Sticking it out

There have been numerous times that I thought, especially the early years “this is it! There is no way I can live with this any longer”, but I did. And it’s often the little, tiny, insignificant annoyances that we allow to become mountains we cant see over. So we start looking for an exit sign. 

A couple of years ago I was on the back deck of my sister’s home doing some writing while visiting with her and her family. I was really enjoying the cool breeze as it bounced through the tall southern pines back and forth. It was a great place to write. The weather was ideal. I was sipping on a warm cup of  tea and cranking out words right and left. It was the perfect state.

Until, my little 3-year-old nephew appeared out of nowhere asking one question after the other. The questions were definitely not deep. How serious can a kid be when he’s is poking you in the ear with hydrangea, and asking the same question over and over?

Do I border on yelling at the child because I am trying to focus on what I am writing? Sure. But because I love the little fellow so much and afraid I will miss the experience of a great antic, I restrain. Because of past experiences and the expectation of possibilities, I don’t dare spoil the present by short cutting the process. I may miss a memory that will serve as medicine to my soul in future dark hours. Sometimes I will be burdened and out of nowhere will rise a “Nathan-ism” and I will laugh my way back into joy. Besides, how can you get angry at a little fellow with legs shorter than his body, sand blond hair, wearing a crumpled cowboy hat, boots on the wrong feet and stubby hands which clap for everything he does, even picking his nose?

Once when my youngest son Ben was about Nathan’s age, I was trying to relax by watching a base ball game. No sooner than I got comfortable did Ben come bouncing down the hall at warp speed darting between me and the TV with hands firmly planted on his hips “hey Dad, what you doing? Want to wreskle (wrestle)?” Well, no I did not want to wreskle. I wanted to watch the ball game. I needed to simply “veg-a-tate” a while. Usually I would turn off the TV and wrestle with him. This time I wanted to set up an experience. Instead of acknowledging that he was there, I ignored him. I stared right through him just as if he didn’t exist. He would move to the right, to the left. Make a few scary faces. Wave his little hands around. Tap me on the arm repeatedly. He would walk around the chair while looking at me. Even though he was making his best effort to distract me, I held my ground.

Ben knew he had to do something drastic to snap me out of my trance. After thinking for a minute or two, he simply reaches over with his little balled fist and knocks me on the forehead and asks, “Hey Dad! Are you in there?”

That worked. I lost it.

What I am trying to say is that in marriage and in your journey as a parent you have to keep knocking, even through the dark times. Don’t short cut the struggle. Don’t remove the larvae from the cocoon. Don’t take away the irritating grain of sand from the oyster. If you do, you will never see the butterfly soar or the pearl glisten.

I love Psalms 103. David describes God as a tender father who loves his child with a special kind of love, loving kindness. In the Hebrew, the meaning coveys “kindness that has been added to.” It’s kind of like a sandwich with both peanut butter AND jelly. A peanut butter sandwich is good, but not as good as when you add a little jelly. The scripture paints a picture of a God who remembers us and sees us as a merciful father showing pity to his little child. “Loving kindness” conveys the image of bending the knee to help someone in need Like a father who kneels down because his child has scraped his knee, to show compassion and mercy like only a loving father can.

And you know, that’s the way God loves us. But, think about this deeper than just the emotional picture of the loving father. God loves us this way, he hurts when we hurt, he struggles when we struggle. This does not mean he will pull us out the ring when we get beat up and bruised. In order to win, we have to stay in the ring, pain and all. No good Dad will pull his child out of the soccer game simply because they miss a goal or they get a rough kick in the shin, unless they are in danger. But all good Father’s realize that pain is part of the process, the process of growing up. Soccer goals, marriage goals, parenting goals will never be scored without sacrifice, struggle and pain.