“Don’t panic. I’m with you. There’s no need to fear for I’m your God. I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you. I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.” (Isaiah ch. 41, v. 10)
I came home late the other evening after one of our church teams finished up some business. The sound of the storm door closing, along with my keys sliding across the kitchen counter cued a familiar chorus of greetings that descended from atop the stairwell: “Daddy! Daddy’s home! Yay! Hi, daddy!”
I’ve learned to savor such salutations. Despite the day’s depletions, what dad isn’t supercharged by the cheers of his children? This Clark Kent soon becomes Superman and home is the phonebooth where the change transpires.
In response to the squeals from above, I made my way over to the foot of the stairs to find a four-year-old princess in curls and pajamas in need of saving (Bethany always needs some sort of rescue…and I’m always happy to oblige). She smiled, waved, hopped down a little more than half the stairs and then she stopped with a daring gleam in her eyes and said, “Daddy, catch me.”
I was kind of surprised considering the distance and the height that separated us, but alas, I squared my shoulders and opened my hands, curiously awaiting what came next. I could sense hesitation in her movements. Her wheels were turning, yet her knees were bent in a tug-of-war of head and heart. In a flash, the thrill of flight and the pull of fear were engaged in a heavyweight bout before my eyes. I could see it on my four-year-old’s face. Which would win the battle? Could she do it!? Would she do it!? I was sure of my capacity to catch her, but I wondered if she’d have the courage to jump.
It’s scary to forfeit your footing, isn’t it? To leave the ground is to concede control. The Lenten season is a lesson in leaping, is it not? After all, Lent comes from the Anglo-Saxon word, ‘spring’ and this forty-day journey dares us to jump. Our skin wrinkles and our hair grays but we’re all just children learning what it’s like to defy the gravitational pull of the familiar and risk falling into the hands of Someone else who bids us to stare death in the face and follow nevertheless.
It’s why I smiled inside when my daughter finally left her feet and fell toward me. Why? Because it gave me the window to provide my strength. But here’s the catch (no pun intended): The provision of strength came after a decision to trust. A child’s trust bears the father’s strength and the strength of the father builds the trust of the child.
And so, a wide-eyed girl climbed the stairs again, only this time she went a bit further, a step higher; she fell farther into the hand of a father whose grip only got stronger. Faith works that way and I’m learning it from my four-year-old.
Her day ended in a way I pray ours would begin: “Father, Abba, Daddy…catch me.” Read the above passage from Isaiah again. Let God’s word penetrate your head and go to your feet. The Lord dares you to do something to defy gravity today. Trust His grip. He’s got the scars to prove it.
