finches, phlox, and fear

Anxiety is a sobriety-killer.

For an addict, the drug of choice often had initial appeal because it brought pleasure, or at least because it distracted us, numbed us, from the cares of life. So what do you suppose happens when the everyday stress level is ratcheted up a few notches?

• The struggler who is trying to go it alone is more likely to fall back into old, familiar, destructive patterns.
• The addict who is recovering with an occasional slip here or there feels the pull more strongly than they otherwise would.
• The person who is thought of as a model of recovery is blindsided by a desire they believed was a thing of the past.

Anxiety is a constant gnawing, the slow dripping sound from that faucet that keeps you awake at night, and pervades your dreams when you do sleep.

In the last several verses of Matthew 6, Jesus spoke to the issue of anxiety (my paraphrase here):

Listen, don’t worry about stuff like your 401k, your car payment, even your job. Isn’t life about more than that stuff?

Ever seen the bluebells along the highway in Texas, or the sunflowers in Kansas? How much time do they spend worrying? They don’t spend two hours commuting and nine hours in a cubicle farm, staring at a computer and wondering about whether that job will still be there tomorrow; they just sit in the dirt and take in what God sends them.

How about the birds around you? How much do they focus on the finer things in life? They build their nests, eat worms, and maybe say, “Dude, it’s getting frosty. Let’s go south” once a year.

You are God’s special creation – princes and princesses in an eternal kingdom. How much more do you suppose he cares for you than these things?

Look, I’m not above feeling anxious. We’ve been feeling the pinch in finances lately as so many others have. My industry is considered a good one to be in, but I see things slowing down. We will have to make some lifestyle changes if we want to keep working to get out of debt. We will likely have to sacrifice a few of the comforts to which we’re accustomed in order to keep our house and feed the kids.

But I am holding on to the fact that the Creator of the Universe sees me as His child.

Oh, I know there are a lot of people who don’t buy into creation, let alone the whole God thing. If that is your belief system, I don’t know how you avoid despair.

But for those who believe, I need only look back at a few other lean years in my life to see that God cares and will provide. He won’t give me my every desire; but He will provide for my needs.

All it takes is a little trust.

let’s be honest

Honesty is critical to recovery. I know a lot of people in recovery programs don’t like absolutes. We live in a world that is not fond of absolutes.

But the power of addiction is strongest in the shadows – which leads me to the conviction that being dishonest, with myself and others, is likely to lead to a relapse (at best).

There are a few different types of discussions I believe are important for my recovery. Each has a different purpose, a different audience, and different timing; but each requires honesty or it becomes useless.

First, there is telling my story. This is usually what happens in Step 5 of the 12, confessing our faults. In the context of a 12-step program, this will often be a discussion with one’s sponsor. My sponsor and I went to a local monastery and spent a long day with me talking, crying, and walking through my full story.

When I told my story, I had to remember that the point was not to talk about what a victim I was, but to own up to where I had missed the mark. I needed to take responsibility for my own choices.

I think that confession allowed me to be honest with myself, which was at least as important as being honest with anyone else. It also gave me a chance to process some of the stuff that had happened in a more coherent view than anything I had done in private confession through prayer, and gave me a broader view. Patterns began to emerge. For the first time, I saw that there were certain events or feelings that often preceeded my acting out. I later learned these are called “triggers.”

Eventually, it was time for another conversation – a disclosure to my wife. The focus in a disclosure is different. This is not the encyclopedaic recitation of the full list of wrongs that was in my story; this was a specific disclosure of the behaviors which had impacted our relationship, whether she knew the impact or not, and regardless of whether they happened before or after the wedding. It was more general in the sense that she didn’t need (or want) to know the gory details, more pointed in terms of recognition of impact.

My wife has since said that there were two things she saw in my disclosure that were key to our continued marriage: I was broken by my errors, and I was complete in my revelation.

Wait a minute – you just wrote ‘complete in revelation’ just after writing ‘more general.’ What?

By complete, I mean that there was no general area of acting out, no range of activity, that felt incomplete. I gave her general areas or activities (“I visited adult bookstores for anonymous encounters”), and let her ask whatever details she wanted to hear. That’s not to say she liked my answers. I just decided that if there was pain involved, it would be more merciful for both of us to get it out and over with at once instead of continuing to poke and prod at it. If the marriage was going to fail, it was going to fail quickly. By her ( and God’s) grace, that was not the outcome.

I think trying to do a complete disclosure with her without the filter of the prior confession would have been disastrous. Had I gone to the level of detail my confession required, I suspect there would have been a steeper path to our climb. For example, listing specific locations and specific actions might have spurred her imagination, making our relationship that more challenging. I know a guy who bought a new mattress, then a new bed, then remodeled the bedroom, then bought a new house because he dwelt in the details of where his affairs took place.

Again, wherever my wife asked for details, I provided them. There is a world of difference between paving a path for renewal in your relationship and giving her material to question how she compares to someone else, and your words in a disclosure make all the difference.

The final conversation I think is critical is my testimony. OK, technically that’s a monologue, not a conversation. There is healing power in sharing my story. There is a renewed reminder of where I was, and why I would not want to be there again. There is the hope that someone who hears the story might see something of himself, and get some help.  There is hope, in spite of that part of me that sought fulfillment in so many wrong ways.

I share that testimony when I can. Not every setting is appropriate, but I have found very few cases where the story shared creates discomfort or disconnecton with others. Maybe I’m more cautious in sharing than some. I certainly don’t get on the train in the afternoon and say, “MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE?”

I’m not a masochist.

I am a human, flawed, fallen, devious in many ways; but I am also being healed, and I am a child of the King. If I am honest, that’s my identity: a prince, so named by the King whom I didn’t want to serve. That’s a far cry from where I was, not that long ago.

belief

I was listening to a conversation last night that has stirred some thoughts about belief. To some this may not seem connected to the primary topic of my blog, but I think it has everything to do with it.

The two primary participants were discussing the existence of God. Both of these guys are very intelligent (both by my estimation and their IQ scores), and I know them both well enough to say that neither of them is flippant about their viewpoints on important issues. One is a devout Christian and leader in his local church (henceforth referred to as J); the other is a devout agnostic (B).

I was reminded in their discussion how much a worldview is changed when God is added or subtracted from the equation.

B believes that, if God exists, He set things in motion and sits back watching with curiosity, wondering what we’ll do next, hoping someday we’ll get it right and straighten the world out.

J responds that, no, we won’t get it right. We aren’t really capable of getting it right, not without divine intervention.

B thinks that is a very pessimistic viewpoint. I didn’t understand why at first, but then I thought about his worldview. If God does not exist, or is a disinterested third party, it would be distressing to think that we are limited and incapable.

But from a viewpoint of belief, I recognize that I am a child of a loving God who wants what is best for me. It makes more sense to me now as a father than it ever did when I was childless. I don’t want to give my children everything; I want them to grow and learn, which doesn’t happen if they just sit on their rear all day and never live. I am very careful to make sure they have what they need, but that is a far cry from just handing over everything they want.

Then there’s the issue of our place in the unverse. J mentioned that his brother had just sent him some pictures from the Hubbel telescope, including captions estimating the distances of the objects from earth in terms of light years. My brain isn’t capable of keeping track of the number of zeroes involved, but it is, as we say in the South, “a fur piece.”

B says that makes him feel all the less significant, that he is a fortunate accident among millions of other fortunate accidents, spinning around on another unfortunate accident, feeling feelings that are an amazingly fortunate accident, looking out at galaxies upon galaxies of similarly fortunate accidents…and that increases his feeling that he is insignificant. That decreases the odds, in his view, that he is especially designed for a purpose. I should mention that he didn’t keep inserting “fortunate accident” in that dialog. J was doing that, and it was really beginning to annoy B.

J didn’t have a chance to respond; B took the conversation in a different direction.

I’m not a mathmatician, nor am I an odds-maker. But I really do wonder about those numbers. If no design, and therefor no Designer, what are the odds of planetary placement in favor of life? What are the odds in favor of a planet stable enough to support ongoing life for hundreds, thousands of years? What are the odds of life developing at all, and what evolutionary purpose do emotions serve? For that matter, why conscious thought? Why not simple instinct? Why would we ever place ourselves under the burden of organized society, and why would we ever have such altruistic ideals as love, honor, patience, kindness, hope?

I know none of those things prove a loving Creator, or even a creator at all; but there is so much that makes no sense if we are indeed fortunate accidents existing strictly for the propogation and survival of the species.

What has this to do with addiction?

If we are not an incredible series of fortunate accidents, if there is some plan, if there is a Planner, than I believe the plan would not be for me to be enslaved by my behaviors. Oh, I know, that requires the assumption that the Planner is interested – a step of faith B finds quite troubling – and even compassionate. I suppose my predisposition toward that is based in the idea that God is a father.

I don’t want evil to happen to my kids. I want them to grow to their greatest potential, and I’m smart enough to recognize that this sometimes requires some bumps and bruises (not at my hand; only those that result from their unwise choices). I believe the best parental instincts I have are a reflection of how my Father sees (and treats) me.

I want good for my kids. I don’t want them to suffer the consequences of slavery to alcohol, drugs, sex, food, whatever substance gets between them and really relating to others and to me.I hope they will allow me to give them guidance, to suggest how they can avoid some of the traps that lie ahead on a perilous road.

I know my connection to God was the first victim of my addiction, and meaningful relationships with those around me soon followed. As I have found some respite from my addictions, I am discovering those connections again.

That just makes more sense to me than a series of fortunate accidents.

sex and marriage – the two great myths

Peggy: No TV, Al, we’re talking.
Al: You’re my wife. I will not talk to you while I have a TV.
– From Married With Children

I think our culture perpetuates two major myths about sex and marriage. The first is that getting married means you’ll be able to have sex as often as you want it; the other is that marriage is sexless.

I have a theory that a guy who enters marriage believing myth #1 will find himself living in myth #2. But one myth at a time.

Time after time I have heard guys in my group talk about the belief they held that getting married meant they would be able to have sex whenever they wanted it, and that would take care of the little porn problem (or whatever their acting out included). The belief is that she exists largely for the man’s sexual fulfillment. In reality, that paints a picture of the wife as a glorified call-girl.

I know there are still some guys around who will drop their clubs, scratch their ear-hair, and grunt in disapproval of that last sentence; but one need only to look to the Song of Solomon to see that the Cromagnon approach is not Biblically supported.

Truth is, you can have sex in marriage any time you want it; the problem is that you is plural, not singular. Based on my history, you might guess that I would generally be the one with a stronger drive in my marriage; you’d be guessing correctly there. But even so, there have been times when I have been the one to say no. Rare, but it has happened.

So what sometimes happens (as most of the guys I know who have admitted to sexual addiction would testify) is that expectations about sexual activity go uncommunicated because the him thinks the her has the same desires and drives as him. It is somewhere within the first weeks after the honeymoon that the truth is revealed.

By the way, I’m well aware of the dangers of writing in generalities on this topic. Some people get through a few years before the wife starts to feel like a geisha, others not even through the night after the wedding.

In any case, sex in marriage should primarily be about honoring each other, and focused on meeting each other’s needs and desires rather than on our own interests. Sexual intimacy is at its best when it is an outgrowth of spiritual/emotional intimacy.

As to the second myth, which implies that sex and marriage are incompatible…

This is, sadly, becoming a partial truth in our society. The myth is that this is a normal state of things. When it does happen, it is normally a warning sign that emotional intimacy is lacking or even dying.

It is no accident that the most common picture the Bible uses to describe the relationship between God and the church is that of a good husband. God desires intimacy with us. That is a little uncomfortable for many, but it is the truth. Bill Hybels of Willow Creek said it this way:

“For a marriage relationship to flourish, there must be intimacy. It takes an enormous amount of courage to say to your spouse, “This is me. I’m not proud of it — in fact, I’m a little embarrassed by it — but this is who I am.””

Intimacy in marriage is to know and be known, to walk with your partner naked and unashamed as Adam and Eve. And no, I’m not encouraging a “naturalist” lifestyle; I’m talking about having a comfort level where you can tell your spouse what is on your heart without fearing rejection, and creating an environment where she feels free to do the same.

As with all myths, there is truth behind each of these; but that doesn’t mean they are necessarily accurate.

all’s well that ends well

Her husband died unexpectedly a few months ago. He had the kind of week where all went incredibly well, capped off by playing a round at one of the premiere golf clubs in the Atlanta area. He stopped for some water on the way home, and collapsed. He never regained consciousness, and his family was left with a very sudden and very large hole in their lives.

I look at where she is, and can’t help but compare to where my own mother was a few months, even several years, after my father’s death.

Our friend is in a pretty healthy place. She has a lot of people around her who are supportive, and an army of people from her church who have really been God’s arms around her these past few months.

My mother is still stuck. When dad died, she had me. Oh, she had a few friends…but her church was not the kind where a widow is treated the way Christ described true religion.

I’m so glad for our friend, and so sad for my mom.

I’ve watched my mom try to be tough, to be strong. And I’ve seen her become more bitter than tough, more angry than strong. I see our friend becoming more comfortable with who she is as she allows others to show her love.

Life isn’t fair. We say that as a cliche, but it is so true. And we can’t make life fair, no matter how hard we might try. So I guess the secret is in making sure you are in a place where other arms can and will reach out to hold you when life’s unfairness reaches out to touch you.

judgement, or sympathy?

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 6:18 that we should flee fornication. Every sin we do is outside the body, except for sexual sin. In that, we sin against our own body (my wording).

I recognize that fornication has become a punchline in our society (thank you, Church Lady), but the point is that the Bible makes a distinction about sexual sin. Interesting to note, though, that the distinction is that we are hurting ourselves directly with sexual activity outside the Plan.

I think the church misses something here.

Sexual sin receives “special” treatment from churches as if Paul ended this section of his letter with an exhortation to immediately castrate the vile offender; what Paul does say is to explain that the body is a temple, and the offender is violating the temple.

By the way, this is not an attempt to justify anything. Sexual activity outside of marriage has mental, spiritual, and (sometimes) physical consequences; that should never be dismissed or trivialized. Even the person who seeks solace in self-gratification is cheapening the value of what is supposed to happen with one other person in an image of the spiritual connection between us and God.

So how does your church body react to a woman who comes into a service, wearing no ring and obviously pregnant? Men have the advantage here – we can be totally promiscuous, and there will be no outward sign unless we contract some horrendous disease. But it is sad to me to see how people with strong faith backgrounds generally react to a disclosure of sexual errors.

A close friend carried the weight of a relationship that included an abortion around for years, living in fear of the reaction she would get if her closest friends ever found out.

When she chose to disclose, I would say the reaction lent credence to her fears.

When I have disclosed my history to people who I believed were spiritually mature and knew me well enough to know where my heart is now, I have been disappointed. The two guys I thought would be the best prospects for accountability responded predictably – one was dismissive that I had a problem, the other withdrew to the safety of surface-level interaction.

I am fortunate that I have an accountability relationship with a couple of guys who don’t let me off the hook. They understand that there is a difference between the thing that I was and the man I am becoming. If I drop the ball (present tense), they don’t just dismiss it – they force me to face it. But they do not judge me as something less because of my sordid history (past tense), because they understand grace.

So the Church Lady was an accurate caricature, unfortunately, of the way many in the church respond to sexual brokenness.  There is a place for judgment, no question. Christ judged those who knew the Law the best; but He had compassion and mercy for those who were ignorant and repentant.

We should learn from that.

party on, prodigal father?

Prodigal can be defined as lavish. It is in that context that Louie Giglio presented a twist on the story of the ‘prodigal son.’

I’ve heard the story since I was a baby. A son tells his father he wants his inheritance, and wastes it. When he gets so far down there’s nowhere to look but up, he returns to the father to ask for a job as a servant. The Father has a different plan.

The way this story is normally told is as a warning about wasteful living, and with a certain air of deprecation towards the prodigal. We know that we are the wayward son in the story, but we are a little better than him, right?

After all, in that culture, to ask for your inheritance and leave home was like saying, “Father, you are dead to me. And I am dead to you.”

Pretty harsh, dude.

But when Louie offered his interpretation this last Sunday at NorthPoint Community Church, he focused very little on the riotous lifestyle of the son; instead, he focused on the return home, and the father.

I saw myself more clearly in the son this last Sunday than ever. The son was desparate, and he had a plan. He knew that he had offended his father in the worst possible way, and he had no right to be called a son anymore; but he also knew that his father’s servants ate (and probably smelled) better than he did. He was at the end of himself, and ready to approach his father in what seemed like a humble way.

He practiced his speech.

17 But when he came to himself he said, How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish here with hunger! 18 I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight: 19 I am no more worthy to be called your son: make me as one of thy hired servants. – Luke 15:17-19, American Standard Version

I can picture him walking along practicing his three-point plan. “Mr. Abramson, uh,…no, too formal. Dad! Might be pushing it after wishing him dead. Um, sir… OK, sir. That works. I’ve sinned against you and heaven. Good. Simple, clear, and definitely true. I’m not worthy to be called your son…man, that hurts, but I made my choices. Okay, the money line – Let me be one of your servants.”

He had to have a few doubts. “What if he says, ‘get lost, you big dope!’ I have done some really offensive stuff. Maybe I could work on cleaning up my name, my image…meh, I smell like pigs and I’ve been eating like them too. Maybe he’ll have a sinus infection and won’t notice.”

“Best I can hope for is a laundry list of things I need to do to measure up. Yep, ‘here are your chores for today’ says the foreman as he hands me a couple of scrolls of dummy-dos. Okay, practice the speech again….”

He is working out his plan. He has it all figured out. “I’m coming home, on my terms.”

He might oughta have checked with the father first.

He approaches. His father is sitting on the porch, maybe even standing at his gate, watching, hoping the son will come home. The father spots the son coming over the rise in the road and begins running. This dignified man, a man of means, hikes up his robe and sprints toward his son. He is overcome with joy that the one who was dead to him is returning.

The son sees the father coming, and is suddnely scared. “Omigosh – what if he’s coming out here to brain me with that staff he’s carying? Okay, get the speech out…here he comes… father…”

He is knocked to the ground as his father smothers him with a bear hug and a series of kisses.

“Um, dad…I have sinned against you, and heaven; I don’t deserve to be called your son anymore…”

“Talk to the hand!” interrupts the father. Then he turns back toward the house and shouts a series of instructions – a ring, a bath, some new clothes, and slaughter that cow we’ve been saving.

“But father, I need to say…”

“Hush, son. You’ve said what you needed to say. “

Here’s where we get messed up. We think God is waiting to whack us on the head (or the knuckles, if you went to Catholic school) for the things we’ve done wrong. We think we can somehow work our way back into his good graces by doing things right for a while and then holding that up for his approval.

But we’re missing the point. Grace, as Louie said it, is God in action. He has already extended us grace. He already sees us as sons and daughters, and there ain’t no pleasing or displeasing that will change that. The best we can do is never up to His standard, but He says, “I love you in spite of that. I am madly, crazily in love with you, and you matter so much more than the little messes you make.”

Are there still consequences? Potentially. But those aren’t punishments. They are the natural result of our choices. There is no gaurantee, or even hint, that we’ll be spared that.

But the Father isn’t waiting to club us or weigh us down with a never-ending list of tasks or set of hoops to jump through. If you see any of that in your version of Christianity, you’re reading in stuff that isn’t there.

Easy grace? Wasn’t for the one who sealed the deal.

Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent His Son to be the propitiation* for our sins. – 1 John 4:10, ASV

Propitiation – an atoning sacrifice; that which satisfies a debt

trusting is pleasing; pleasing is not trusting

Sometimes I find that I can do things with the best of intentions but still miss the mark.

• I work hard to provide for my family, but my kids need my love more than they need my money.
• I try to give my wife breaks from her constant care for the kids, but she wants time with me more than she wants time alone.
• I try to give my customers at work what they want, but sometimes my attention to detail on a project means the project takes a lot longer than was desired and planned.

Trying to please can be a back-breaking load. How much more is this true when I’m trying to please God?

What do you give the God who has everything?

What can I offer that will make Him happy?

My daughter is becoming quite the little artiste. About once a week when I come home she presents me with her latest work of art (she specializes in crayon) for me to take to my cubicle. Her heart is tuned to wanting to please me. That is pleasing to me, in temporary and somewhat selfish ways.

What really makes me happy is what happened last Sunday. We went to a water park for Father’s Day, and waited to ride a raft down a tube. My daughter was scared. She didn’t want to go. But when I told her that I’d hold her close, and that she would be safe, she said, “Okay, Daddy” and didn’t put up a fight. She covered her eyes most of the way through the ride, but she didn’t moan. In fact, she was smiling a little towards the end.

What made me happy was that she trusted me. I said she would be safe, and she relaxed. At least a little.

So what can I offer God that will please him? Crayon art? Hand prints in clay? Or maybe what He wants is something more personal, like my trust.

In TrueFaced, Bill Thrall, Bruce McNicol, and John Lynch explore the difference between trying to please God versus trusting (and thereby pleasing) Him.

It is easy to take the approach of doing things for God, trying so hard to win His affection by doing good things. We try to win approval based on our performance.

The fact is, He already loves us – no performance required.

There is nothing we can do that will make God love us any more than He already does. In Lynch’s words, He is crazy about us.

7 But whatever things were gain to me, those things I have counted as loss for the sake of Christ. 8 More than that, I count all things to be loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them but rubbish so that I may gain Christ, 9 and may be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own derived from the Law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which comes from God on the basis of faith
- Philippians 3

I count all my stuff as rubbish. Not just my possessions; any peer recognition, any achievements, anything that I earn or is given to me counts for nothing. What counts is that God has designed me with Christ in me. He lives and breathes through me.

If I fall in my recovery, He still loves me.

If I give in to fear or anger, He still loves me.

If I forget who I really am, and Whose I really am, He still loves me.

This is where I can find contentment in a world that tries so hard to make me discontent. And here is where I can rest, safe and secure in the knowledge that it is not about me or what I do; it is about the One who loves me most, and always will.

entropy

Though it is oft stated differently, entropy is seen in physics as the amount of energy no longer available in a usable form to do work. Once an ice cube melts, the energy that was in the atoms of the ice cubes has been dispersed throughout the warmer air surrounding. And unless you have some device capable of trapping the energy used in that process, that energy is essentially lost.

One of the byproducts of addiction is a kind of entropy.

There is within us a great deal of potential energy, just waiting to be applied to the world around us. Each episode of acting out reduces that by some measure. And without some kind of intervention from some outside force, that energy is lost.

The laws of physics apply to addiction – who knew?

Think about this one, Newton’s First Law:

A body in motion tends to stay in motion

Having a little trouble breaking the cycle of your addiction? Newton tells us why. And with each cycle, we have less energy available to affect a change.

That’s why I find it difficult to understand those who try to break out of addiction without some serious Higher Power.

Consider this; if you had it within you to make the change, to break the cycles, on your own – wouldn’t you have already done it?

Or do you like living with the constant threat of losing the people you hold dear?

Or of hurting those who love you?

But you don’t have it within you to change yourself.

I go back to the man who sought healing from Christ – “You have the power; I know it. All that is required is that You would be willing.”

A body in motion tends to stay in motion … unless acted on by an outside force.

You need a force greater than your own to provide the energy you lack. You aren’t getting free of that repetitive motion otherwise.

It has been said that gravity is not just a good idea – it’s the Law!

Don’t think yourself to be the exception. You need a Higher Power. One with limitless energy. One that is above the Law.

royal lineage

My family is royalty.

When I come home each night, my Queen greets me with a kiss, followed by kisses, hugs, and/or snuggles from both my Princess and Prince.

Sometimes the Princess will even say, “How was your majesty’s day, Daddy?”

It’s good to be the King.

But it is even better, I think, to be the Princess or the Prince.

Ignoring the Peter Pan aspect of me wishing I were a kid again, here’s what I mean.

My Princess was born in a far off land. She was born to parents who didn’t feel they could properly care for her, so they made a loving choice to leave her where she would be found, and cared for. And adopted.

She was not born into our royal lineage; we chose her, made her the Princess she is today. That would probably sound conceited, like she owes us something, but I mean it in much the same sense as how God has adopted us.

3 So we also, when we were children, were held in bondage under the rudiments of the world: 4 but when the fulness of the time came, God sent forth his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, 5 that he might redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons. 6 And because ye are sons, God sent forth the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, Abba, Father. 7 So that thou art no longer a bondservant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir through God. – Galatians 4: 3-7

‘Abba’ = ‘Daddy’

My Prince was born into this royal bloodline. He was longed for no less than the Princess; his path home was just a little more conventional.

In him I see myself. He is no longer a toddler; he is fully a child now. And in every goofy grin, every story that goes on for what seems an eternity and never reaches a point, every session of tickle torture he endures, I see myself. I see a version of myself before the addictions. I see me with limitless possibilities still open, no doors shut by poor choices.

And once in a while it hits me that there is something about that which echoes the way God sees me. A little copy of Him. A goofy, rambling, laughing and laughable copy of the Original.

17 The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. ; He will take great delight in you, ; he will quiet you with his love, ; he will rejoice over you with singing.” ; – Zephaniah 3:17

He takes delight in us, much as I take delight in my children.

My Princess makes my heart smile; my Prince makes my heart laugh.

God has called us into His family, made us Princes and Princesses. Our Father wants us to call Him ‘Daddy.’ In the NorthPoint Community Church series, “Faith, Hope, and Luck“, Andy Stanley said:

Formality is the enemy of intimacy.

It doesn’t get much less formal than calling someone “Daddy.” It makes my heart sing when I hear my children call me that. I think it makes God feel the same way.