An excerpt from a sermon I preached (Ill add a sound clip later):
Fathers day is tomorrow. The world has a tradition and I think its okay. A day for mom and a day for dad. I mean after all, we didnt make ourselves. It took work and raising from some type of guardiansome 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 cant raise themselves; theyre not like weeds. I know theyre 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 wont even give you a second look.
I dont have a kid, but Ive seem themTheyre 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 wasnt 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
Ive 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 fathers nose and mothers eyes that spurs us on.
Lets get back to the topic at hand; Fathers 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 Fathers eyes of kindness, THAT Fathers lips of truth, THAT Fathers ears of compassion, THAT Fathers hands; hands that formed us from the dust of His worldformed us in our mothers wombs, formed us into His imagehands 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 bloodHis 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