In an instant, the veneer dissolved and my existential reality and accompanying despair was exposed to my conscious waking mind. While I managed to keep my outward appearance normal, inside I was paralyzed in terror
I met a servant of God the other day. He told me how he got saved and when he was called to service. He told me all the things he does for God. He told me how many years he had been serving the Master. Rather, he “shared” with me all the things God has been doing through him. He was trying to be humble, but you could see that he took great pride in his status as a servant of God and of his record.
Later that same day, I met a child of God. He told me about his dad. He described what life was like living in God’s family. He told me about the fun the kids had and how they loved each other. He talked about the family business and how everybody from the youngest to the oldest had a part in it and nobody was less important than anyone else. He was excited about learning and growing up to be just like his Dad. That evening I was thinking. I could never remember a religious extremist saying that he was acting in behalf of his Father. I couldn’t remember a terrorist saying “My Heavenly Dad told me to do this.” Or “I’m just carrying out the family business.” It was always "I am God's servant or messenger!" I thought of what Jesus said, “You’re not my servants, you’re my friends. Servants don’t know what is really going on in the household, only partly. But a person tells his or her friend everything he or she is doing.” I thought of the verse in John 1 which says, “…but everyone who believes (in Jesus) has the right to become the child of God…born of God”. I remembered how all the “servants” of God I had met through the years also considered themselves God’s creations, “God created us to praise him” etc. I pondered, “Am I God’s creation or his child? Was I created or given birth? Am I a separate thing like a tree or a squirrel or am I flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone, his progeny with his DNA?" I remembered the story of the prodigal son. He came home humiliated wanting only a servant’s job but his dad ran to meet him and restored him to his family. Dad loved and wanted his son. The prospect of actually being a child of God is staggering; me, son of God. I see the incredible intellect and mastery of my Father in the myriad elements of creation. How did he do it? How? Why? To think that this is my inheritance, to be like him, to do like him and to always be with him, boggles my mind. I know service has its place. Kids have chores. But my kids never referred to themselves as servants of dad. They wore my name. They grew up in their house, not the “house of Dad”. It was their fridge, not “the fridge of Mom”. It was our car, not the “car of the Dad”. Some will think this is going too far, but what if I prayed, “Dad, our kingdom come, our will be done, on earth like it is in heaven.” What is the problem with that prayer? Aren’t we, as his children, heirs to the kingdom? Isn’t it ours? Didn’t Jesus say, “Don’t be afraid, little flock, your dad is happy to give you the kingdom!” I really want God’s will to be done. I have prayed that so many times! His will is what I want! We have the same will! (I may not be clear as to what the details are and I may do the opposite at times but I know I want it!) So, “Dad, I hope our will comes true! I hope our family love comes to everyone on earth, just like I have it when I’m with you!” |
The DoorpostThe Doorpost is written for the family and friends of Fred / Papa / Dad Paddock in response to this admonition found in Deuteronomy 6:6-9: These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the door posts of your houses and on your gates and emails.
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