The pace of the Father

As a mom of a toddler, I feel like I spend half my day running after my little one. Between trying to keep him from jumping off the highest points he can find and keeping him away from all the hidden dangers he uncovers between the bathroom, the fridge and under the sink, it can seem I spend so much time trying to get to where he's going before he gets there. There are times though that we walk together, and rather than making him move faster, it forces me to slow my pace dramatically...

Whether or not we say it, we're always wishing our kids would hurry up. "Let's get your shoes." "Please finish your breakfast." "We have to go." All euphemisms for, "You're moving too slowly. Hurry up." Being that we chase them around, we know they can move, so we expect them to move at our speed, and keep in step with us. We forget their legs are small, and one step for us is many for them. We forget that our stride is a wide one, and that they would be left in the dust if they were expected to keep up. When their little hands meet ours, we enter into their pace, because if we tried to get them to go ours, we'd just be dragging them.

That being the case, why do so many of us believe that the Father is looking at us disappointingly and sighing, "Would you please just _______?" That blank could be a lot of things: Would you please just move on already/let it go? Would you please just get with the program? Would you please just stop holding me up? Would you please just hurry up! We believe the Father would look at us and say, "Never mind, I'll do it," like we say to our children who are taking forever to set the table or to mix the cookies. We're terrified He'll pass us by and not look back and so we run with panic trying to keep up with Him, believing He'll just take away what he's tasked us with and someone else will be called instead. We never take into account the pace of the Father.

Jesus was worshiped as Emmanuel at birth. (Matthew 2) However, it wasn't until he was 30 years old that he was baptized and began his 3 year long ministry. (Luke 3:23) Many of us feel like we've been waiting at least that long to step into what God called us to. It's easy to believe that if we don't hurry up and make things happen, that calling will disappear, and He'll just get someone else to do it. However, Jesus words in John 5, where He says he only does what He sees the Father doing (vs 19) lends to the idea that the Father's pace is not a hurried one. It's methodical, planned, intentional and as many of us have experienced in periods of waiting, slow. 

I think the pace has more to do with who He's walking with than what the speed of His true step is. He is a Father that walks with His children, like He did with Adam and Eve in the cool of the garden and with Moses and the Israelites as a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. The pace of children is a distracted one, and to walk with our little ones is to provide direction and protection. Walking with the Father is no different. Therefore, this isn't to suggest there is no sense of urgency with the Father, as many of his people were told, "Do this now." It's an acknowledgement that in the same way we slow down when we take our children's hand, that He knows children only move so fast. Whether it's the weight of our baggage slowing us down, or the cautious nature we might have against unknown territory, or even just the fact that our legs are stubby and our gaits are short and even if we ran with all of our might, we would never be able to keep up with Him, He is content to keep pace with us.

I believe the Father sees value in the journey we're on with Him. Allowing us to indulge in the occasional distraction that comes with being awestruck by beauty; to stop and listen to voices of wisdom along the way; to be cautious of what may be ahead and arrive at our destination prepared. The trust and relationship built from walking with Him as He leads to green pastures, still waters and through deserts and dark places is something that takes far more time than we adults are necessarily comfortable with. We just want to go, be there, get whatever it is done so that we can feel satisfied and accomplished. But that is not the pace of the Father.

I pray that as we walk with Jesus, and take his command of "Follow me" sincerely, that we would find contentment in the pace of the Father. That the promised healing that we're waiting on, the restoration we've been working toward, the place whispered into our heart the day passion was born in us, would be viewed through our hand in the Father's, knowing that He walks at the pace we set, and we will get there as long as we keep moving. I pray you would find the grace necessary to walk and not pull away and try to run ahead, but receive the preparation that comes with the journey. I pray that if you are one weighted down by baggage, you would receive His mercy, and hear the words my friend heard in the midst of unpacking her heart, "I'm here, and it's going to be ok."

Abba, thank you for showing me the benefit of slowing down to my child's pace. Thank you for settling my heart and removing the anxiety that comes from the thought that I need to hurry up. I pray that as I follow you that I would find peace in Your pace, and even though I want to dash ahead and get to the next thing, that you would assure me that You are not a God who dangles good things in front of His children to only take them away if they don't get there in time. Help me believe that the things you have planted in my heart will grow to fruition, and that as long as I walk with you, I will arrive at those things prepared to carry out whatever it is you've tasked me with. Thank you for being pleased to hold my hand. In Jesus name.

You make me brave

If you've been to the ocean recently, I'm sure you would agree when I say there's just something enchanting about it. Calming and peaceful, yet incredibly powerful, teeming with life and things undiscovered. It draws something out of the watcher, which is one of the reasons we spent this year's Yom Kippur (the day of atonement) at the beach. We took a friend, and while we watched the surf swell and crash into the rocks, we meditated through the prayer book. At the end, when we were asking God to inscribe us in the book of life for another year, we went out and met the waves, focusing on Micah 7:19, "You will again have compassion on us, you will tread our sin underfoot and hurl all of our iniquity into the depths of the sea." We were a little nervous, because the waves were coming in strong, and reaching much further than they had been, all the way to where we were sitting on a rock ledge. The one time I walked out with our son, the waves hit him chest high (he's a mere 32 inches tall) and knocked him backwards, and if I had let go of his hand, he would certainly have been washed out to sea. Given that was the case, my husband took his hand, and led him out to the waves, to symbolically wash away his sin, and let it be carried away, into the expansive unknown. With chest high waves crashing into him, our little one firmly gripped my husband's hand, and stayed perfectly still. My friend then said lowly, "Hold my hand, Daddy. I can be brave when I'm with you."

I know she was pointing out a touching father/son moment so that I would take a picture, but I immediately thought of the song "You make me brave" by Bethel. We've sung that song often at church, and I think we've used it to romanticize the idea of going beyond the safe shore of life and meeting God in the waves, knowing that it'll be His love crashing over us as we venture into the unknown. I thought of the disciples as they bailed water out of their boat in Mark 4, while someone went and woke Jesus, asking, "Don't you care that we're drowning?!" The waves in that scene did not feel like love, but like utter abandonment, that Jesus could sleep at a time when the boat was on the verge of breaking apart and threatening to leave them all lost at the bottom of this lake. I also thought of Peter, who at Jesus request, walked on water. But then he saw the wind, and wind on a lake makes waves, and as the water moved under him, in an unsteady and unstable fashion, Peter became afraid, started to sink, and cried out for Jesus to save him. (Matthew 14) The waves here were uncertainty, and Peter was too far out to save himself from it. 

We can relate to the disciples in these accounts because we've all been there, right? When prayers go unanswered as it seems like our life is falling apart, or when our whole existence shifts from stable to uncertain and we just don't have the resources to save ourselves, what does bravery look like? It looks like knowing if He lets go, you will be washed out to sea, but having faith that He won't. It looks salt spraying in your face as another wave breaks against your chest with unexplainable weight and force, but knowing you're not standing in it alone. It looks like stillness in the midst of a chaos so deep, you would have no chance if you tried to take it on alone, and remaining confident that He is with you.

I can't tell you if my little one was afraid or not, but if he was, he didn't show it. What he did show was that he was confidence that as long as his Daddy had him, he was gonna be just fine. I pray that we all would have such confidence in our Abba, that we can be brave as long as we know He's got our hand.

Abba, thank you for giving us things in this world that display Your glory and explain Your truth. The ocean, shifting in it's peacefulness and ruthlessness has paralleled the lives of so many, where everything is fine one moment and the next, tragedy strikes. The waves of illness, job loss, ending a relationship and so many others can seem like we're being set up to be drowned. They are too high for us to navigate and too strong to stand against; being knocked into the sand again and again has left many of us weary, and bravery is the last thing on our mind. I ask that those in a season of rocky waves would sense Your powerful grip on them, and would be imbued with confidence that You will not let go, that You are not asleep and that they are not in their situation alone. I ask that the panic that comes with the salt in their faces would dissipate, and that faith would arise, that as long as You have them, that your grip is firm, and that they will be ok. Thank you for showing me what it means to be brave when called beyond our safe shores. In Jesus name, amen.