The Shadow Of My Porch Swing - The Presence Of Godনমুনা

There he lay in a mess of emotion on the hall floor. Guilt and fear of a consequence wrecking his little body. Kneeling in front of him I ask for his hand. The sobbing response is ‘I don’t want a consequence.’ It had been thirty minutes of back and forth, the tug of war dance between irrational child and a parent desperate to remain calm. Once again I tell him I love him, stand up and return to fixing dinner. From the corner of my eye I see his body worn from the battle. I desperately want to tell him the future, my heart breaking over his distrust, but I can’t make his choice. I return to him again, ‘Give me your hand,’ I ask. ‘No,’ he replies, ‘I don’t want a consequence.’ ‘I love you son. Do you trust that I love you?’ As he shakes his head no, sorrow floods my soul. Once again, I say I love you, stand and return to dinner. His emotions calm and I return again, kneel, and ask for his hand. From behind him a brotherly voice says ‘Don’t do it, she’s mean, she just wants you upset.’ And the flood begins again. 

So is this how God feels when I battle his character? He is love and cannot be other. I hear my Father say ‘a consequence is needed, your sin is apparent,’ but instead of trusting his love, I battle. In the wake of guilt and the sorrow of my sin, I can’t see truth.  All I fear is the penalty I deserve as I hear voices around scream ‘save yourself, He isn’t good.’ 

Weary, I return to him again. ‘Look in my eyes,’ I ask. But he can’t...won’t. I see the battle raging inside. ‘I love you, look at my eyes,’ I repeat. His head turns but his eyes look away, up, down, around, determined to miss my gaze. ‘I love you,’ I remind him and wait. Knowing full well this is a choice he alone must make. Exhausted and worn, he looks up. ‘Give me your hand,’ I whisper.

As he timidly reaches out and grasps my hand, I help him up and into my lap. Rocking and reassuring him, his sobs & body calm as he rests in my grace.

The fight was long and brutal; the war of self against obedience. Control verses surrender. It lasted longer than needed and cost him more emotionally than it should have. The punishment his heart endured was greater than any consequence deserved. And I was broken for him, wishing he would have chosen love and trust sooner.

So my Father whispers, ‘Trust my love. Correction comes because I love you. There is no condemnation, you are my child.’ And I have a choice. Trust Him and surrender to his loving hands or draw my sword, knowing full well battle always leaves unnecessary scars. His lap is ready and his arms are open. Will I give him my hand?

What area of correction are you fighting God over today? Will you give him your hand and let him lead you up and away?

Father, thank you that even in times of correction you meet me with gentleness and compassion. You desire for my heart to trust you fully. Help me to not battle your discipline and to also embrace your grace.