seeing myself in a 3-year-old

Obedience is foundational to the life of joy.

Obedience is surrender.
Obedience is trust.

It brings me great delight when Houston enjoys life--playing, learning, eating, resting. I would do anything to see him get the most out of life. But sometimes that requires things he does not want to do because he and I have very different perspectives on the potential for enjoyment of life. From 3 1/2 years, 2' tall it means playing all day, eating countless cookies, and taking advantage of all the privileges that come with the height and mobility that the 3-year-old did not possess at the age of 2. But from a solid

***WOW.

Right that second Houston came out of the Chick-fil-A play room to announce that he was ready to go home. He asked what my pen was. I told him "It's what I'm writing with," and I laid it down to reach for his socks. He promptly snatched it up and said, "Look what I can write." But before he could write and before I could protest, he knocked over his ice dream cone on my journal. I think I managed to maintain my composure and we both cleaned up in silence.

The similarities and applications for my relationship with Christ are striking. He is writing my story. But let's back-track for a second, pre-ice dream episode.***

From my 65", 22 year stature, I know he needs to rest to really be himself and enjoy playing; I know he needs healthy food to grow; I know he needs to learn in order to more fully enjoy life. I can see and understand things on a completely different level than he does, and my vantage point obligates me to love him by doing what is best for him, not merely what quenches his 3-year-old lust. There is no way I can (or should) explain each decision or direction to him. But if he is sure of my love and can trust my heart, he is far less likely to wiggle and squirm away from me.

But even then there are days, like today, when he will not listen or obey or show me any kind of reciprocal love or respect, and it kills me. Not because I need him. Not because I am offended. Not because I crave his affirmation or compliance to my power or authority. It kills me because it limits me. It limits the ways in which he is able to receive my love. I will love him either way, but I would rather love by blessing than by discipline. When he disobeys, discipline is the only truly loving option I have.

Discipline is not fun. The immediate gain from discipline to curb a sinful nature is painful, unpleasant and often involves a tantrum. It is in this way that disobedience hinders joy. Our options for pleasure would be limitless to Houston if he would trust me, obey me, love me. And I deeply treasure the days when this happens. My heart is full, bursting with affection to be lavished on him in ways that I cannot when he is disobedient.

How much more true must these sentiments be of the Lord's love and desire for me? His love for me is so much deeper. I love Houston very, very much, but he is not even related to me--in fact, I get paid to spend time with him. And his sin problem is certainly a frustration to me, but it is not truly against me because I am sinful too. My anger pales in comparison to the wrath of the Holy One, the Righteous Judge, toward the flagrant disregard of His creation. I cannot fully comprehend the conflict between God's abundant love and His holy justice.

How richly He must desire to delight me! Yet how horribly my disobedience cripples His ability to do so. For joy, true joy, has no hint of disobedience.

And oh! how resilient his patience!

He is writing my story. He has in mind great rays of glory, and He cares to write me into His narrative. How often do I snatch His pen to show off what I can write? Houston's writing compared to mine is much like mine compared to my Lord's. Houston's is scribble, nonsensical, futile communication. At best, he can write a few of the letters in his name, and even those are written crudely.

Is there any difference in what I try to write for my life? Compared to the infinite knowledge, wisdom and love of God, can I write anything with my life that is worth communicating more than what He would write? He wants my story to be about His glory. He wants to write His name on my life. He wants to be my purpose, my context, my climax, my resolution, my hero, and my lover. And what do I do? I snatch His pen, His lordship, so I can doodle away my life, so I can roughly spell out my small, widely-shared name, and forfeit the glory He would write.

But even in that, how often do I create messes that must be dealt with before His writing can resume? In my haste I spill my ice dream on His work. A cone of ice cream I did not really want, did not really need, will not really satisfy, only takes up space in my life.

Forgive me, Lord. I would rather have you.

And that is so much the key. We should not obey for the blessing, but because God is the Blessing, the Joy. The blood of Christ has secured our standing with God once and for all; but the more like Him we become, the greater our enjoyment of Him. As we repent and obey, we open the floodgates of joy that come from our gracious, loving, trustworthy Father. Our hearts align, my heart and His, and I enjoy Him, and He is glorified.