Father
“I will be his father, and he will be my son.”
2 Sam 7:14
I didn’t become my father’s son out of my own volition; I was born into his household.
My dad did the best he could raising me, but his best was indeed very limited.
My dad was a poor fisherman and a farmer who was illiterate. He could write his
name and his ID card identified him as “literate,” but writing his own name was
the furthest he could go as far as literacy was concerned.
My dad was man with quick temper and powerful emotions who cried easily, yet he was
melancholic by nature, the character trait I unfortunately inherited. My father
couldn’t do a lot for his eldest son except to love him with all his might,
which was probably the only valuable thing he could have offered to him. Being
a young man with a strong romantic inclination, I left my father’s home to seek
adventure as early as I possibly could and had absolutely no consideration of
how my dad would feel losing his son to the glitz and glamour of a big city.
I started to appreciate my dad’s love for me after I became a father myself at twenty-nine,
yet I still had great difficulty expressing my love to him and only did a
minimum of calling and visiting while he was alive. I was indeed a horrible
son.
Being a father of three sons now I seem to experience what my father experienced with me as a
child. My children were born into my household not of their own choice and, had
they a choice at all, would they have chosen me as their father? Only they
themselves can answer this question, but I tried to do the best I could to
raise them just like my dad once did for me.
Whether we are sons or fathers, there is a strong bond between us that can never be broken and
we all do our best to play the role well. The end result may not always be that
satisfactory, for we all have our limitations, but we do have the best
intentions for our loved ones.
I lost my dad five years ago, creating a void that can never be filled, yet I still have a Father
to whom I always cling and upon whom I can always depend for solace and
support.
Did I choose to love my heavenly Father? Not really. How could I choose to love him if I had no earthly idea that he
existed? How did I get to know him unless he revealed himself to me first? No,
I didn’t choose to know him or to love him at all; it was the heavenly Father
who decided to make himself known and to love me as his child.
“I will be his father, and he will be my son.”
The day finally came when I could call him “Abba, Father” without any second thoughts or
reservations. It was as natural as I called my dad abba when I was a little boy
and the intimacy behind the calling was heart-felt and true. My heavenly Father
chose to love me first and, by his grace, I was able to love him back.