The Dad Life...Continues

Last Tuesday evening was not my finest hour as a Father.  It was more on the other end of the “finest hour” continuum.  Ironic, since Father’s Day is only three weeks in the rearview and is still an object in the mirror closer than it appears. 

We have a kiddo who, as of late, is checking boundaries.  Maybe you have one too.  She pushes and pushes toward her own way and ends up disobeying.  Then she blows up in full dramatic array when redirected. 

Last Tuesday evening it happened that I matcher her dramatic array wave for wave.  As parent, I was going to win despite my flailing incredulity with her unfounded hysteria.

In time I sat her down on the bench near the door to snivel and pout and think through where it all went wrong.  I stood by the microwave in the kitchen to do the same, hotter than the wattage baking my rice. 

After several minutes she’d settled down and was ready to listen.  After several more minutes I’d settled down and was ready to instruct.  The following moments were sweetly redeeming, and reconciliation reigned; her to me AND me to her.  We went about dinner and bedtime prep without issue.  Then something utterly marvelous happened. 

I decided to sit and hold her for a bit.  I thought I’d give her some quality time and affection, and receive from her some 7 year old snuggles and sweetness.  She sat quietly in my arms on the sofa for about a minute before she softly began to sing.

Now, indeed she’s 7, but she has the loveliest tone to her voice when she isn’t blurting out a Disney Kids-bop song.  In this moment she chose Good, Good Father by Chris Tomlin. 

She opened with the chorus:

“You’re a good, good Father,

It’s who You are,

It’s who You are,

It’s who You are.”

This is, of course, speaking of God and not me, particularly in light of those earlier moments of the evening.  And she was most certainly singing it about God and not me.  She continued:

“And I’m loved by You,

It’s who I am,

It’s who I am,

It’s who I am.”

If you’ve heard the song, you’re humming it now.  I couldn’t help myself from receiving the words as restorative.  A guy like me can get pretty down on himself when he allows himself to stray from the manner of the Lord in parenting and become someone altogether ugly, mean, angry, annoyed, frustrated.

I appreciated the moment so fully and allowed God to remind me that by and large I am a good Daddy and my kids are deeply loved by me.

Then my little girl launches into the bridge:

“You are perfect in all of Your ways.

You are perfect in all of Your ways.

You are perfect in all of Your ways to us.”

And I stopped my self-affirming muddle on a dime.

These words can only be about her Heavenly Father; my Heavenly Father.  Good, in its purest sense, can mean God, and God alone.  Only His goodness is expressed perfectly in all ways.

Though my daughter was in my arms, I melted a bit into hers.  A tear may or may not have fallen as those words danced on her lips.  She sang them over and over – and I soaked in their truth – for a full couple minutes. 

In my Father’s Day post I referenced Psalm 103:11-13.  Rightly exposed as those verses were, I could have gone a verse further as a means of appreciating the Psalmists comparison, while not missing the truth that He is God the Father and I am not…

“He knows our frame;

He remembers that we are dust.”

– Psalm 103:14

We are created beings prone to fail; prone to be blown about like the dust bunnies that scurry from corner to corner on our hardwood floor.  We most certainly are capable of showing compassion toward our kids in a way that transfers into their imaginations as God’s compassion for them.  While at the same time what sets us apart, what contrasts us,  with God the Father is we…I mean I am so dusty at times; so weak and failing and less than compassionate. 

The next day I pulled my youngest aside and told her how her singing that song spoke to me; that she ministered to me in her own youthful and gifted way.  I told her I was reminded of how only God is truly good and that, though I’m not perfect, He most fully is.

Her response to me:  “Well, you’re perfect, but He’s perfecter.”