The Long Road

Being a Dad is just the greatest thing. I was at one time a bit unsure about how it would work out, afraid of the added responsibility and the expense. Maybe I am still afraid of those things, but the joys of fatherhood seem to have outweighed any lingering fears. Few things can be compared with seeing the face of your son light up as you walk through the door after a long day at work.

I had heard that being a Dad will help you understand a little more the reality of God being our Heavenly Father: the way He feels about us, or the methods He may use to form and discipline us out of love. Though no analogy is perfect I have already had a few experiences which seem to have shed first-hand light on some ways God works on us.

A few weeks ago, Hudson was having one of those nights. He is usually pretty good about sleeping through the night, unless he is bothered by something. In this case it may have been a tooth breaking through or some stomach pains from something he ate that day--difficult to say which. Montana and I had tried the usual pacification methods a few times to no avail. He just kept crying and crying.

Being the good Dad that I am, I thought I would exert myself on the scene and intervene, which involves taking Hudson out of the crib and playing with him in the living room with the lights on.

That’s what I do. We start stacking blocks together, seeing how high a tower we can build. We play with some cars. He likes to climb up the couches, so I spot him as he tries to pull himself up.

Though Hudson is not showing too many signs of being tired at this stage, the main strategy here is attrition. I am wearing him down. The objective is the crib, not the living room. And this is only Phase I of a multi-faceted plan to get him to that objective. I plan to play a little bit longer in the living room with the lights on, and after an undisclosed period of time, I will proceed to phase II: the transfer of Hudson to his own room, where we will play some more.

We initiate phase II. The lights are still on and there are still toys in his room, but the transitioning to his own room is key because the crib is IN the room. And the crib is the objective. I am cooking the proverbial frog in the pot, only my son is not a frog and I have no intention of cooking him. We play with stuffed animals and I even lay out my own blanket and pillow as evidence that I am in it for the long haul. We play with puzzles. We read books. Then we initiate phase III, a critical step.

I turn off the lights. For being only 14 months old, Hudson is no dummy and he starts to follow the logic of my complex plan. I assure him, however, that I am still here. I am not going anywhere and I am not yet putting him in his crib. We are still playing together which seems to alleviate some of his fears. I can see now more visible signs of exhaustion. Frequent yawns and rubbing of the eyes. Then my son makes a break for the door.

I look at him and say, “No Buddy, we are staying in here.” Buddy understands the word “no” and he already dislikes it. He looks at me and starts to cry, but he remains where he is. We stay in the room and start playing again, and I get his blanket and pacifier (which throughout all phases I had been offering). Now he accepts them both.

Phase IV is the final step, the actual transmission of the subject to the crib. Because it is so mission critical I bide my time with this one. I would rather wait a few extra minutes and be certain he is ready, than have to restart the whole thing from phase I. So I wait.

Eventually he collapses on his blanket next to me (I am also collapsed on my blanket, quite possibly more tired than he). I judge this the perfect segue into the initiation of the final phase. I pick him up and place him in the crib. His head immediately pops up. Did I move too soon? I again ensure Hudson that I am not going anywhere and I lay down with my own blanket and pillow. He watches me and does likewise. After a few moments he is fast asleep. Mission accomplished.

***

In a way, though this is a far from perfect analogy, I sense that God is doing something similar with me. He wants to take me somewhere; He wants to make me into something that I am not yet at this point in time. Less of me, more of Him. Less comfort, more dependence on Him. My decreasing, His increase in my life.

Sometimes God seems to employ the less popular but perhaps more effective: “cry it out method,” where he will drop certain people into situations wholly overwhelming to them. Situations where there is no other alternative but to grab a hold of the lifeline He is offering in complete dependence. Other times he will employ a similar strategy to my own, a slow yet methodical stripping away of self. A careful, steady march toward His objective (which is also my greatest good): my holiness. There are moments along the way where I will protest like my son, “God, I do not want you to do this. I do not like where this is leading.” But God replies that He must, and assures me His presence will never depart.

For those of us in Christ, God is working on us, and we are not yet what we will one day be. Praise Him for that! There is an objective in mind, and we can rest assured that if He started a work in us He will bring it to completion. Much along the way will be difficult for there is much work to be done, but through it all He will never abandon us; and one day we will look back with great joy at the long road we journeyed to get there.