If you're like me, you grew up going to church and hearing about God's fatherly love for us. That was all well and good for someone whose father was an affectionate, loving dad. Yet for me and many of my generation, those words didn't carry the same meaning.
Instead Daddy was a distant sort of figure. He was at work all the time, even though he was self-employed. The whole community counted on him and he was known across several counties, yet I didn't feel comfortable telling him about my day. Life around the house changed when he came home and wasn't as relaxed. As I grew older, there was no understanding for the pangs of adolescence or the conflicts of teen years. I don't remember ever hearing him tell me "I love you."
Granted, at some level I guess I knew my father loved me, but he was a product of his upbringing. Generations of strong mountain men who didn't betray their emotions, good or bad. They worked and provided for their families and that was all they needed to do. I have to say my dad did that and did it well. We always had food on the table, toys and clothes (although not necessarily the latest styles). I had a dog and a succession of wild pets, an allowance, and a car when I was 17. Life wasn't bad, but it did shape my view of God.
To me, God was distant and disappointed in my failures. My bad choices as a teen, my failed marriages, my acting out because I'd already failed so what difference did it make. He'd forgive me, because he was my Father, but I didn't really feel love in there as part of the equation.
Even when I had my own children, that view of God didn't change a lot. Yes, I loved them with all my heart and I was willing to die for them had it been called for. I loved them from the first time I felt them move in the womb, through dirty diapers, skinned knees, hormones and tantrums. Like me, God would have to find it easy to love the children who didn't fail.
That changed when my youngest child hit high school and discovered failing, not because he couldn't do better or make better choices, but because he didn't want to. He discovered drugs and alcohol, shoplifting and truancy. He cursed me when I wouldn't give him what he thought he needed. I made him leave home when he graduated from high school (he'd already left once on his own) and when he was 19 he was living in his car and unemployed, a far cry from the successful future I'd seen for him.
That's when I realized how much God loves us. Even though I dreaded my son's tirades and was worn down by trying to cope with him, even though he'd failed himself at so many levels and wasn't facing the rosy future he could have had, I knew I loved him. Then it hit me that God must look at us the same way.
He provides us with a plan for life, and we push it to the side to do things our way. We don't ask for His guidance and we make bad choices. We ask for things we think we need like mended relationships and better jobs, then get angry when those things don't happen. Spiritually, we wind up unemployed and living in our cars, hurt and angry because, after all, aren't we children of God? Isn't our life supposed to be better than this and wouldn't it be if He really loved us?
The simple fact is that, as a parent of a troubled child, you learn that love isn't always enough. For life to get better, the beloved sometimes has to listen and sometimes has to go through tough times, and even then everything won't necessarily be OK. Sometimes the course we're settled into will never lead to the life we could have had, but it will still lead us to heaven and our Father's arms because he loves us.
Accepting that real love means God forgives my mistakes just as I love my son through his troubles, means I've finally opened myself to more of God's grace than I ever imagined. No, life isn't suddenly full of rainbows and flowers. I'm still out of work, but my bills are paid and I have time to go to church and be involved. I still don't have a big house, but the one I do have keeps me comfortable. My wardrobe isn't the latest fashions and expensive accessories, but it suits my lifestyle. I still dream of earthly things I may never have, but I have a healthy granddaughter that I get to spend a lot of time with and, so far, my own health enabling me to do the things set before me.
My prayers haven't healed my son, but they've helped me look beyond his illness and past his struggles to help him when I can and say no when it's something I cannot do. And they've helped me put aside old hurts and learn to accept my Father's love.
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