AngelSong's Gems

Are You Hiding From God?

I remember the hot summer when we discovered ice cream sandwiches in
the bottom of the cooler at the corner store. They were ten cents
apiece, a lot of money back then. I don't remember how we came to buy
one and taste the sweet chocolate graham crust and the melting vanilla
ice cream, but we were mad for them after that. Of course, none of us
had any money, allowances being unheard of on our side of town.
Whether we rode our bikes, or played ball, or sat and played marbles,
we talked and dreamed about those soft, creamy sandwiches. Within a
week we had tapped out our sources of money: mooching and pop bottles
for 2 cents each.

My dad worked nights, coming home to join us for breakfast, and then
sleeping till late afternoon. When he came home one morning I heard
the jingle of change in his pants and something ugly crept into my
mind. That change was just what we needed, what I had to have. All day
long I kept coming into the house and listening at his door. Sleeping
sounds: slow, even snoring. I cracked the door, and there hanging at
the foot of the bed were those pants, that change, those ice cream
sandwiches; my chance to be the big man in the neighborhood. I slipped
in and took a handful of change. We ate like greedy pigs, and I was a
hero to my band of friends as we sat in the shade of the corner store.
They thought I was rich. I told them it was birthday money I'd saved.
I felt satisfied before I ever ate them sandwiches. I was somebody.
That went on every day for about two weeks and what a time it was! I
had gotten good at slipping in and slipping out, and then ran to my
buddies and we headed to the store. One day there was no change in
dad's pocket so I felt for his wallet, hesitated a moment, then took
out two whole dollars. I had been okay with taking the change, but
those dollars made my face feel hot. Even before we began gorging
ourselves on ice cream, my stomach felt sick. The importance and joy I
had felt buying for my friends was gone that afternoon. I realized I
was in pretty deep. If dad knew, he'd kill me, but worse, he'd have
that look in his eye, that disappointment he would get when I'd miss
catching a ball or get a bad grade. Now, I had stolen from my dad. I
couldn't face him, and didn't know what to do.

Early that afternoon, the sun high and hot, I grabbed my fishing pole
and walked down the tracks to the reservoir, wishing my stomach would
quit aching, and praying nobody would see me crying.

Sometimes we have sinned in our own eyes so deeply that we don't know
how to return to God. Our sin seems so big we simply can't face Him.
It isn't so much that we don't love God. In fact, it is largely
because we do that we cannot figure out how to tell Him about what we
did. Our betrayal of His love, our utter failure where we promised
devotion, makes us feel unworthy of Him.

Well, of course we are unworthy whatever we do, we know that
doctrinally, but now we feel it, and just can't lift our faces to His.
We go away. We go fishing maybe like I did, like even the apostle
Peter did. Driven by guilt at his actions during our Lord's arrest and
trial, Peter walked slowly into the shadow world of self-rejection. He
buried himself back in what he knew best - fishing. Peter felt remorse
and despair.

Have you wept those bitter tears? Have you walked away from Him
because of your sin? Unworthy, unacceptable. God will use your failure
for your good, your instruction, your growth. Although just a little
boy, my dad taught me something about God that hot afternoon fishing
in the old reservoir, something you need to know, something your
Father wants you to discover today for yourself.

As I sat hurting that day, knowing there was no way to get right with
my dad, I saw him walking along the tracks. He was big man who sort of
swaggered like a sailor in a roiling sea, his arms swinging to the
sides as he went. But now he was walking slow and deliberate, looking
somehow as heavy as I felt. I couldn't run. I just sat there, watching
him come to me, my pole motionless in my hands, barely breathing. I
don't remember being afraid. No, it was more so feeling deeply
sorrowful at hurting him. My eyes were watery when he came up. He just
quietly sat alongside me and stared in the water with me.

After what seemed a very long time he asked, "How're they biting son?

I couldn't speak. I was too near crying, and he deserved me acting
with some dignity I thought. We sat quietly, a bird singing nearby,
and I stuck out my chin as best I could, willing to take whatever
beating he thought I needed, if he would only take me back.

In a moment I will never forget, he said, "Son, I've known since the
first day you took the money. I watched out the window as you and your
friends ate ice cream. I didn't say anything, because I wanted to let
you come and tell me yourself. It hurt me that you were stealing from
me, but it hurt more you didn't come and tell me. Son, you can always
come to me when you've done wrong. I love you son." And with that, his
hand reached out, not to strike me, but to pull me to his chest, where
I cried. As I cried, my dad told me he trusted me, and that everything
he had would be mine some day. Because I couldn't go to him, he came
to me.

God is coming to you. It isn't so much your sin that hurts Him, as
your reluctance to face Him and trust Him even in your failings. He is
your Father. His calling is unchanging. His love, unfailing. He has
come seeking you, true Shepherd that He is. Bury your head in His
chest, accept His embrace, and begin again, as at the first, to follow
Him. There, in His grace, you will find a firm foundation for serving
others, your own needs met. Jesus has work for you still.

posted by Angelsong @ 9:41 AM