A Everlasting Father

 

Facebook reminded me of what I posted a year ago!  This year I have a one year old running around, hoovering the carpet for anything she can put in her mouth and constantly trying to pull the christmas tree down. (She has managed it twice)!  Last year I posted the above picture!  The birth of my third daughter Bethany Hope.  It reminded me of the time I became a father for the first time. 

My wife is excellent at pregnancy but she does not always give birth that well. With the first birth almost all that could go wrong did go wrong. The delivery was suddenly turned into an emergency c-section.  The heartbeat kept dipping. Out she came. No noise.  Not one breath.  One minute… two minutes… three minutes… nothing.  Ez and I were weeping.  She tells me to pray.  I pray.  Seven minutes… Eight minutes… Nine… then suddenly the most amazing sound, the cry of a new born baby very much alive.   Gracie Ann was here!  She was rushed off for more help on the special baby ward as Ez was taken to a side ward to recover.  Four hours later it was time to visit our first born.  We enter the remarkable special baby unit.  There are babies that are very ill, some will not make it, most are premature, really, really tiny.  In the middle of the ward is what looks like a great big baby in comparison!  It must be ours! She is crying!  Yes it must be ours!  The midwife informs us that she has been doing that ever since she arrived.  I push Ez’s bed to the incubator.  The most remarkable thing happened.  As soon as Ez was next to the incubator, Gracie stopped crying, and held out her hand.  She had found what she was looking for.  Her Mummy. In the same way we all cry out until we meet who we were created to be in relationship with, our Everlasting Father.  Only when we are at peace with Him can we find peace, joy and hope.  As I looked down at this little girl that would turn my life upside down (with help from her two sisters), I realised a fathers love.  I realised that there was nothing she was going to do that would make me love her less or more.  For the fist time in that special baby unit I realised that is Gods love for us.  That he loves us with an overwhelming love.  There is nothing we can do to earn it or lose it.  His love remains the same for everyone of us.  We have an everlasting father.  Joan Osbourne asks ‘If God had a name what would it be’?  Well he does have a name and Isaiah 9 tell us it is  ‘everlasting Father’. 

I prayed a prayer that day which I pray often for all my girls.  I prayed that they would be shaped by the everlasting father. That they would know they were fearfully wonderfully made, unique, with gifts and talents to help God redeem this world.  I pray they will not be shaped by this world.  I pray they will always look in the mirror and see God’s beautiful creation.  But we have warped mirrors…  Here is a wonderful story of a lady called Margaret who was shaped by this world only to be transformed by the everlasting father.  It was first written by Mike Yaconelli in his great book Messy Spirituality.

For almost forty years, Margaret lived with the memory of one soul-scarring day in the one-room schoolhouse she attended. From the first day Margaret came to class, she and Ms. Garner, her bitter and harsh teacher, didn’t get along. Over the years, the animosity between them only worsened until one fateful day when she was nine years old, Margaret’s life was forever altered.  That day, Margaret frantically raced into her classroom after recess, late again. Ms. Garner was furious, “Margaret!” she shouted, “we have been waiting for you! Get up here to the front of the class right now!”  Margaret walked slowly to the teacher’s desk, was told to face the class, and then slowly the nightmare began.  Ms. Garner ranted, “Boys and girls, Margaret has been a bad girl. I have tried to help her to be responsible. But, apparently, she doesn’t want to learn. So we must teach her a lesson.  We must force her to face what a selfish person she has become. I want each of you to come to the front of the room, take a piece of chalk, and write something bad about Margaret on the blackboard. Maybe this experience will motivate her to become a better person!”  Margaret stood frozen next to Ms. Garner.  One by one, the students began a silent procession to the blackboard. One by one, the students wrote their life-smothering words, slowly extinguishing the light in Margaret’s soul.   “Margaret is stupid! Margaret is selfish! Margaret is fat! Margaret is a dummy!” On and on they went, until twenty five terrible scribblings of Margaret’s “badness” screamed from the blackboard.  The venomous statements taunted Margaret in what felt like the longest day of her life. After walking home with each caustic word indelibly written on her soul, she crawled into her bed, claiming sickness, and tried to cry the pain away, but the pain never left.

After decades of depression and anxiety, she sought the help of a psychologist. Two long years of weekly counselling helped Margaret to finally extricate herself from her past.  In their last meeting together, the counsellor said softly, “Well, Margaret, I guess its graduation day for you. How are you feeling?”  After a long silence, Margaret spoke. “I … I’m okay.”  The counsellor hesitated, “Margaret, I know this will be difficult, but just to make sure you’re ready to move on, I am going to ask you to do something. I want to go back to your schoolroom and detail the events of that day. Take your time. Describe each of the children as they approach the blackboard; remember what they wrote and how you felt – all twenty-five students.”  In a way, this would be easy for Margaret. For forty years she had remembered every detail. And yet, to go through the nightmare one more time would take every bit of strength she had. After a long silence, she began the painful description.   One by one, she described each of the students vividly, as though she had just seen them, stopping periodically to regain her composure, forcing herself to face each of those students one more time. Finally, she was done, and the tears would not stop, could not stop. Margaret cried a long time before she realized someone was whispering her name. “Margaret. Margaret. Margaret.” She looked up to see her counsellor staring into her eyes, saying her name over and over again. Margaret stopped crying for a moment.  “Margaret. You … you left out one person.” “I certainly did not! I have lived with this story for forty years. I know every student by heart.”  “No, Margaret, you did forget someone. See, he’s sitting in the back of the classroom. He’s standing up, walking toward your teacher, Ms. Garner. She is handing him a piece of chalk and he’s taking it, Margaret, he’s taking it! Now he’s walking over to the blackboard and picking up an eraser.  He is erasing every one of the sentences the students wrote. They are gone! Margaret, they are gone! Now he’s turning and looking at you, Margaret. Do you recognize him yet? Yes, his name is Jesus.   Look, he’s writing new sentences on the board. ‘Margaret is loved. Margaret is beautiful. Margaret is gently and kind. Margaret is strong. Margaret has great courage.’” And Margaret began to weep. But very quickly, the weeping turned into a smile, and then into laughter, and then into tears of joy. 

After forty dark years, Margaret was no longer condemned, no longer alone, and no longer rejected.  She knew that her fundamental identity was that she was beloved.  She had found her everlasting father.  May you this Christmas know the gift of having an everlasting father.  May you be shaped by his grace and love and realise that you are a unique beautiful gift of transformation to the world in which we live and serve.  Be very blessed! Amen!