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What Makes a Father?

What Makes a Father?

June 17, 2007

Text: Psalm 56:1-9

Ps 56:1-9 

O God, have mercy on me.

The enemy troops press in on me.

My foes attack me all day long.

2 My slanderers hound me constantly,

and many are boldly attacking me.

3 But when I am afraid,

I put my trust in you.

4 O God, I praise your word.

I trust in God, so why should I be afraid?

What can mere mortals do to me?  

5 They are always twisting what I say;

they spend their days plotting ways to harm me.

6 They come together to spy on me —

watching my every step, eager to kill me.

7 Don't let them get away with their wickedness;

in your anger, O God, throw them to the ground.  

8 You keep track of all my sorrows.

You have collected all my tears in your bottle.

You have recorded each one in your book.  

9 On the very day I call to you for help,

my enemies will retreat.

This I know: God is on my side. 

NLT 

There’s a stereotype of fatherhood that’s been around ever since fathers have been around. It’s beautifully portrayed in a scene from the movie, A Christmas Story. 

You might remember that a few weeks ago, I used a scene from that movie that featured this bully, Scott Farkus, scaring some little boys, one of whom was our hero, “Ralphie.”  

Well, as the movie progressed, Ralphie had a particularly bad day. The bully picks on him, throwing a snowball, and Ralphie loses it—gives the bully a good thumping, using some “choice” language in the process. 

Ralphie’s mother intervenes, pulls him off the whimpering bully, takes him home, cleans him up. As Ralphie rests, he starts to cry—because DAD is coming home. When DAD hears that his son got into a fight and cursed like a sailor…well, Ralphie’s younger brother summed it up best: “Daddy’s going to KILL Ralphie!” 

Dad comes home. The boy goes down for dinner, knowing that the end is near. What happens? Mom intervenes. Around the dinner table, when dad asks what happened today, mom said that Ralphie got into a fight. When dad was about to lower the boom, mom brushed it aside. “Oh, you know how boys are. I’ve talked with him. How are the Bears doing?” 

This distracts dad from lowering the boom, getting him to thinking about football instead. Ralphie is saved. 

Based just on this, how would you describe a father? 

…impatient…quick-tempered…the right hand of God… 

Bill Cosby summed it up best. He said his mother was loving and sweet, and would let him get away with murder. His dad’s philosophy, though, was this: “I brought you into this world, I can take you out.” 

There may be some tiny bit of truth in this stereotype.

The wife a statistician went out to look for a job. She persuaded her husband to stay home for a day to take care of their children. When she returned, he handed her the following report:

Dried tears, 9 times.

Tied shoes, 13 times.

Toy balloons purchased, 16.

Average life of a balloon, 10 seconds.

Cautioned children not to cross street, 21 times.

Number of times children crossed street, 21.

Number of times I will do this again, zero.

--Bits and Pieces

Amen. I have utmost respect for mothers.

Of course, the stereotype of a father being impatient is just that—a stereotype. My Dad wasn’t like that. 

If you’re going to stereotype fatherhood, why not make it more positive, like the stereotype of motherhood, the one defending the child who’d beaten up the bully? 

Today’s passage presents a beautiful image for parenting. Let’s imagine the psalmist is describing God “the Father” when he says this: 

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. 

Enough of thinking of the Old Testament God as the punisher, the wrathful one. This God, of the vast, infinite universe, is such a loving, doting, concerned parent that “He” keeps track of EVERYTHING happening to His child. “I’ve collected all your tears—and I’ve cried some myself. I’ve recorded each one in a book—I’ll remember what’s hurt you, and I’ll do something about it!” 

Jesus never saw God as the Parent to be feared. Rather, He is the parent who loves with a love so intimate that He keeps track of everything that happens.  

He said things like, “Your Father knows even the number of hairs on your head! When you pray, go into your room and pray—[for the Father who is in secret hears what you pray in secret.]” [Mt. 6:6] “Your Father knows what you need, [even before you ask].” [6:32] He talked about God being like a Father who longs for a teenaged son who’s rebelled and run away—that Father was always patient, always longing for his boy to come home. Jesus would go into the forest by himself for hours, spending time with the Father, talking, and laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. He invited children to come to him, saying, “Of such is my father’s kingdom”—which is to say, “Our Father has a soft spot in his heart for kids.” 

Is this not what makes a father? If our “Father who art in heaven” is like this—well, dads, isn’t this our model? 

BUT…I feel there are things that get in our way. 

We sometimes have expectations for our children, we want them to measure up, and we get frustrated when they don’t. We get impatient, because we have places to go and things to do, and here they are slowing things down by looking at bugs in a puddle or picking dandelions and blowing them…We get stressed out at work, and sometimes take it out at home by only half-listening to what the kids say.  

But how beautiful a reminder today’s passage is for us dads, as to what we are to be about. Neither pusher nor punisher be; know your child, that’s the key. A father is one who exhales expectations and frustrations and stress: the one who inhales the beauty, marvel, and miracle of a son or daughter. The one who leaves Quicken running on the computer in order to cradle a daughter crying over a skinned knee. The one who gets off the cell phone in order to listen compassionately to a teenaged son who’s paying the price for a wrong decision. 

I would challenge each of you dads—and maybe granddads—to go home, find a bottle, and place it in a spot that’s visible. Get a notebook, and put it beside it. Then write down today’s verse, and tape it to the bottle or book. Look at it, and remember how marvelous a Father we have—and how the best we can ever do is imitate that Father. 

Let the book and bottle inspire you to do the little things that will tell your children that they are so much more important than your job, your ambitions, or your stress. 

Perhaps the toughest challenge a father faces is when he’s a stepfather. When you marry a woman with children from a previous marriage, how do you become a dad to them? That’s when the power of today’s verse becomes evident. 

Susan Gordon told of when, as a 13 year old, her mother introduced her to Leo. Susan’s mom was marrying Leo, and he would be her stepfather. 

This totally confused the young girl. She had a “real” father—the man her mom divorced, the man she herself described as “cold” and “self-centered.” 

She said,

“After Leo and my mother married, I didn’t know what to call him. For a long time I didn’t call him anything. ‘Leo’ didn’t seem right. He called me Susan, or Sue, like my mother and brother did. He didn’t have to call me ‘Daughter.’ Did I have to say ‘Dad’? Who was this man to me? He seemed kind and gentle, and he even liked to have me around. But a father? Would calling him ‘Father’ make him a father?” [Chicken Soup for the Father’s Soul, “The Stranger Who Became My Dad”]  

Leo was a wood-worker. He set up shop in the basement. One day, after Sue had a blowup with her mother, she stormed down stairs. She found Leo slowly sanding a piece of wood. 

“She’s impossible” Sue shouted, and went on explaining the great injustices of her mother. Leo listened quietly as the teenager vented. “She yells at me for every little thing! Everything has to be PERFECT!” 

Leo nodded, and handed her a piece of sandpaper so she could join him in working the wood.  

“You mother only wants you to aim for perfection,” he said softly. “That shouldn’t be too difficult for you. I think you’re pretty exceptional.” 

From that moment on, the basement became the teenager’s “safe haven.” She found that Leo would listen, never take sides, and wouldn’t offer answers. Instead, he encouraged the girl to sort things out herself. “What I needed, and what he gave me, was a sympathetic ear.” 

Months passed. The new family started developing traditions of their own. Dinner conversations. Fishing trips. Eventually, Father’s Day approached. 

Here are Sue’s words.

“The first June I lived with Leo, I biked to a men’s store, with two weeks’ allowance and all my babysitting money from the past month. … At the age of thirteen, I had come to buy my first Father’s Day gift.

“I selected a blue silk tie decorated with rows of tiny fish and carried it home. The next Sunday morning when I gave it to Leo, he put it on immediately. ‘Thanks so much,’ he said. ‘I’ll treasure this.’ He put his arms around me and kissed my cheeks.

“‘You’re welcome,’ I answered. ‘Happy Father’s Day…Dad.’ I said it as casually as possible, but I saw him smile. He had heard me…

“Leo chose my mother, and he chose my brother and me, too. We were family and friends by choice. His friendship, and his love, were gifts that I will never forget.” 

Hmmm.

I guess you could say that fatherhood isn’t a right, a title due you because of biology. Fatherhood is a choice you make, a privilege you choose or not. Being a Dad means handing a piece of sandpaper to a child, and listening as you both work a piece of wood.  

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. 

A small boy is sent to bed by his father. Five minutes later:

“Da-ad ...”

“What?”

“I’m thirsty. Can you bring me a drink of water?”

“No. You had your chance. Lights out.”

Five minutes later: “Da-aaaad ...”

“WHAT?”

“I’m THIRSTY ... Can I have a drink of water??”

“I told you NO! If you ask again I’ll have to spank you!!”

Five minutes later ... “Daaaa-aaaad ...”

“WHAT??!!”

“When you come in to spank me, can you bring me a drink of water?” 

It’s an injustice to God to always paint Him as the one coming in to give you a spanking. 

God is the Father who knows your thirst before you call out, and moves heaven and earth to be by your side with that drink of water. 

If this is God’s model of parenting, can we do any less?