 When I was very young one of my sisters' and my favorite ways to spend an afternoon was roller skating in front of our house: Two houses down and two houses up were our boundaries. We would skate up and down, up and down until we were called into dinner, then skate after doing the dishes until dark. We loved skating frontwards, backwards, spinning, even making daring jump turns like we watched the ice skaters do on television. How we were able to accomplish such feats of skill with our heavy, metal-wheeled skates is a mystery to me now. I think we were pure energy on legs!
One day I ran home from school and grabbed my skates in an attempt to be the first one on the block out playing that afternoon. I had noticed my skates getting tighter in recent days, but today I absolutely could not get them on. I tried curling my toes, scrunching my heels, even taking my socks off. My feet would not fit into the skate. My sisters put on their skates and headed out for their fun afternoon while I ran into the house, crying, begging my mom for new skates. She was busy making dinner and told me we did not have the money to make such a frivolous purchase. Back on the front porch, I cried as I watched all the neighborhood kids and my sisters playing. I begged my older sister to take turns with me using her skates, but she would not share (the meanie!). And that is the scene my father came home to that evening.
He pulled into the driveway, walked up to the porch steps and sat down beside me. He asked me why I wasn't skating with everyone and I poured out my heart to him, spilling bitter tears and anger all over the place. He stood up, continued up the steps and went inside. I was convinced no one cared about me. I was all alone in my pain.
A few moments later, my dad reappeared, walked up to me and held out his hand. I could barely see him through my overwhelming sorrow, but I managed to take a hold of him. He led me to the car and the two of us drove away while all the kids looked curiously at us. He didn't say a word to me the entire drive. We pulled up in front of a store and he, again, took my hand and let me inside. He walked me straight to the toy department and stopped in front of the most beautiful roller skates to ever pass before my eyes! They were white with a red and blue stripe going up the boot of each shoe. And the wheels were the first polyurethane wheels I had ever seen! And they were RED! He sat me down, bent to take off my sneakers and placed pair after pair upon my feet until he found the ones that fit.
Then he finally spoke. "Do you like them?" I was scared to answer. The thought of owning skates like these was beyond anything my little brain could compute. I finally stammered, "Yes," but I could not even look him in the eye. No more words were spoken. He picked up the box of skates with one hand and took my hand with the other. He led me to the checkout line, to the car and finally back to the steps on the porch. He placed that box in my lap and said, "I love you, babe. You enjoy these skates!"
I threw those babies on while all the other kids (my mean sister included) gasped, slack jawed, at their beauty. Oh, they were smooth! They were practically soundless. I felt like I was flying! My sister tried to convince me we should share them. I said no way, Jose, just like any 6-year-old with an ounce of self-respect would!
At dinner, I gushed about how fast my new skates could go and how much better I could spin on them. When I finally was able to catch my breath, I noticed my dad smiling. I jumped up, hugged him and thanked him with a big kiss! He had five daughters, but that night I felt like I was His favorite!
My father's gift to me was more than roller skates, it was even more than love. He showed me that I mattered. That my pain affected him. That he was my father and wanted to reach out to me in my sorrow and lift me out of my hurt and into his arms.
So, what if when my father reached his hand out to me, I had refused it? I could have wallowed in my pain as though I was the roller skating martyr of Los Angeles for quite a long time: Even then, I had a flair for drama. Of course, then I would have missed the gift! How often do we pour out our hearts to our heavenly father, then refuse his hand when he offers it to us?
God is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent...and our Dad. He loves us and wants to come alongside us. He longs for us to reach out to him when He reaches out to help us. Often our stubborn nature or our need for drama supersede our need for help and healing, though. What a shame. How many pairs of beautiful new roller skates have we missed out on simply because we wouldn't take his hand?
7:11 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!
....just something to think about.
Written in memory of my father, Rev. Bob Alexander, 1937-2000. Your gifts continue to bless me, Dad. Thanks for loving all of us so well. |
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