My wife and I have been nomads since last November. After 35 years, I left my position as senior pastor of the church we love and, though I was open to new employment opportunities, it seemed that we were retired. We spent two months in Texas, living near our oldest son and his family, then returned to Michigan, where we stayed at our friends’ lake home for six weeks.
While we were in Texas, a denominational official called to ask if I would be interested in pastoring his home church. My wife and I talked about it, and I told him that we were open to exploring the possibility. Since then, we have met with various committees and groups, and I have preached at the church. They recently extended an invitation to me to become their lead pastor and we will be moving there in a few weeks.
In the interim, we have been staying with our youngest son and his family. He and his wife have three children, a nine-year-old boy, and two girls, one seven and one five. Our grandchildren are, like most grandchildren, the smartest, cutest, most wonderful grandchildren in the world. Nearly every day they say or do something that surprises, impresses, or delights us.
Every day they also do or say something that reveals that these smart, cute, wonderful little people are still immature children. They quarrel with each other. They whine about doing some task. They leave their things lying all over the house — the floor is sometimes a minefield of Legos, dolls, stuffed animals, and other toys.
I exhort them to stop bickering. I tell them to pick up their things. I remind them that their mom or dad asked them to finish some task. I probably do this more than I should since I am not their parent and since it has been a long time since our own children were this age. I have forgotten how young children think, how they react, and what kinds of things they do to find their place in the world.
It is not that I expect my grandchildren to act like adults — but perhaps I do not expect them to act like children either. I want them to turn off the lights when they leave a room. I inwardly groan when they spill their milk. I get impatient when they whine, or scream, or fail to show consideration to their siblings.
It is a good thing my son and daughter-in-law are their parents. They are patient and kind. They are understanding. They treat their children as children and not miniature adults. They clearly expect the kids to grow and mature, but they keep in mind that growth and maturity are part of a process that takes time. I do not always remember that.
It is significant that the Bible uses the parent-child relationship as a metaphor for God’s relationship with his people. Indeed, the image of a father with his children is one of the most important ways the Bible represents the relationship between God and humans. The image is rich in meaning. The fact that God thinks of his own as children is full of hope. He does not think of us as grown-ups — not yet anyway.
When we bicker with our brothers and sisters in the faith, God is not surprised. When we whine, he does not throw up his hands in despair over our immaturity. When we are inconsiderate of our fellow believers’ feelings and needs, God knows what to do. He will certainly instruct us. He might possibly correct us. But he never forgets that the growth and maturity he expects are part of a long process.
The Bible speaks of this process in many places. It is called “discipline” and “training” and is linked with “instruction.” God himself formulates our training program. It is not something that happens in isolation from real life; it is our real life.
The Scottish novelist and poet George Macdonald was right: “The refusal to look up to God as our Father is the one central wrong in the whole human affair; the inability, the one central misery.” But if God is our Father, all will be well.
— Shayne Looper is a writer and speaker based in Coldwater, Michigan. Contact him at salooper57@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on The Holland Sentinel: Shayne Looper: A child shall lead them: Lessons in patience, grace