Our Father God

This one goes out to my brother Clint (grab the kleenex, man!) - I am so thankful we have the same heavenly Father!!

"One day while browsing, I came across a large picture book of Ireland, each page a photograph of some aspects of a day in the life of this legendary land accompanied by an explanatory caption. Settling around Dublin the corner of my eye caught something that hijacked my attention. All decked out in a pretty pink dress with white lace was a sweet little girl in a wheelchair. Her angel face was radiantly pale, sporting a big yellow bow. Frilly white stockings disappeared into her sturdy white leather dress shoes, which were strapped down tight to the folding metal rests beneath her pigeon-toed feet. I could not turn away from this portrait of mangled beauty, despite knowing well enough that it isn't polite to stare at handicapped kids.

"Kneeling down close beside the little girl is Dad. With one arm gently wrapped around her, he reads from an oversized storybook propped up in her lap. Slumped over against his shoulder, she is turned toward him, with the top of her precious head resting against the side of his face. She can't walk or sit up straight, and offers only an occasional groan. She's just sitting there unresponsive, seemingly oblivious, as Dad dutifully reads her a story, altering his voice to impersonate the different characters.

"My mind began wandering, imagining this father's world. On bended knee is a man who must walk through life brokenhearted for his daughter, who will never sing silly songs, skate in the park, or dance at the her prom. A dad who loves his little girl perhaps more because of that but who will never hear "I love you, Daddy," whispered in his ear or receive a homemade Father's Day card with sunshine and stick people. She will never do most of the things a ponytailed little girl wants to do for her daddy. A tidal wave of sorrow crashed over me as I pictured my [daughter] Jessica strapped in and slumped over in that wheelchair.

"The lens of my soul zoomed in on her facial expression as she sits wrapped in her father's arms. Earnestly reading, she sits spellbound, gazing into his face with her mouth slightly open with a smile. He's glued to the book; she's glued to him. What does she see? What does she feel? She seems so content and peaceful, at home really, resting her head against Daddy's face, receiving his love. Then again, that's all she can do. She's not even capable of reciprocating her father's love, and yet I can see she is his most precious treasure. Perhaps most look upon this scene in pity. How terrible to not be able to function in the most essential ways; perhaps in the eyes of the world she is useless. Not to her father. To him she is priceless.

"Taking all this in, a torrent of troubling thoughts rose from somewhere deep within me. Would God still love me if I couldn't do anything for him? What if I were useless and couldn't do even the basic things I had learned a good Christian does? What if I couldn't impact others in any significant way, lead someone to Christ, serve a person in need, teach others Scripture, be a leader? What if I couldn't even go to church or have a quiet time? What if I were barely even capable of having an intelligent thought about God? What if. . ."

Divine Nobodies, by Jim Palmer, p. 48 - 50