Scars of the Father

More than once, as a teenager living with my parents, I would be driving home with very little time left on the curfew clock. I would be hovering on being late, but would not yet be late. I repeat: not yet be late. 

Didn't matter. I would see my Dad's truck whizzing by in the dark, him going out to find me. I don't know where he would have looked because we were rarely where we said we'd be (true confessions, so many years later). But there he was in his truck, going out to find his daughter. 

It's something we joke about now, and laugh about how strict my parents used to be on us. But really, my Dad was just being a good Dad. 

Having a good Dad is something I never really thought about until my first year teaching. I grew up with friends who all had really great parents. I didn't personally know any mean, abusive, or absent fathers. But the opposite was true for all the students I taught in that poverty-stricken Mississippi town. 

One memory sticks out in my mind so clearly. One of my freshman students was failing every single class she was in, and she was bragging to everyone that her Dad was coming up to talk with the Principal that day about her horrible grades. She was telling everybody about all the trouble she was going to get in because her Dad was having to come up there. 

It took me a long time to figure out why anyone would brag about their father having to meet with a school principal about failing grades. And why all the kids were jealous of her. 

She had a Dad. And he cared about her education. And he loved her enough to discipline her for not trying her best. 

She had something they didn't. A Dad. 

Dad's are so important. 

It's fun watching Caleb be a Dad. That guy sat in Beach Traffic on his birthday this past Sunday because his daughter wanted to go in the tunnel. Bless him. 

The special bond he and Joshua share isn't just something I think about as Father's Day approaches. The verse "I thank my God every time I remember you" is very literal to me when it comes to our son; everything about this child points me back to the Lord.  

The tragedy surrounding his birth mother reminds me daily that we are all the woman at the well in need of living water.

Watching him struggle to do things that come so easily to babies half his age reminds me to lean on the Lord and not my own understanding.

When holding him close is the only thing that will soothe his screams, I remember that I only have to be still and cast my cares upon Him.

Every time I place his glasses on that curly head of his, I pray for eyes that see as Christ does; to align my heart with His. 

But that scar that wraps around his belly is something different. Every time I change his diaper or put his jammies on before bed, I see that gnarly scar. With so much to love about that little boy, it may be surprising that his scar is probably my favorite thing about him. 

That scar is the reason he's in our family. I still remember Caleb being called into the hospital that night and coming home to tell me how small the baby was that they operated on. He kept saying how cute he was and so so strong, not knowing that the little baby would become his son. 

The rest of the story have been shared a thousand times, but even still, I get a little weepy over the significance of Caleb doing Joshua's surgery. Joshua had no one, he was all alone, yet God orchestrated the situation so that at his most vulnerable, Caleb his father was with him. 

Joshua's scar reminds me everyday of a sovereign Lord who allows hard things to happen. In Joshua's case, this hard thing he had to overcome was ultimately for his good and for His Glory. His scar bears witness.

But most importantly of all, when I see the scar on Joshua which was given to him by his father, I can't help but think about Jesus' scar-torn hands given to him by His Father. 

How like Caleb's surgical knife slicing across Joshua's tummy, so were the pounding of nails into Christ's wrists. A sound all too familiar to a carpenter from Nazareth. 

Only these scars would revolutionize the world.

 These scars sent a message to the depths of hell that when every soul is most vulnerable, our Father is there to hold us and redeem us. 

These scars tell the greatest Love Story of all time, a love so deep that Jesus found it worth dying for. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

These scars are battle wounds fought for us. We can put down the weapons we hide behind and just rest in the peace that comes from knowing Him. 

These scars prove that no matter what you have done and how you have lived, there is still a seat at the table for you if you would just accept the gift of grace given. 

And on this Father's Day, even if you had a mean or abusive or absent father, may you be reminded that you've always had access to the perfect Father, one who revels in you, delights in you, and finds you worthy of the scars he allowed for His Son. 

(Joshua, in his father's arms)