs fixing. Sometimes to make his life better, oftentimes, to make our life easier. Free of the nuisance and disturbance that such burden creates.

But, Jesus looks at the man and sees past his broken body. Past his woeful inability to manage his life with his own resources.

Jesus looks at us and sees past our shattered life, past our messed up family, past our screwed up education, past the veneer – impotent or impressive, past all the labels. And He shoots for the heart.

He knows that it's the heart that must be released first.

Son… Daughter.. I forgive your sins.

Reckless Forgiveness

The four men worth their weight in gold didn’t necessarily expect it.

The paralyzed man didn’t expect it.

The people in the crowd didn’t expect it.

The religious professionals didn’t expect it.

All the friends of the paralyzed man wanted was an old-fashioned healing miracle. 

They saw their buddy’s broken body. 

They’ve seen and heard what Jesus can do with broken bodies. 

So, they put two and two together.  Simple as that.

But, they didn’t realize – and neither do we - that divine math works a bit differently from merely human math.

In human math, 2 + 2 always yields 4.

But, when you bring God into equation, the results can be quite… how shall I say it? Unpredictable?

It looks more like,

 

2+2=5 or

2+2=874 or even

2+2=1

For, when you put two and two into the hands of the Son  of God, you never know what may come out on the other side of equation.

Inside our human logic,

Crime +Justice = Punishment

Religion + Hard Work = Reward

And so on. And so forth.

But the only thing that Jesus seems to recognize in that room is the reckless faith.

And He responds to it by the matching gift of reckless forgiveness. 

What Everyone Needs

The paralyzed man sits on the rubble, his head down, not daring to lift it up. He waits for the verbal shovel to land full-force.

Nothing.

His head still down, he imagines the Rabbi shaking His head, as if stumped by the audacious spectacle his friends have created.

Hmph! The man’s imaginary ear hears Jesus’ irritated inflection,

What am I going to do with you and with these good-for-nothing friends of yours?!!!

There are muffled gasps, and murmurs, and whispers, but none of them come from Jesus.

The quiet is so magnetic that finally, ever so slowly, the man raises his head.

His eyes meet Jesus’.

There are flames of fire and ocean depths mingled together there, along with the sound of rushing waterfall and the smell of jasmine on a warm summer day and the gentle round tenderness of a lamb leaning against his mother wrapped in the dusk of an early evening.

In that split-second moment, in that unexpected collision between time and eternity, the walls and the floor fall off the paralyzed man’s heart.  He is still quite firmly seated on the pile of rubble, but he feels as if he is levitating, as if he is suspended in mid-air by an invisible force.

Son, your sins are forgiven.  He hears the words just above a whisper, but their sound are rattling the walls and the floor of the packed-out room.

…Son…

 

…son…

…son…

… your sins…

… are…

… forgiven…

… forgiven…

…forgiven…

The Rubble Rebels

One must wonder what was going on through the poor man’s mind when he sat there, landed on top of the rubble from the felled ceiling, all eyes on him.

Hi there. ?

Excuse me...?

Nice to meet you all...?

Awk-ward! ?

One must wonder what was going on through the minds of the people in the crowd watching it all unfold right before their eyes.

Wow, what a mess!

These guys are crazy!

I wonder what Jesus is going to say now?

I know what He should say. He should say, ‘You idiots, what were you thinking?!!! Do you realize what you have done?!!! Do you know how much it’s going to cost to repair all this damage?!!!  And who do you think is going to clean up your colossal mess?

But Jesus says none of that.  None of any of it at all.

This is what Mark records about the event:

Impressed by their bold belief, Jesus said…

I am thinking, it would be rather difficult to impress the Son of God.  He’s seen it all.  Knows it all. But, these guys, these crazy, wacko, worth-their-weight-in-gold guys who went out on a limb, who went through the roof with their useless-bodied friend, they impressed Him. They left their mark on the mind and heart of the Son of God!

And when your wacky, crazy friends put you down through the roof, landing you safely at the feet of Jesus, amazing things happen. 

A Million-Dollar Friend

The disabled man, however, had something that few of us can boast.

Something that turned out to be critical in this moment of challenge or opportunity – it all depends how you look at it.

The man had not one, not two, not even three but four friends who were willing to go out on a limb with him.  Who were willing to stick their necks out for him. Who would go through the roof for him.  Who were willing to break some rules and some bricks for him.

Now, that’s rare.

That was rare then, and it is even more rare now when the definition of friendship has been reduced to the bulging list of vaguely familiar faces on our Facebook page, faces of people we hardly know much less love. 

Looking on the bright side, such superfluous friendship market makes real friends truly stand out.  It causes the value of a true friend to actually go through the roof. They are worth their value in pure gold. 

So you may not need four, or three, or even two.  Just one true friend who really really knows you, who really really loves and generously accepts you as you are – the good, the bad, and the ugly – the one who is willing to go out on a limb with you, who is willing to stick his or her neck out for you, who is willing to go through the roof with you…to break some bricks and few rules with you - may be quite enough.  Perhaps even more than enough.

And if you are a friend like that... I need to hear from you.

No-Answer Questions

We don’t know how the man lost the use of his limbs.

Was it sudden? At the prime of life? Did he dive off some cliff into miscalculated shallow waters and snapped his spinal cord? Or did  the decline creep up on him, slow and gradual?

Perhaps  he was born that way? A burden, a dead weight to his family and society from the moment of his birth? Society that ascribes the worth to a person not by the incalculable value of his soul but by his ability to produce, to self-promote and generate income making his breathing the air and occupying the few square feet of the planet’s space worthwhile, or at least tolerable?

Did he pray to God up in heaven and was dragged around from one doctor to another here on earth  - the licensed physical therapist as well as charlatans, grasping for straws in futile attempt to bring back the power to his useless appendages. Until hopeless and exhausted, they all finally give up.

Was his sin hidden and private, eliciting the passing crumbs of pity  for his tragic misfortune  or blatantly public, making him a warning, a spectacle and an example of just punishment to all brazen souls who dare step outside the lines?

 

Was he angry? Resigned? Afraid? Lonely? Did he long to be seen beyond his useless body? Beyond his weakness and sin? Did he curse during the day and cry the long, dark hours of the night? 

Or did he learn to hold it all in, no word, no tear for the world to see or hear?

Was he wondering if there is ever going to be anything more… anything better for him… even him?

We have no answers to any of the questions. But, there might be a good reason for it.

Through the Roof

Early on in Jesus’ public ministry, an incident is described by both Mark and Luke.

Jesus’ popularity has skyrocketed and there were many who wanted to see what the fuss is all about. Some were curious.  Some suspicious.  Some desperate.  

In this particular story, the curious and the suspicious made it difficult for the desperate to reach Jesus.

But desperate people are prepared for desperate measures.

And they came, bringing to Him a paralytic, carried by four men.  And being unable to get to Him because of the crowd, they removed the roof above Him; and when they had dug an opening, they let down the pallet on which the paralytic was lying. Mark 2:3-4

They removed the roof.

They dug an opening.

Can you visualize this??

Most of us are much too polite for such inconvenience.  Much too concerned about the cost of the repairs to the roof. Much too worried about what it would take to clean up the mess.

But desperate people go out on a limb, because they know their only hope is Jesus.  

Not  a reputable religion.  

Not a church building. 

Not a long impotent list of dos and don’ts. 

And they are willing to do whatever it takes until they are face to face with Him. 

Chocolate-Covered Strawberry Fast

I feel rather pleased with myself for having so swiftly turned tables on my in-house Lental police. But, before I could gloat in my victory far too long, Child Two, the reflective, shake-hands-with-God, replace-Oreos-with-fruit child, furrows his brow.

That’s funny. I thought that the point of Lent is to realize that all these things that we think we can’t live without…He casually waves his hand, the sweep encompassing not just the pantry and the kitchen, but the library and the study, and even the living room where X-Box is hidden inside the dinged pine armoire,  ... that all these things that trip us up and keep us hooked… are really not that big of a deal… It’s like they are brought to size and they are not so out of whack… and we are not so out of whack any more.

I stare at the Child Two, hoping there is a replay button somewhere on him, and I can hear what he just said again and again.

Where did you hear that?!!! I gasp.

Mom, I didn’t need to hear it.  It’s kind of obvious.  And he walks off towards the refrigerator, opens the door and grabs a box of strawberries out of the fruit drawer. He bites into one and after chewing on it for a few moments, he adds,

You must have bought these at Wal-Mart? They are tasteless... would be much better if they were dipped in chocolate. 

Successful Failure

A feeling that we might be missing something in this Lent business,  something that perhaps could be rather important is gnawing at the back of my mind.  

But there are also two pairs of big brown eyes bearing at me,  waiting for my answer. Waiting for me to step up to the empty plate. I crumble under the dual tidal wave of  pressure to become a model parent and blaze this deprivation trail ahead of my children. Before I could even think it through, I blurt out:

Maybe I should give up Facebook?

Facebook?!!!  The aforementioned two pairs of big brown eyes pop out in unison.  Again?!!! You did that last time and it didn’t work!

What do you mean, ‘It didn’t work’, now I feel defensive about my first ever attempt at 40 day social media fast.

You know what we mean,  'it didn’t work'.  You stank at it. You were cheating. You kept checking your Facebook when you thought nobody was watching…

How do you know I was checking it, when NOBODY was watching. Were you spying on me?!!!

Mom! We didn’t need to spy. Plus, in your own words: ‘God is always watching’, they sing-sang together in the mock-mothering voice.  You were so bad at it. Just admit it.

Fine.  I admit.  I admit I was hooked.  But I wouldn’t have known I was hooked, if I didn’t try to quit.  There, the Facebook fast was a blazing success! Without it, I wouldn’t have realized I was addicted.  Isn’t that the whole point of the fast?

Fat Cat Tuesday

How about you, Mom? What are you going to give up for Lent?

Our easy-going after dinner conversation about origins of Mardi Gras suddenly took turn for the worse.

But before I could answer the question. Child One all too willingly volunteered to give up all tech toys, meticulously naming each one.

The phone,. And,

Computer. And,

Kindle. And,

X-box. And,

iPod. And,

iPad.

The extravagance of the sacrifice was simply breathtaking.

Child One then proceeded to specify that computer and iPad could be used for homework but not  for playing video games.  All this was said while Child One pointedly stared at Child Two - the real tech junkie in the family - waiting for the 'subtle' arm-twisting to take effect.

Meanwhile Child Two remained silent, presumably deliberating as to what might be the best way to enter this Lenten game of religious one-up-menship.  Pressure mounting, decision was made to choose safety by sticking with tried-and-tested traditional path.

Deflecting the all-too-obvious invitation to pre-Easter self-flagellation Child Two volunteered to abstain from Oreo cookies and all trans fats.

I’ll eat fruit instead.

I look at the mirror of my children and recognize myself in both.  On one hand, it takes no effort for me to note what you should be giving up ‘for God’. Heavens! It’s quite obvious. And if you can’t figure it out yourself, I am more than willing to help out, arm-twisting and all.

But when pressure begins to mount – from the inside as well as from the outside - I choose to deflect - offering God a polite religious hand-shake while keeping Him at arm’s length, hoping this might keep Him from getting too close and personal.

Lent... I mutter, Hmmm… I don’t know.  I haven’t really thought about it. I finally confess, wondering if I am the only one scratching my head over the strange shadowy sides of the religious discipline.

No Ordinary Human Love

And then, the young woman kept on. Remember our Sunday mornings? Never missing a single Disney movie matinee in that dinky community theater at the corner right across from the Albanian bakery shop.  

Oh, gosh! I forgot all about that! The father interrupted, They had the best rice pudding in town. We always stopped there after the movie.  The owner knew our orders before we even reached the counter. I can still smell that cinnamon. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. They stood in silence, the scent of a different era tickling their nostrils like the sprinkled cinnamon.

But inside the movie theater, with the lights out and the soft buzzing of the projector, l would sneak peeks at  you and  watch you  wipe your tears in the dark, weeping  together with the dwarfs when Snow White laid beautiful and dead surrounded by all the mourning birds and bunnies and the little baby fawns? I thought that was the end of the story... The End.

I didn’t realize you noticed, said the father almost ashamed, as if caught in some wrongdoing, still a little boy with his hand reaching into a cookie jar.

The fact that you cried made me love you all the more. The girl whispered.

And with that, something seemed to crack inside the boy. Something bigger and deeper than his childhood wounds bubbled up engulfing them all. And this God, whom he saw, whom he understood as the God-Who-Takes-Away-Christmas-Ham became... became...

... the God-Who-Weeps-With-His-Children-in-the-Dark. 

The God-Who-Drags-His-Children-on-His-Shoulders-Out-of-the-Deep-Waters-into-Safety. 

The God-Whose-Heart’s-Not-Much-Different-From-an-Ordinary-Father’s-Human-Heart.

And the self-proclaimed atheist was accosted from the inside-out by this heavenly Father who begun to love the little boy back into His fatherly heart.

Love is Always Enough

Enough???

The young woman’s voice cracked with emotion. 

What do you mean, what you did wasn’t enough?!! Dad, what you did was MORE than just enough! What you did for me, what you did with me made it easy, so easy for me to trust God. Your love for me made it the most natural thing to know, in the heart of my heart, that all His thoughts toward me are nothing but good. Dad, He is not a stranger.  He is our Father, our Heavenly Dad! Just like you are a dad - to me!

The look on the father’s face shifted slightly. As if he suddenly realized something he hadn't been aware of all this time.  

Think of it, Dad! The woman continued, With you near me, I knew I was safe.  Remember the time you just taught me how to swim and I thought I was so good.  I thought I could do it. And you let me go out too far, into the deep, not because you knew I could handle it, but because you knew YOU could handle it.  And you dragged me back through the pounding waves to the shore, while I was clawing at  your neck, almost drowning both of us?

The father shook his head, laughing at the memory of the day.

But I never, for one second, doubted I was safe, because I was with you! You never let me go  hungry. Hungry  for food, never go hungry for attention.  You made me feel beautiful, carrot-hair, chubby cheeks,  freckles and all,  while you were sitting in the armchair, bone-tired, watching me play dress-up in mom’s fancy clothes.  And the mess that we made, skirts and dresses scattered all over the floor! Mom was so mad!

Oh, my! Did I get in trouble with your mother that day or what! The dad chuckled.