Having children undoubtedly helps us understand God.
Don’t lie. There are days you wish you had the power to open the earth, commanding it to swallow those little boogers like a 6-pack of Chic-fil-a nuggets. Or you’ve certainly fantasized of forced walks through the wilderness until they were maybe somewhere in their early 40s (the ultimate SuperNanny timeout).
Come on, am I the only one?
This morning, my son marched boldly into my bedroom like he was holding a Presidential press conference on the unfolding Bin Laden saga.
“Anna’s just laying on the floor and not getting her clothes on for school.”
A familiar speech loaded permanently into the teleprompters of every human child. The only question is which kid will choose to access this morning.
Never mind his missing socks, un-tucked shirt, and hideous morning breath, Austin was proud to proclaim his sister’s shortcomings. He had something to point at. To compare himself to. And her obvious faux pas were drowning the fact he had completely ignored the voice of his father, too. He didn’t seem to notice the irony.
I, you, we’re no different.
There’s a time to step into the tension. To warn a sibling they’re blowing it. To correct, redirect, and challenge. No doubt.
But let’s be honest, most of us just like pointing out that our sister is napping because it helps us feel better about our own missing socks. And I’ve got to be honest, as a dad, that just ticks me off. I wonder how God feels? I only have three kids.
A thought I’ll pose for you to ponder:
What if we spent less time raising a ruckus about where others are missing it, and first made sure we were accomplishing all the Father asked us to do?
Just a thought. Do you agree?