This past fall my six-year-old daughter, Morgan, joined a soccer team for the first time. If you've ever seen my daughter, you know that she's petite - in the two percentile to be exact. With sports, she's got to work a little harder than the average to compete. When we showed up to the first practice equipped with shin guards, water bottle, and a shiny pink and white soccer ball, I wasn't sure what to expect, as she would be playing with girls that were older and bigger than her. But when we stepped out of the car, it was like releasing a dog in an open field for the first time. I just kind of stood there and watched as she made her way to the field, a little caught off guard by her excitement and courage.
With only a few more games left in the season, Morgan was the only girl on the team who hadn't scored a goal, and I could tell it was starting to bother her a little bit. And that bothered me. As I watched from the sideline, I would try to help her by air kicking and air running - thinking that somehow she would kick it harder and run faster if I was doing it for her off the field. But she just wasn't big enough and fast enough to do what her mind was envisioning. And then it happened - Morgan scored her first goal. I literally cried. I couldn't help it. I never felt happier or prouder in all my life than I did that day. I just wanted to run out there and pick her up and swing her around.
As my eyes were watering, as I watched my daughter enjoy the moment, I couldn't help but think about my own moments. Moments where impossibilities collided with miracles. Moments where I realized that there was something bigger pulling the strings of my life. Moments where I discovered that I have a Father that is on the sideline as well. And He's also air kicking and air running trying to get me to score, to overcome, to persevere.
It would crush me as a father if my daughter ever told me to stay home, to not be a part of the game. I go because I want to celebrate the victories and great shots with her, as well as the disappointments and missed opportunities. I go because she's my daughter, and she is a part of me. And I like to believe that she feels the same way - that I'm her dad, and I'm a part of her.
Do we believe that God is for us? That He's air kicking and air running like crazy on the sideline? That every other parent is looking at each other wondering who that kooky madman is hootin' and hollerin' like it's the World Cup? It's Him! It's God! And He's crazy about us. He made us, and He wants to be a part of every moment - the good and the bad. And He's hoping that we feel the same way about Him.
It's so hard for me to believe that anyone could have a greater love than I do for my daughters. Sometimes I just look at them and can't believe they're mine. Often they'll say something that I just want to stuff in a can so that I can listen to it later or share it with my friends and family. Sometimes I can't hug them long enough, or kiss them enough or tell them how much I love and care for them enough. But the Bible says that there is a greater love than the love that we are able to live out and possess - it's His love for us.
This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins. 1 John 4:10
This scripture reveals a little of the mystery as to the depth and width of the type of love that we're dealing with. God loved us when we didn't love Him back. If we're honest, we have a really hard time loving this way, don't we? Sometimes it's hard for us to even love people who are loving on us, to receive from people who are reaching out and caring for us. Sometimes it's hard for us to even look into the eyes of the guy or girl across the counter of the convenient store, or the person we pass on the street out of fear that they'll want to talk to us.
I think we're closest to possessing and understanding God's love as children. As children everything is much, much simpler. You tell a child something, and they'll believe it. That is how the Kingdom of God is to be received. Jesus even said this several times to his adult audiences.
Why is it so hard for us to receive his love? To believe that He's for us? Maybe it's because we've forgotten ourselves how to love. Maybe as we begin to lift up our heads, open our mouths, and begin to notice others we'll be able to see and hear what's been coming from the sideline. Or maybe it's because we've made the story way too complex. We've been reading it like a math problem instead of a love letter. We have a hard time believing that our past is really forgotten, that He loves us unconditionally.
May you begin to see and hear what's been there all along. May you come to know and understand the vastness and the enormity of God's love for you a little more each day. May you receive the letter and believe that it was written to you, that the signature at the end wasn't copied but signed by the Author himself...with His very blood.
May we run toward our worlds and calling with courage and freedom knowing that no matter how the game goes our Father will be waiting with open arms, a giant foam finger and watery eyes.
With only a few more games left in the season, Morgan was the only girl on the team who hadn't scored a goal, and I could tell it was starting to bother her a little bit. And that bothered me. As I watched from the sideline, I would try to help her by air kicking and air running - thinking that somehow she would kick it harder and run faster if I was doing it for her off the field. But she just wasn't big enough and fast enough to do what her mind was envisioning. And then it happened - Morgan scored her first goal. I literally cried. I couldn't help it. I never felt happier or prouder in all my life than I did that day. I just wanted to run out there and pick her up and swing her around.
As my eyes were watering, as I watched my daughter enjoy the moment, I couldn't help but think about my own moments. Moments where impossibilities collided with miracles. Moments where I realized that there was something bigger pulling the strings of my life. Moments where I discovered that I have a Father that is on the sideline as well. And He's also air kicking and air running trying to get me to score, to overcome, to persevere.
It would crush me as a father if my daughter ever told me to stay home, to not be a part of the game. I go because I want to celebrate the victories and great shots with her, as well as the disappointments and missed opportunities. I go because she's my daughter, and she is a part of me. And I like to believe that she feels the same way - that I'm her dad, and I'm a part of her.
Do we believe that God is for us? That He's air kicking and air running like crazy on the sideline? That every other parent is looking at each other wondering who that kooky madman is hootin' and hollerin' like it's the World Cup? It's Him! It's God! And He's crazy about us. He made us, and He wants to be a part of every moment - the good and the bad. And He's hoping that we feel the same way about Him.
It's so hard for me to believe that anyone could have a greater love than I do for my daughters. Sometimes I just look at them and can't believe they're mine. Often they'll say something that I just want to stuff in a can so that I can listen to it later or share it with my friends and family. Sometimes I can't hug them long enough, or kiss them enough or tell them how much I love and care for them enough. But the Bible says that there is a greater love than the love that we are able to live out and possess - it's His love for us.
This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins. 1 John 4:10
This scripture reveals a little of the mystery as to the depth and width of the type of love that we're dealing with. God loved us when we didn't love Him back. If we're honest, we have a really hard time loving this way, don't we? Sometimes it's hard for us to even love people who are loving on us, to receive from people who are reaching out and caring for us. Sometimes it's hard for us to even look into the eyes of the guy or girl across the counter of the convenient store, or the person we pass on the street out of fear that they'll want to talk to us.
I think we're closest to possessing and understanding God's love as children. As children everything is much, much simpler. You tell a child something, and they'll believe it. That is how the Kingdom of God is to be received. Jesus even said this several times to his adult audiences.
Why is it so hard for us to receive his love? To believe that He's for us? Maybe it's because we've forgotten ourselves how to love. Maybe as we begin to lift up our heads, open our mouths, and begin to notice others we'll be able to see and hear what's been coming from the sideline. Or maybe it's because we've made the story way too complex. We've been reading it like a math problem instead of a love letter. We have a hard time believing that our past is really forgotten, that He loves us unconditionally.
May you begin to see and hear what's been there all along. May you come to know and understand the vastness and the enormity of God's love for you a little more each day. May you receive the letter and believe that it was written to you, that the signature at the end wasn't copied but signed by the Author himself...with His very blood.
May we run toward our worlds and calling with courage and freedom knowing that no matter how the game goes our Father will be waiting with open arms, a giant foam finger and watery eyes.
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