Fatherhood and Grace

A couple of months ago, a sister of a friend was soliciting "words of wisdom" to be part of a surprise scrapbook to commemorate the birth of their first child. After some thought, I passed along the following to my friend who I've known for a long time, having met at a college Christian fellowship:

One of the great gifts of parenthood is that it provides a unique glimpse in terms of our own Sonship through Jesus Christ. There's something profound about holding your newborn child (and I've been blessed with three of them) and feeling such a powerful love which, frankly, the child has done nothing to "earn". The baby can't speak, encourage and clearly is unable to physically help me in any way. But a parent has such intense love simply because the child is his or hers. And it's a wonderful reflection of an infinitely more intense and faithful love that our God extends to us, who are even less deserving than that helpless child. And we give thanks because He loves us, and through Christ has made us His own.

Interestingly, parenthood is also a humbling reminder of how much our love fails to reflect the lavishness and abundance of God's love, particularly in areas such as grace, patience and mercy. Last week, one of the pastoral interns at our church delivered a terrific sermon in which he shared an anecdote in which his toddler daughter continued to utilize a playground set incorrectly. Frustrated that his daughter was walking up the slide and down the ladder, he scolded her and said, "Next time I'm not going to catch you and when you fall, it'll be your fault." His candor and vulnerability in sharing this was redeemed in the sense that he used it to teach the congregation a stark example of what God's love is not like.

Sadly, I responded that afternoon by doing something really similar. Taking my three kids to the pool that afternoon, I was fed up with them whining about my refusal to play certain pool games with them in the deeper end (I had tried to explain to them that I needed to keep an eye out of my youngest) and stormed, "Look, if you're going to complain and be ungrateful, we can leave right now!" My chastened children stopped complaining and quietly slinked away.

Frankly, to desire children to use a playground set correctly and to not whine aren't misguided, per se. But there's a certain dark edge to human correction in which vindictiveness and frustration seep in. The remarkable thing about God's correction is that it's done without either, and that even in the midst of our sin and error, He is patient and slow to anger. These are attributes which I need to continue to aspire towards.

Even within devout Christian circles, I wonder if we falsely attribute aspects of human discipline to God. For example, when experiencing hardship or loss, we may be prone to think things such as "Well, God heard me complain about my job and now He's gotten me fired," or "I got into a car accident because God was angry that I missed church this past Sunday." Again, it's not that God doesn't discipline those He loves - the Bible is pretty clear about this - but it can be dangerous to personalize circumstances, especially when the human versions of discipline are often so tainted.

I am grateful that the discipline I receive from God is purely loving - without taint of frustration, impatience or self-interest. And I am spurred to try to do likewise with my own children.