As you probably could tell from the last post, we got to spend a week with three of our grandsons last week here at our house. You may or may not know that I also spend 95% of my working time at home.
Do you see a potential conflict there?
The week was predictably (and wonderfully) less-than-productive.
Routinely as I would try to “escape” to the bedroom or office to get some work done, one of them would find me. The sweetheart crawler, the scary-smart walker, and the funny, nonstop talker. One wanted me to hold him, one wanted me to see and notice him, and one wanted me to engage in conversation – endless, looped conversation.
“What are you doing, Papa?”
“Are you working?”
“Yep, I’m working.”
“Are you working?”
“It’s a hole puncher.”
“Is this a hole puncher?”
“Yep. It’s a hole puncher.”
“Does it punch holes?”
“It punches holes.”
Throughout the constant interruptions, I noticed something, however. Not once did I get frustrated, and for me that’s a miracle because I tend to hate interruptions. I actually found great delight every time one of them would enter my world.
It was noticeable enough to me that after a couple of days of this, I began to ask myself, “Self, why are you enjoying these interruptions so much?”
I didn’t get the answer from myself. It came from the Lord. And it was a simple reminder of the Father’s heart:
He who comes to me, I will in no wise cast out (John 6:37, KJV).
The phrase “in no wise” or “never” as in most modern translations is actually a double-negative. No way, never.
Nobody who comes to Jesus gets turned away. No way. Never.
No sin is so great that it causes the door to get slammed in your face. No way. Never.
No poverty is so low that He concludes you have nothing to offer Him. No way. Never.
No heart is so completely stupid or blind that He dismisses you at His door as a fool. No way. Never.
No issue is so small or irrelevant that he ignores your request or mocks your anxious feelings.
And I found a little of that “no way, never” heart of the Father in my own heart last week.
I happen to think that what I do is pretty important. But it is never too important for somebody who’s knocking on the door of my heart. Even when all they know how to say is “Papa!”
And when a child comes knocking on the door of my schedule or my attention or my time, that’s exactly where he’s knocking. On the door of my heart.
There in that split second I get to show him, rightly or wrongly, what my Heavenly Father’s heart looks like.
I’ve gotten it wrong plenty of times. So often, in fact, that when I got it right last week, I had to ask myself (really ask the Lord), “Why is this not bothering me?”
Routinely my wife counsels and goes to court for children who, when they came knocking on the door of their father or mother’s hearts, were sent away. Too busy. Too angry. Too high or drunk. And it broke my heart for a generation of children who may wonder why a loving God would ever dare to reveal Himself to the world as “Father.”
When a child – any child – comes knocking on the door of your heart, for God’s sake and his, stop what you’re doing and answer. Otherwise, how will he ever believe that Jesus would?