Dancing With Dad - [Erik]

I’ve never been comfortable with God the Father. Well, let me be clear…I’ve never been comfortable with God in general, but the Father has always seemed especially scary. The Holy Spirit is okay I guess, but I’m not sure I like what He’s done with Benny Hinn. The Holy Spirit is unpredictable, so He’s scary too, but not as scary as the Father.

Read Scripture and you’ll see that the Father doesn’t bend. He’s got a lot of rules and He will kick you out of His garden if you don’t toe the line. It seems that if He isn’t busy flooding the world then He’s planning on burning it and the only thing that stops Him is Jesus.

Once I got past the Jesus of Sunday school classes and old paintings, I got to liking Him. Every time the Father was ready to whoop my ass, Jesus would step in and take the hits. God the Son understands what it’s like to be a man. The Father just never seemed to get how hard it is. All of His rules are fine for a holy God, but we’re fallen and we like to look at chicks’ asses. As I learned more about Jesus, there was simply no downside to trusting Him. Unconditional love, the older brother I never had, power over death, the giver of life, carpenter, creator, redeemer, friend of drunks and whores, perfection…what’s not to like? On top of all that, He has the Father’s ear. If I needed anything, He’d put in a good word for me. And on that dreaded day that I’ll be called into the Father’s office to try to explain why I spent so much time smoking and drinking and touching myself, Jesus is going to step between me and the Father, and smooth talk my way into Heaven.

That’s where I lived for a long time. Then I had children. Then I became a father. Not just once, but three times in five years. My wife and I are breeders. We have a five-year-old daughter, a three-year-old daughter, and a three-month-old son. And yes…we’re done.

Just in case you aren’t aware of how this works, sex leads to children and children lead to less sex. I figure if you can work it so all your kids show up within a five-year window, when they grow up they’ll all leave within the same period of time. This way, we can get back to having sex with the utmost efficiency. But I digress.

So now I’m a father. I love it. And I love my children. They worship me. I’ve always wanted to be a cult leader and being a father of three is about as close as I think I’m gonna get. The girls just about shit their pants when I walk in the door after work (and my baby boy sometimes does). I’ll put on some Dave Mathews or Bob Marley and swing them around our makeshift living room dance floor.

Remember that scene in Toy Story 2 where the little girl is spinning around with that cowgirl doll? Remember the look on the doll’s face? She had these wide eyes that swallowed the love and joy of the only thing that existed for her in that moment…that little girl. Well that’s how my daughters look at me. We’ll spin around with the speakers blaring Dave singing about muddy toes. The raw joy will overwhelm me and I’ll give in to tears as I reach a point where it’s like we’re stationary and the world is a whirling blur around us. And there’s just me and my daughter…nothing else…just love (and the other daughter screaming, “My turn, my turn”).

These kids are absolutely unconditional. Love between a man and a woman is complicated. It takes a long time and a lot of pain before a husband and wife get to the place where they are aware of each other’s faults, hope and pray for good, but accept each other just the way they are. This is good love, but the love of your child is oblivious and instant. I might even dare to say that until you are loved by your child you have not felt love.

So, I’m a father. That’s a taste of my experience so far. And this experience has led to a radical transformation of my relationship with God…God the Father.

An urge to pray to the Father began to unsettle the tight bond with my older brother Jesus. I would pray, “Jesus…” and He would say, “This is how you should pray: ‘Our Father…’” And I would be like, “O come on, I don’t want to talk to Him. He’s such a hard ass. You talk to Him. He likes You better than He likes me.” And Jesus would be like, “Alright, how about ‘Daddy?’” And I would get sick to my stomach.

I resisted praying to the Father for a long time, but my kids…my children…I loved them so much. How could I be more capable of love than God?

One day I imagined what it would be like to come home from work and not have the girls run to greet me. In my mind I saw myself going from room to room calling out, “Girls, Daddy’s home!” There was no response. Finally I looked under a bed and saw them cowering in fear, afraid to take the hand that would lead them to a living room with the furniture pushed back to the walls. My heart broke and the Unpredictable Spirit whispered that my Daddy was hurting too. Not because of all the bad things I’ve done, but because He wanted to dance and I thought He wanted to hit me.

So I went to Him. I came out from my hiding place and I said, “Heavenly Father…uh…Daddy…here I am.” As I reached for His hand, I noticed how much He looked like His Son or how much His Son looked like Him. Then Jesus said, “I and the Father are One.” We touched and I cried. As we looked into each other’s eyes, everything was still. The Father saw Jesus. The fear was gone and the world blurred to dim. Then I drank some beers and went to sleep.

In the morning, I almost forgot about our dance as I crawled out of bed praying that I wouldn’t screw things up too bad that day. By evening, I was scared of the Father again and I prayed my normal evening prayer, “Why don’t you just kill me?” I hate to admit that, but it’s true.

And now it’s off and on, but it’s always the kids that turn it on. They remind me about my Dad.

As a father, I would give up my life for the lives of my children. I would die for my wife. I might even take a bullet for a friend...maybe a stranger. But I would NEVER trade my children’s lives...not for a friend, not for my wife, and I certainly wouldn't do it for a stranger.

However, mystery of mysteries…the Father gave up His Son for His enemies. That reveals a kind of love and passion that the Son doesn’t reveal. Sure, the Son laid down His life, but the Father somehow, in some way, loved me enough to let it happen. If it were me, I would have said, "Not my kid. You can all go to hell."

So, as much as I love my children, I am not a better lover than God the Father. I tell the girls that they are special and that I will always love them no matter what, and He whispers, “You too, son.” They will scrape against my warning to stay out of the street when they play, and His Spirit says, “The Father’s rules are an expression of His love for you.” I see their faces light up when I give them my undivided attention and I hear, “I never take my eyes off of you…not watching for failure but in love with who you are.” I’ll put on one of our favorite songs real loud and hear the girls squeal over the sound of little feet running from the other room to come dance, and His Spirit in me cries out, “Daddy!” I’ll look at my new born son and think, “I wouldn’t give you up for the world.” Then I hear the Father say, “I gave mine up for you.”

God, I want more. Remind me. Thank You that You’re not who I thought You were.

Hebrews 2:11-13

“11Since the One who saves and those who are saved have a common origin, Jesus doesn't hesitate to treat them as family, 12saying,

I'll tell My good friends, My brothers and sisters, all I know about You;

I'll join them in worship and praise to You.

13Again, He puts Himself in the same family circle when He says,

Even I live by placing My trust in God.

And yet again,

I'm here with the children God gave Me.”

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