Abba, Father

God has been working on me overtime. I can’t turn around without colliding head-on with a new miracle of sorts. Externally they probably don’t look like miracles, but for me, they are nothing short of supernatural.  God has been outdoing Himself in my life. 

Leading a Bible study at my church has been exceptionally stretching and humbling and crazy encouraging for me. We are currently reading The Good and Beautiful God by James Bryan Smith. I’m drowning in the depths of sensational theology in this book. The book takes us into our own narratives about God and helps us re-orient our understanding of God based on the narratives that we find in the life of Christ.  I am amazed by the false narratives that are so pervasive in our culture. I want to know the God that Jesus knows. He’s far superior to my pre-existing narratives. 

This week’s reading addressed God’s trustworthiness. It also tackled the issue of God as Father. Abba even. 

Daddy. 

No. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to read it. I didn’t want to understand God as father. I was adamant. This attitude permeated my first and second reading of this chapter. I was irritable, angry, and resistant. And I was supposed to be the one leading this study.  

No way, God. Give me another picture of you. I refuse. I don’t compute daddy. It means nothing. I don’t need it. Or mommy if you are going to pursue that option. Just be a Lion. That’s safer.

All of the sudden last night, however, I caught a glimmer of something I had never seen before. Smith talks of letting Jesus define father for us. That God was Father long before earthly parents existed. He is the prototype, the perfect prototype. And He is capable of revealing Himself as parent outside of my experience with and understanding of earthly parents. 

It’s okay, and even helpful, in this situation that my parents were not parents. That frees my mind as a blank slate onto which God can define Father and Mother for me and live into those roles. Taking it a step further, God masterfully carried me through a rewind playback of my life, showing me that He had always been there parenting me, filling in the voids that were left by the people who birthed me. He was there. I was, and am, and always will be, His. 

And He is my Abba. 

Okay, so   it just occurred to me that this post may resemble the “Footprints” poem. Sorry about that. For real, though, I have had the best Daddy/Mommy all along.  He’s been everything a little girl could ever dream of. I’ve never been abandoned. I’ve never been orphaned. 

Do I want to understand what Parents are supposed to look like? I need simply to look at my entire life and walk with my Daddy God.