Last night my son learned a hard lesson. Pick on a kid who’s older than you and you may get a beat down. Or as I like to think of it, act like Cortland Finnegan and someone may go all Andre Johnson on you.
Our friends and co-pastors the LaGranges were over for dinner, and my 5 year old was vying for attention the Jersey Shore way: outrageous acts of annoyance. That is, until 9 year old Carter took matters into his own hands with a certified, WWE, off the top rope body slam that reverberated through the upstairs floor.
And I, as a loving father, did what any responsible dad would do.
(Well OK, I made sure his neck wasn’t broken, then I laughed…hysterically).
Because my son got TKO’d? Nope. Because reality was teaching him a beautiful lesson. Act like a fool, and somebody may treat you like one. Thanks Carter.
Lately, I’ve had some days when life seems to have me in a figure-four leg lock. And while I’m getting my face smashed into the carpet, God seems to be relaxing at the dining room table sipping His coffee, maybe even getting a good chuckle at my wrestling ineptitude.
Doesn’t He care?
Sometimes God loves me best by allowing reality to do it’s work. By letting me struggle. By not stepping in to stop the fight. Because the transformation brought by pain can often be a gift. A cutting away of things I wouldn’t have given up on my own.
“He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more.” John 15:2
Because God loves me, He won’t let me stay the way I am. Even if it hurts.