I’ve been a father for eight years now, but it was only last weekend when I finally figured out what exactly being a father meant. I had the basics down, of course. I knew a father was a guide and a shepherd and a protector. An encourager. And, for better or worse, the foundation for his children’s initial impression of God. Many theologians and pastors believe our opinions of our Heavenly Father are borrowed from our opinions of our earthly ones.
I agree with that, I really do. Which is why I approach my job with the utmost seriousness.
But like I said, I’ve struggled with what that all meant for the last eight years.
Then came Saturday evening, when I washed the truck and the car.
Part of my responsibility is to teach my children some of their own. We’re a family. A household. Four people who have to work together in order to keep things running in a smooth fashion.
Which means them pitching in wherever and whenever needed—clearing the dinner table, keeping their bedrooms clean, and, when their father is rushed, helping to wash the vehicles…
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