My First Picture of God
On June 9th, 1980 my dad held Mom’s hand as she bore down in pain and brought me into this world. With joy the nurse thrust me into his arms.
“It’s a girl!”
Mom beamed. Dad gulped.
Later that day he drove home, alone, to check on things at the house. Halfway home he pulled to the side of the road. Overcome.
“Help me, God!” Tears streamed down the weathered cheeks of this Vietnam vet. The man in charge who always knew what to do was, for the first time, at a loss. With hands clenched on the steering wheel and head leaned forward in prayer,
“I don’t know what to do with a girl!”
He’d only had a brother and –until now — only had a son. He knew bootcamp and work ethic and how to throw a curve ball and rebuild an engine. But what, dear God, was one supposed to do with a girl?
At some point someone told him, “Just love her.”
So he did.
And, in doing so, he gave me a picture of God.
It’s no mistake God has chosen the name Father for Himself. And it is no mistake He has given us earthly fathers, whose primary responsibility is to show us what God is like until we are old enough to see Him for ourselves. It is a gradual shift from gazing upon our earthly daddy to gazing upon our heavenly Daddy, and certainly not without its share of mistakes and misconceptions along the way. Our family was no different. My dad was not perfect, but he did this, and my first picture of God looked like this:
- As a newborn, he let me sleep on His chest for hours. I’m sure there were many important things to be done but none as important as this. God the Father never hurries us from His presence.
- As a toddler, Dad let me take naps with him. I could never fall asleep as fast at him, so I’d lie there and listen to him breathe, trying so hard to make my own short breaths line up with his long ones. If I could just breathe with him. As I rest in God’s presence I lie still, quiet. Can I somehow slow my hurried pace and short quick breaths to move in step with His majestic ones? I still try.
- As a preschooler, Dad ran a hundred miles behind my pink two-wheel bike, along the icy driveway on Christmas afternoon. He held on tight so I could learn, never letting me crash, never letting me go. God faithfully holds me tight as I venture out in faith — in ministry, writing, speaking. He knows I’m wobbly and scared, but He never lets me go.
- As a kid, Dad patiently helped me to overcome my fears. I sobbed in fear before the Presidential Physical Fitness test, the eight-year-old homeschool kid out on the track with the public junior high kids. He wouldn’t let me off the hook, made me do it. Cheered the whole time and scooped me up in congratulations when I finished the mile, my face beaming with pride. God sticks me to courage, forces me to faith, though I scream crying that I cannot, that I’m too small or weak or scared. He insists, cheers, empowers, then scoops me up in joy when I finish — and succeed.
- As a teenager, Dad turned away a lot of boys. He was ruthless. I cried. Shouted. “Why?! Don’t you trust me?!” He did trust me. The boys he didn’t. Now, so glad. God, at times, lovingly responds to my prayers with a firm but gentle, “No.” I cry, shout sometimes, but He remains. Later I look back and thank. He knew.
- As an adult, Dad continues to do whatever he can to help me succeed in life. He watches my kids, gives wisdom, prays for me, fixes stuff around the house. Whenever I need him, he’s there. God continues to abide with me at all times. Always there, sustaining me in every way to see me succeed in this life of faith.
Dad, you might not have known what you were doing but thanks for painting my first picture of God.
You did a great job.
Happy Father’s Day.
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No dad is perfect, but perhaps there are ways that your dad, or dad-like figure, showed you glimpses of our Heavenly Father? What glimpses are you grateful for today?
{More on my dad: What Love Looks Like and Happy Birthday, Dad.}
Week's end with thanks
- Kids making a feast of mud-and-pebble-pies — the recipe only calls for one ingredient: imagination.
- Visit from my discipler/friend Elisa! Able to show her our “world,” WCC church family, our home, friends. Rich blessing!
- Her homemade potato salad. Who knew potato salad could be so GOOD?!
- Seeing the quick fruit of discipline.
- Exhorted to rest. Receiving it.
- Making a list. Checking it twice.
- Heidi’s first ponytail … my girl is growing up!
- Dutch resting his head on my shoulder.
- New birthday playlist on my ipod–love getting new worship music!
- Singing.
- Quilts.
- Coconut-chicken soup.
- Fresh greens.
- God giving wisdom.
- How God divinely orchestrates meetings, relationships, messages.
- Godly girls seeking Him.
- Surrender.
- Smashing idols.
- Trying to run again.
- West Linn track.
- Nights at home.
- Sick little boy = extra snuggles for mommy.
- On couch with my man, laps topped with screens and keys, studying together. It’s what we’ve been doing together for a decade. We always studied together, even before we were “we” …
- Snuggling on the floor with my girl. Curled up under blanket, camping.
- Crumbling over this post.
- Too many prayer requests to count; abundant opportunities for grace and provision.
- HUGE juicy mangos (at 2/$1, really a gift!).
- Wednesday morning prayer.
- Playing My-Little-Ponies with Heidi. The very same ponies I played with almost 30 years ago.
- Returning from a run with fists full of wildflowers.
- Dutch’s fascination with George Müller.
- London packing list.
- Our ambition of only taking a small carry-on bag. We’ll see how we do.
- Counters lined with fresh organic fruit — gotta love a sale!
- Dutch’s love for tomatoes — eats them like apples.
- Rosemary and eucalyptus essential oils.
- Family night.
- Family walk to sunset park.
- Sweatshirts and socks on cold mornings.
- Nyquil.
- The Message.
- Closed doors.
- Opened doors.
- Three days at Riversong.
- Clear blue sky and sunshine for Jeff’s birthday. All day spent outside, kids splashing in wading pool, making mud pies, tinkering in Papa’s shop.
- New wooden bat for Dutch hand-made by Daddy on the lathe.
- Heidi learning to jump rope just like mommy. Hysterical.
- “Happy birthday Jeff” written in chalk on the driveway. Not by me, but by my dad.
- A humorous common theme among Jeff’s gifts from others: beef jerky, a box of sugary cereal, a canister of peanuts, a box of nerds … what, do you think Jeff’s wife doesn’t let him have those things at home?? 🙂
- Watching people love on my man. He is so loved and I’m so glad.
- Exceeding kindness from a Multnomah professor.
- Studying for London in a lawn chair, stack of commentaries by my side, bottle of water, warm sun. Pinching myself. Do I really get to do this??
- Kids bouncing on mini-trampoline.
- Pink and blue beach balls chased around the yard.
- Parenting frustration turned to insight — God is brilliant! So thankful He helps us by His spirit.
- Sound of river.
- Prayer.
- Trust.
- Steak dinner. Birthday pie. True Grit. Happy husband.
- A beautiful day.
- Melon shampoo. Two clean delicious children.
- Combing Heidi hair. Wet curls springing up.
- Being tired. The good kind.
- Watching a movie with my favorite men in the world on either side of me. Love my dad, love my man.
- Signing off.
- Psalm 62.
F is for a Faithful man, who can find?
Many a man proclaims his own steadfast love,
but a faithful man who can find?
Prov. 20:6
They are so rare we hardly recognize them. Or perhaps they’re not so rare, it’s just that they are quiet. Perhaps you sit across the table from one? Here’s a little glimpse of one, you might see something you recognize…
- He wakes early to spend time with God, fills his well so he can water his wife.
- He puts the water onto boil every morning for oatmeal.
- He gives the kids his oatmeal when they’ve eaten theirs and ask for more.
- He brings the pot of coffee over, gives me the last bit.
- He reminds me that I’m beautiful when I’m certain I am not.
- He builds the fort and even crawls inside.
- He eats the leftovers — again — without complaining.
- He takes the car for the tune-up and adds, ‘I’ll take the kids with me.”
- He (with other steady man) rototills the ground for hours, sweating and hunched over stubborn soil, so friend and I can enjoy a garden.
- He climbs in the car, exhausted, and declares, “That was fun!”
- He changes diapers. Hundreds.
- He gets up in the middle of the night for newborn cries. After the feeding he walks, the “baby dance,” his voice soothing fussy baby to sleep.
- He washes windows, takes out trash.
- He speaks kindly of others, believes the best.
- He promotes me to no end, my primary cheerleader, encourager. My agent and web-designer. Only happy when he’s convinced my God-given gifts are used.
- He loves his mom.
- He never hurries people.
- He listens. Really listens.
- He rubs my feet.
- He thinks deep and loves even deeper.
- He grows.
- He works hard to be healthy, make himself handsome and fit for me.
- He’s willing to try whatever odd health-food concoction I’ve dreamt up now.
- He never makes fun.
- He never criticizes.
- He never tears down.
- He disciplines himself to be positive.
- He lets himself relax.
- He never compares me.
- He takes baby daughter on a date. She comes home with ice cream mustache and smile on her face.
- He evokes happy squeals when he walks in the door from work.
- He makes me smile.
- He tries to be tidy because he knows it makes me happy.
- He honors my parents.
- He parks outside so I can have the garage.
- He gives me his Gold Card Starbucks rewards … every single one.
- He sold his Jeep Wrangler for a family car.
- He plays Scrabble, because he loves to watch me win.
- He always thinks to wait.
- He’s wise.
- He’s an insanely generous tipper. Way more generous than I!
- He takes the middle and gives me the aisle.
- He’s the computer fix-it man for every person I know.
- He never complains.
- He believes in others and truly desires their best.
- He subscribes to (and reads) Ann Voskamp’s blog (!).
And…
He’s here. The mark of a faithful man is a man who’s here. Everywhere he is, he is there. Not absent, but present.
Many a man proclaims his own steadfast love,
but a faithful man who can find?
By God’s grace I found one. And today is his birthday, and it is my joy to celebrate his life. Perhaps you’d like to drop him a quick line here, and wish him happy birthday? And perhaps you know a faithful man … perhaps today you could tell him what you appreciate so much? Or, perhaps leave a comment and tell us what a faithful man does: He… the more we describe these blessed faithful men, the easier it is to recognize and appreciate them in our lives.
Thanks for reading, and have a happy Friday.
3: Expectancy is waiting on God, not man
Sometimes the best lessons nearly knock the wind out of us. A simple question from my friend Dawson, more than ten years ago, has forever shaped my perspective of true expectancy… [excerpt from When God Broke My Heart.]
That fall proved to be the darkest season I’d experienced so far. Jason had told me that perhaps there’d be a time in the future when we would be together, he just didn’t feel a peace about it at this time, so he’d thought it was better for us to stay just friends. Because of this wording, the door remained open a crack in my heart, and gave me something to cling to.
To a hungry heart, even what is bitter tastes sweet.
I was so hungry, I didn’t care that this was not the best. I’d placed my heart’s hopes on Jeff, my dream, my “best,” and it shattered me. Though Jason wasn’t my dream, he seemed my only hope, so I placed my hope in him. This misplaced hope however, proved destructive, as all misplaced hope is.
I journaled and prayed about waiting on God. I was waiting on the Lord, I told myself. One afternoon, my childhood best friend, Dawson, was driving me home. His old Honda shook as we drove up I-5 and the stereo blared some new off-beat album only he could name. He asked me how I was doing. How I was really doing.
“I’m just waiting on the Lord, you know,” I said, more cheerfully than I felt. Dawson kept his eyes on the road, silent for a few moment. His eyes narrowed in thought. About once every five years or so Dawson says something profound that pierces my heart.
“Kari, are you waiting on the Lord and are you waiting on Jason?”
I felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. I hate it when Dawson’s right. He’s a clown and a goof and younger than me and I hate it when he has one of those moments. But more than hating that, I hated that he was right. I had never thought there was a difference, but now, with the light shining down in the depths of my heart, I knew there was. I’d been waiting on a man instead of waiting on God. I didn’t respond to Dawson, but when I got home I sat down with God and once again poured out my heart. I realized that by hoping in a person, I’d simply waited for my desired result. By waiting on God, I surrender the result entirely, completely relinquishing control and accepting that in God’s timing He will do His will in my life for my good and His glory.
Faithful are the wounds of a friend.
Now, I ask myself this question all the time:
Am I waiting on God or waiting on my circumstances to change?
Now, know it’s not always clear-cut, and sometimes it’s hard to tell because part of waiting on God really does include some concrete things like applications, relationships, etc.
But, the key is this: Waiting on God keeps my eyes firmly fixed on Him, where waiting on a person or a circumstance keeps my eyes fixed on people and circumstances, which change and shift and will soon lead to disappointment, depression and anxiety. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Kind of like a cycle, huh?
“My soul, wait silently for God alone,For my expectation [expectancy] is from Him.” Ps. 62:5
Expectation keeps our eyes on the circumstances because we are busy trying to line up what we think should happen with what is happening, desperately jockeying our expectations and our reality [usually through control] so they will line up. Expectancy keeps our eyes on God-relinquishing control in favor of trusting God with whatever He sees fit.
Remember the expectation cycle? Where we have our eyes fixed on a picture of what we want? Expectancy takes our eyes off the picture and fixes our gaze at God instead.
Expectancy vs. expectation: Where is my gaze?
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Where, dear friend, is yours? Thank you so much for reading.