Wednesday, January 9, 2019

On Grace and Goldfish Crackers

She looked up at me with those wide brown eyes, the slight lines of guilt and shame on her two-year-old face betraying her inner fears.  I had caught her red-handed.  She’d opened my two liter of Diet Coke and, slowly, methodically, one-by-one, dumped two dozen of her goldfish crackers into the small circular opening.

Beloved daughter.  You make me laugh and want to dance with mirth.

Her penetrating look is searching my face for a response.  Anger?  Irritation?  Laughter?

It was for her own good that I patiently said, “No, honey.  We don’t do that.  That wastes food and drink and makes a mess. Now I have to throw this away.”  But I think she could see the twinkle in my eye that indicated to her I was not angry.

I often fuck things up, God, and make messes.  I have done it yet again, though you have patiently chastised me time and time again.  Like a little rambunctious toddler playing in the kitchen, stand before you a bit fearful and a bit ashamed.

Beloved father, be patient with me.  Delight in me, I beg of you, as I delight in my daughter.  For if I as a human father know how to give good gifts to my children — patience, correction, gentleness, love — how much more will you, Father in Heaven, give good gifts to me, your child?  Amen.