An excerpt from a sermon I preached (I’ll add a sound clip later):
Father’s day is tomorrow. The world has a tradition and I think it’s okay. A day for mom and a day for dad. I mean after all, we didn’t make ourselves. It took work and raising from some type of guardian…some type of shepherd. Some of you were blessed enough to come from an unbroken home and had a pair of guardians. Now, as far as I know, kids can’t raise themselves; they’re not like weeds. I know they’re often compared to them because of their rapid growth and now-a-days, their colorful plumage. It seem today, if you want to look like a pink dandelion, folks won’t even give you a second look.
I don’t have a kid, but I’ve seem them…They’re around. Little children, little lambs. Some folks love all the little children of the world while others think to themselves “kids are a handful of hard-work, back-talk and no reward. Grumpy, greedy, naughty, needy; glad I wasn’t ever one.” Oh lambs, such is the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 19:14 Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it. – Mark 10:15
I’ve never raised a lamb but, I do know this; it takes love, kindness, long-suffering, sacrifice, dedication and a long list of other ingredients to create the leavening effect called “child raising”. There must be something about that helpless, whiney, needy, messy, moody, stinky bundle of father’s nose and mother’s eyes that spurs us on.
Let’s get back to the topic at hand; Father’s Day. Should we have rushed out on some sort of “black friday” or “black sabbath” sale to get dad another set of golf clubs to improve his game? Maybe another bible. Maybe this one wont collect dust. Maybe a hundred other thoughtful and useless things. Do what you must. But maybe, this year, we also set our gaze a little higher toward that face in whose image we are made. How much better to have THAT Father’s eyes of kindness, THAT Father’s lips of truth, THAT Father’s ears of compassion, THAT Father’s hands; hands that formed us from the dust of His world…formed us in our mothers’ wombs, formed us into His image…hands that bled to save us.
Sweet lambs of God, His heart doth ache
to find His people thus.
Ensnared by vice of every make
without a fight or fuss.
The coin knows not that she is lost
where thorns and tares have grown.
Neither the ship by tempest tossed…
in troubled waters blown.
But, What of those lambs the wolves might take?
Who guards the folds by night?
Is there a man whose heart would break
should one be gone by light?
Work as if we die this day…
but if we wake tomorrow.
Do the same again I pray…
No time is left to borrow.
That blood…His blood,
that came at such a cost
To save His Image made of mud
Let not one drop be lost!
By That blood you must be saved
but oh so few have chosen
to walk the road that love has paved
by fear, they are frozen
Our heavenly father “…hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” – 2 Timothy 1:7