the ancient art of shalom » fatherhood

Prayer as Participation: Insight as a (relatively) New Father

Jason — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 18:21:06 +0000

I just read one of the best articles on prayer in recent memory — “Prayer and the Sovereignty of God,” from the book For the Fame of God’s Name (a gift from a good friend). Bruce Ware writes this article in part to address the inevitable question–why pray? If God is ultimately sovereign and in control of everything in the universe and is entirely self-sufficient, what is the purpose of prayer?

He breaks it down into two things: prayer is a means to draw us into deeper relationship with God and prayer is a means of participating with Him in His work. The second point–prayer as participation–really resonated with me as I wrestled through this concept. Here’s how he laid out the idea (Ware, 140-2):

God has designed not only that his people pray, but that prayer sometimes be a necessary means for accomplishing the ends that God has ordained.
In prayer we are led, by the Spirit, to have our minds and wills reshaped to the mind and will of God.
In prayer for other people and their needs, we minister the grace of God to them.
Prayer makes us more fully aware of what God is doing, and so, as a result, we can offer praise to God when it is accomplished.
Prayer is a means of sanctifying grace as we persist in prayer, sometimes for long periods and through agonizing trials.

At the end of the article, Ware offers this answer to the question “Why does God want us to pray?”–Because He loves us so much. God delights in including us in the unfolding of His plan on earth. He doesn’t need our prayers–He is fully capable of accomplishing everything on His own, but because of His profound love for us, it is His great pleasure to invite us into deeper relationship with Him and participation in what He is doing.

As I reflected on this, I realized that I understand this just a little bit better now that I’m a dad. Now little m is running around, talking, and doing a lot of things on her own. But there are certain things she simply can’t do by herself. For example, sometimes she wants to open a lid to some toys, but she can’t quite to it. So she comes running, pulls on my leg and says, “Daddy, can you do it?” Sometimes I just open the lid and send her on her way. All-powerful Daddy got it done.

But there’s a second option. Although I don’t need her to help me, I’ve found that it’s far more fulfilling for both of us if we do it together. So here’s a replay of what could happen:

m: “Daddy, can you do it?”
J: “How about we do it together?”
m (smiles): “Yes. Let’s do it together.”

Then I hold the lid, put her hand on top of mine, and we open the lid together. She ends up being so excited that she helped open the lid. I smile because she’s so excited. The lid is opened, the toys are liberated, father and daughter have done something meaningful together. We’ve just caught a glimpse of what participatory prayer looks like.

Lessons from my Daughter’s First Swim Class

Jason — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 16:56:33 +0000

I took little m to her first swimming lesson on Saturday, which consisted of a bunch of parents with their kids in the pool splashing about. Leading up to this momentous occasion were two main things: (1) trying to find a swimsuit for her that would fit and (2) getting her excited about her first time in the pool. Both of them ended up being somewhat of an ordeal. We hung out in Sports Basement for a bit trying to get a swimsuit for her, but m was not enthused–she kept saying, “No, I don’t want to go swimming” and “I want to go home.” We couldn’t even get her to try one on. So we went home unsuccessful (although with a swim diaper) and wondering how she’d do at her first swim class. Instead, we ordered one from amazon hoping it would fit and started working on number 2: getting her excited about swim class. This didn’t go so well. Every time we brought it up, she’d give us a similar response – “No, I don’t want to go swimming … I want to go home” – even when we were already at home. You see, our little m is cautious and deliberate with the unknown, yet crazy and rambunctious once she gets familiar with something or someone. In theory, swimming sounded like fun, but the unknown element of it made it kind of scary. Hence, the default, “I want to go home” came out. It’s her defense mechanism when she’s either fearful or wiped out. She loves being home.

Fast forward to Saturday. We still couldn’t quite convince her that the swimming pool would be fun (even though months earlier she’d asked, “I want to go swimming!”). So we spent the morning giving her baby steps to get her there. “Let’s just try on your swimsuit.” “We’ll just go to the park and look inside the pool.” “We’ll just go and see what happens.” “Your friend l will be there.” Eventually, we made it to the pool. Moments after we dipped into the slightly cold water for the first time, she was hooked. Splashing, laughing, kicking, screaming. Grabbing the pool noodle and various toys. Yelling “I’m swimming, Mommy!” Sheer delight.

It made me wonder if that’s how we are with God. God asks us to do something, and we say, “I don’t want to go swimming, I want to go home.” Theoretically, what He’s asking sounds nice, good, and even exciting. But our natural defense mechanism against the unknown takes over and we resist. We fight. We try to come up with alternate solutions. Ultimately, we want to stay in a comfortable situation where everything seems under control. But what He’s really asking us to do is trust Him and know that He’s with us every step of the way. As long as He’s in it, there is no reason to fear.

I’ve heard it said that the opposite of love is not hate, but fear. 1 John 4:18 says, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.” My deep love for little m means that I would never put her in a situation that she should be afraid. It’s not within the nature of our relationship. Once she trusted me and came with me into the pool, she had the time of her life. How much more so, then, is God–who loves us more than we could imagine–worthy of our trust?

At the end of the lesson I pulled her out of the pool as she struggled, yelling, “No, no, no, I want to keep swimming!” Our next swim class is next Saturday. I can’t wait.

Object Lessons from a Bookstore

Steven Curtis Chapman: Seeing Beauty in Tragedy

Jason — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 13:57:55 +0000

In the latest issue of Wood & Steel, a quarterly magazine from Taylor Guitars, they feature a new signature guitar model they’ve crafted in honor of Steven Curtis Chapman, customizing it per his preferences, and a great accompanying article highlighting his life, career, and family. Undoubtedly one of the defining events of his recent life was the tragic death of his daughter, Maria, accidentally hit by a car driven by Chapman’s son. It’s a heart-wrenching situation that I can barely fathom.

One of the customizations that Chapman chose was an inlay of one of the last drawings that Maria made on the morning of her death. I was so moved by his words from the article that I thought I’d put them here:

“We were desperate to see something that would tell us that our faith is real in this moment of such great, deep despair. In our dining room there’s a little art table that two of my daughters would sit at and color, and Maria had a little flower that she would draw. It was kind of her signature flower. It was on all of her papers, and she’d color in all the petals different colors. I noticed there was a little flower drawn on a piece of paper on the table, and that was the only piece of art that was out. She’d been sitting there the morning of the accident, so I knew this was something she’d done that day. But I noticed only one petal was colored in and the rest of them were blank. She had just done the outline and gotten one petal colored in — her favorite color, blue, the one she always started with. Then I noticed something else bleeding through the paper, some- thing she had written on the back. She had just turned 5; she could write ‘I love you, Mom,’ ‘I love you, Dad,’ and she could sign her name, and those were the only words that she would write. I turned the paper over, and there was a little butterfly that she had drawn — another signature picture she would draw a lot — and then right beside it were the letters ‘SEE.’ And to our knowledge, she’d never written it before. It was, for us, a very precious gift; we felt like God was answering that cry of our heart to let us see something. And in Maria’s own words, she said, ‘See, it’s all true, it’s all good, I’m OK.’ And as we looked more at that unfinished flower, it became a really important message to us, because we have six children and real- ized that there are six petals on the flower, but only one of them is colored in. It’s a message that, ‘I’m whole, I’m complete now. I know it was only five years; it seems short in your idea of understanding right now, but you’re gonna see it and realize I’m whole. The rest of you are waiting for your colors.’”

That’s one powerful testimony, seeing beauty in the midst of tragedy, empowered by a real trust in the gospel.

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Learning to say “No”

Jason — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 04:31:25 +0000

How could you say no to this face?

I love our little girl. She brings a smile to my face when I see her, hear her, feel her claw at my face, laugh, and all that good stuff. But recently, I had to say no to her. I had to step into this world in parenting called “discipline.”

You see, I started it. After her final milk of the night, we always give her a bath in this little tub that fits in the kitchen sink. It’s a lot of fun. She gets to lie there while we scrub her with soap and make her all nice and clean before we lay her down to bed. Inevitably, she discovered the joy of splashing. I thought it was hilarious, and laughed – a lot. Seeing that I would react, she splashed more. This went on for a few days. Until I realized that ultimately this wasn’t going to be a constructive behavior (especially as her arms and legs got more powerful).

So, after a brief chat with Marcia, we decided that we had to put a stop to it. So the next bath, when she splashed, I had to give her a firm No and not smile. It was a horrible feeling inside, especially because every part of my being was telling me to laugh, and play with her, and have fun. But in this case, the discipline was not to laugh, say no, and hold her arms for a second. After that one incident, she basically stopped splashing in the bath.

I had to do something similar to that today, when she was reaching to pull an extension cord out of the wall electrical socket in our study. I grabbed her arm away from the plug, gave her a very firm no, and pulled her up into my lap. She was completely silent for about a minute. Not a peep or a squirm, which is unusual for our little girl. Maybe she got it, maybe she didn’t. But as a father, her best interests have to be in mine, because I love her.

I’m a complete amateur at this dad thing. I’ve often heard it said that it really helps to catch a smidgen of the Father heart of God when you become one yourself. I have to imagine that includes the area of discipline as well. For God’s discipline does not come out of spite or hate or anything of that sort, but out of a deep love that we can barely fathom.

7 It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline? 8 If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons. 9 Besides this, we have had earthly fathers who disciplined us and we respected them. Shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits and live? 10 For they disciplined us for a short time as it seemed best to them, but he disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. 11 For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.

- Hebrews 12:7-11, ESV

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