An Uncomplicated Love // God Loves Unconditionally Օրինակ

Uncomplicating the Word, “Father”

There are the words, “Father,” that cause an ache in your chest. Your example of a father was a confusing one. An example that left deep imprints in your soul. And they weren’t positive, not all of them anyway. So your definition of Father is complicated. It leaves you uneasy, confused, conflicted. You read about Me in my Word, hear Me talked about from the pulpit, hear Me say that I am your Father, and you cringe inside, just a little. I know. . . . And I know you don’t like this feeling. But it’s there, and you must acknowledge it. Pushing it down, ignoring it, isn’t going to make it go away.

It is only natural that your first opinion about what a father is would come from the example you had when you were growing up. Your human father’s qualities--his goodness, his compassion, his strength—or his lack of these qualities—affected you. He showed love for you--or he didn’t. He was present, or he wasn’t around at all.

I am not beginning this conversation to encourage you to judge your father for all of his faults. I am not trying to elicit sadness or regret or anger or frustration. I understand that the role of a parent is the most complicated and powerful role I give anyone. What is more challenging than this? Raising a child well when the parent himself battles his own struggles and pain? I just wanted you to know that I know how you feel. I know that you hurt inside when I talk about the definition of “father” with you. I want you to know that your example of a father from your earthly father does not have to get in the way of your relationship with Me.

The choice to love another person, while on earth, is so simple and so, so difficult. It is set with obstacles, isn’t it? The weak flesh is what gets in the way of love that is pure, honest, robust, and self-sacrificing. And this is what has gotten in the way of you being loved the way I want to love you now. 

So please, in this moment, with your complicated feelings about the definition of what a father is—and how you have had or not had one in your life—can we begin again? I want you to give your memories of your father—or the pain of your absent father—to Me. Let Me show you what I see in those memories. If there is pain, let Me show you what I see. If there was—or is—abuse, neglect, isolation, let Me show you what I see. 

I do not excuse or minimize the lack of love you experienced. But I also do not condemn. I come to bring love to your heart now—a love that heals all wounds, all hurtful memories, all pain. I, your heavenly Father, do not fall short: I love you unconditionally, and I have no flaws that prevent Me from seeing you and loving you as you are made to be loved. This, this is why I can heal your heart . . . This, this is why I want you to receive love from Me.

So let Me in now. Will you let Me in? Will you give me your anger—the pain of not being loved? Will you give me your sorrow—the pain of so much regret and despair and grief? Will you give me your frustration—every hurt, every moment of torment of your heart? I am here. I am your everlasting Father. I will take these feelings, and I will bring healing, renewal, restoration, redemption. I love you. I have always loved you. I will increase your trust in Me. I will bring new life to this aching heart.

Exercise:

When this world fell, so long ago, everything broke. All relationships broke. Our relationships with each other, our relationships with ourselves, and our relationships with God—none of them are what they were . . . or what they will be.

All of those relationships will be restored. But because we don’t know Him now as well as we will know Him, we now often mistake and misunderstand God. We’re susceptible to letting our experiences with our flawed, earthly fathers define and warp our perceptions of our Father God. Experiences with imperfect earthly dads make it difficult to trust our Heavenly Dad.

Is He safe? Is He loving? Is He kind? Can I count on Him, all the time? No earthly father, even the very best, can be represent just how safe and how loving and how kind, and how devoted, is our perfect Father God. All earthly fathers fall short of who He is—way short, in fact. And this can make it very difficult to understand God the Father.

Author Jonathan C. Edwards wrote this: “How was I supposed to use a word that, for me, brought to mind everything a parent shouldn’t be when I was in conversation with a God whom I’d been told was everything my dad wasn’t? How was I supposed to call God by a name I hadn’t used for most of my life; a name that didn’t mean to me what I knew Scripture insisted God is? For me to call God a father was like calling an apple an orange. They didn’t mix. Sure, I knew God was a Father, but how was I sure he wasn’t like my father?”

We must be open to a new, larger definition of the word, Father. Remember the father in The Parable of the Prodigal Son—his robes flying as he runs toward his wayward son with open arms and unconditional love. That’s a good picture of a father. Or how about the Father who made the ultimate sacrifice—who sent His son Jesus to die . . . for us, for you. Jesus’ death on the cross was the ultimate sacrifice of a Father who will do anything, anything to bring His children back home and restore His relationships with them.

This is what we heard from Holy Spirit, just a moment ago: “I give no excuse for any lack of love you experienced. But I also do not condemn. I come to bring love to your heart now—a love that heals all wounds, all hurtful memories, all pain so that I—your heavenly Father who does not fall short, who loves you unconditionally, who does not have any flaws that prevent Me from seeing you and loving you as you are made to be loved—can heal your heart . . . I want you to receive love from Me.”

And then He said something we really need to take to heart now. He invites us to let Him in, into all the places in our hearts that have wounded by our earthly dads. The deep wounds and the light, surface wounds. Anything that has caused any confusion or frustration or anger or distrust.

He said: “So please, in this moment, with your complicated feelings about the definition of what a father is—and how you have had or not had one in your life—can we begin again? I want you to give your memories of your father—or the pain of your absent father—to Me. Let Me show you what I see in those memories. If there is pain, let Me show you what I see. If there was—or is—abuse, neglect, isolation, let Me show you what I see.” 

Right now, friend, will you invite him in?

God, I want to call you Father. Restore this word for me. I want the word “Father” to be a word that means healing and love and hope. Not hurt. Not anger. Not sadness. So, I give you my confusion and my pain. I give you my frustration and my sorrow. I give you my memories of my earthly dad—memories that imprinted on my soul a definition of the word “father” that is false. Come now. Point me to Scripture that reveals Your true love for me. Help me to hear Your true voice in my heart, so that I come to know You and love You as Father—my Father, my Dad. Teach me. Show me what is true. Amen.

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