Dancing with
Dad
By Erik Guzman
I’ve never been comfortable with God the Father.
Well, let me be clear…I’ve never been comfortable with God in
general, but the Father has always seemed especially scary. The Holy
Spirit is okay I guess, but I’m not sure I like what He’s done with
Benny Hinn. The Holy Spirit is unpredictable,
so He’s scary too, but not as scary as the Father.
Read Scripture and you’ll see that the Father
doesn’t bend. He’s got
a lot of rules and He will kick you out of His garden if you don’t toe
the line. It seems that if He
isn’t busy flooding the world then He’s planning on burning it and
the only thing that stops Him is Jesus.
Once I got past the Jesus of Sunday school classes and old
paintings, I got to liking Him. Every time the Father was ready to whoop
my ass, Jesus would step in and take the hits. God the Son understands
what it’s like to be a man. The Father just never seemed to get how
hard it is. All of His rules are fine for a holy God, but we’re
fallen and we like to look at chicks’ asses. As I learned more
about Jesus, there was simply no downside to trusting Him. Unconditional
love, the older brother I never had, power over death,
the giver of life, carpenter, creator, redeemer, friend of drunks and whores,
perfection…what’s not to like? On top of all that, He has the
Father’s ear. If I needed anything, He’d put in a good word
for me. And on that dreaded day that I’ll be called into the
Father’s office to try to explain why I spent so much time smoking and
drinking and touching myself, Jesus is going to step between me and the Father,
and smooth talk my way into Heaven.
That’s where I lived for a long time. Then I had
children. Then I became a
father. Not just once, but three times in five years. My wife and I
are breeders. We have a five-year-old daughter, a three-year-old
daughter, and a three-month-old son. And yes…we’re
done.
Just in case you aren’t aware of how this works, sex
leads to children and children lead to less sex. I figure if you can work
it so all your kids show up within a five-year window, when they grow up
they’ll all leave within the same period of time. This way, we can
get back to having sex with the utmost efficiency. But I digress.
So now I’m a father. I love it. And I love
my children. They worship me. I’ve always wanted to be a cult
leader and being a father of three is about as close as I think I’m gonna get. The girls just about shit their pants when
I walk in the door after work (and my baby boy sometimes does). I’ll
put on some Dave Mathews or Bob Marley and swing them around our makeshift
living room dance floor.
Remember that scene in Toy
Story 2 where the little girl is spinning around with that cowgirl
doll? Remember the look on the doll’s face? She had these
wide eyes that swallowed the love and joy of the only thing that existed for
her in that moment…that little girl. Well that’s how my
daughters look at me. We’ll spin around with the speakers blaring
Dave singing about muddy toes. The raw joy will overwhelm me and
I’ll give in to tears as I reach a point where it’s like
we’re stationary and the world is a whirling blur around us. And
there’s just me and my daughter…nothing else…just love (and
the other daughter screaming, “My turn, my turn”).
These kids are absolutely unconditional. Love between
a man and a woman is complicated. It takes a long time and a lot of pain
before a husband and wife get to the place where they are aware of each other’s
faults, hope and pray for good, but accept each other just the way they
are. This is good love, but the love of your child is oblivious and
instant. I might even dare to say that until you are loved by your child
you have not felt love.
So, I’m a father. That’s a taste of my
experience so far. And this experience has led to a radical
transformation of my relationship with God…God the Father.
An urge to pray to the Father began to unsettle the tight
bond with my older brother Jesus. I would pray,
“Jesus…” and He would say, “This is how you should pray:
‘Our Father…’” And I would be like, “O come on, I don’t want to talk to Him. He’s
such a hard ass. You talk to Him. He likes You
better than He likes me.” And Jesus would be like, “Alright,
how about ‘Daddy?’” And I would get sick to my stomach.
I resisted praying to the Father for a long time, but my
kids…my children…I loved them so much. How could I be more
capable of love than God?
One day I imagined what it would be like to come home from
work and not have the girls run to greet me. In my mind I saw myself
going from room to room calling out, “Girls, Daddy’s home!”
There was no response. Finally I looked under a bed and saw them cowering
in fear, afraid to take the hand that would lead them to a living room with the
furniture pushed back to the walls. My heart broke and the Unpredictable
Spirit whispered that my Daddy was hurting too. Not because of all the
bad things I’ve done, but because He wanted to dance and I thought He
wanted to hit me.
So I went to Him. I came out from my hiding place and
I said, “Heavenly Father…uh…Daddy…here I
am.” As I reached for His hand, I noticed how much He looked like
His Son or how much His Son looked like Him. Then Jesus said, “I
and the Father are One.” We touched and I
cried. As we looked into each other’s eyes, everything was
still. The Father saw Jesus. The fear was gone and the world
blurred to dim. Then I drank some beers and went to sleep.
In the morning, I almost forgot about our dance as I crawled
out of bed praying that I wouldn’t screw things up too bad that
day. By evening, I was scared of the Father again and I prayed my normal
evening prayer, “Why don’t you just kill me?” I hate to
admit that, but it’s true.
And now it’s off and on, but it’s always the
kids that turn it on. They remind me about my Dad.
As a father, I would give up my life
for the lives of my children. I
would die for my wife. I might even
take a bullet for a friend...maybe a stranger. But I would NEVER trade my children’s
lives...not for a friend, not for my wife, and I certainly wouldn't do it for a
stranger.
However, mystery of mysteries…the Father gave up
His Son for His enemies. That
reveals a kind of love and passion that the Son doesn’t reveal. Sure, the Son laid down His life, but
the Father somehow, in some way, loved me enough to let it happen. If it were me, I would have said,
"Not my kid. You can all go to hell."
So, as much as I love my children, I am not a better lover
than God the Father. I tell the
girls that they are special and that I will always love them no matter what,
and He whispers, “You too, son.” They will scrape against my
warning to stay out of the street when they play, and His Spirit says,
“The Father’s rules are an expression of His love for
you.” I see their faces light up when I give them my undivided
attention and I hear, “I never take my eyes off of you…not watching
for failure but in love with who you are.” I’ll put on one of
our favorite songs real loud and hear the girls squeal over the sound of little
feet running from the other room to come dance, and His Spirit in me cries out,
“Daddy!” I’ll
look at my new born son and think, “I wouldn’t give you up for the
world.” Then I hear the
Father say, “I gave mine up for you.”
God, I want more. Remind me. Thank You that You’re not who I thought You were.
Hebrews 2:11-13
“11Since the One who saves
and those who are saved have a common origin, Jesus doesn't hesitate to treat
them as family, 12saying,
I'll tell My
good friends, My brothers and sisters, all I know about You;
I'll join them in worship and praise to You.
13Again, He puts Himself in the same
family circle when He says,
Even I live by placing My
trust in God.
And yet again,
I'm here with the children God gave Me.”
-Erik is a
producer for Key Life Network and Steve Brown Etc. and host of a weekly
internet show called Etcetera. He is a megalomaniac at heart, loves to
see his own words in print, and will gladly consider any requests to write
something for your magazine, online journal, etc. Send any comments or inquiries to erik@keylife.org.