Standing before me, hands held up in solitary presentation, My young son holds up for Me to see, lifting his treasure high before My eyes, his face both eagerly pleads and lovingly presents a gift of his own hand. Written on his face the only truly pure pride, a gift of his wanting to share with his Father that which he has made. With wanting eyes and a soft tender word he asks in a most sincere and needing way;
“Daddy look what I have.”
What does he but ask, directing my attention only but a moment from the regimented activity I have entertained myself repeatedly for infinitely longer then but the moment he request’s?
How cold has it become the soul of my mind, the cruel sound of my own words void of light;
as I hustle him from before view, with an unconcerning brush of my hand, to not distract my eye but a moment from yet again some meaningless endeavor playing before me in spectacle, who’s outcome will grant no effect in my life or that of any around me. When did I become so selfish?
But harder yet, the image I certainly must face, in this life, if not the next, as to the look I certainly know his face showed, as he turned in disappointment and walked away. That sweet saddened face as yet again a father pushes aside, looking inward as to try to find but a reason why his father does not have time for him. He walks away head down, but to hide the tear, a tear yet again for it must be him.
What a fool I have been, says this so selfish father I see before me. How many treasures has his son had, that this father was not there to share? Gifts given if but to see, the child’s presentation handed with love for an opportunity but to share, in a piece of what has become a essence of his growth, a part of what is to become him, forever missed, never to share.
How many games did he play, where an unexpected and even miraculous catch was made, just to see in his minds eye a son who looks to the crowd, searching for a father’s absent smile to share. A fish on the line without the fathers strong hand to help the excitement that must surely ascend. Where smiles of joys become frowns of pain, for no other reason then the inward cries of his own shame. Why is he not there?
Does dad not even care, what did I do?
It must be that, because it is not lack of love, for does he not encase that love, for I love him? So slithers the voice in his sweet ear.
No it must be me, the small child says, until one day he stops lifting small hands, and no longer looks to the crowd. Again the snake laughs.
“Look at what I made,” my baby says.
When is pride a good thing? When is it balanced on the tone of a soft spoken song gently resonating into an ear of One that never gets to tired to hear? A symphony of tones creating fields of flowering scents in life’s pure love.
Maybe each and every time a heavenly blessed child brings that jewel of discovery before a Perfect and Good Father. Before an eye that never looks away, from the small hands that so want to praise.
What could be greater in the treasury of a good Father’s praises, the coffer’s of treasures at His feet, then all of the gift’s his most precious child would offer to see. Wanting but to share in his life’s most delicate flower’s as the subtle peddles are held in those most cautious fingers, softly holding up for but a Father to touch, how could His heart not burn with joy.
How could He? Let me but try.
Being a father myself as well, I can but give a taste of what I might feel, a glance at the table of such a feast, one of healing, life, light, and love.
When I take but a moment, and give love’s look, for the Good Father is this without end, I can tell you that my heart burst’s with a joy that can not be contained, an exploding star pressing within the edges of my mind, fires burning un-contained, filling a spirit with every essence of God’s good that ever was the thought and purposed in this His creation.
That even the Father must find it hard, with shimmering strain, to see through the rivers of tears that burst forth from His own eyes, when presented with but a glimmer of love and joy on a face of whom exhibit’s with all of its pure peaceful majesty, a small child, his small gift, difficult but well does He manage.
The shear joy in both Father and son, an exchange, but also blending of spirit, as they in their turn both receive good. So can He not refuse as His son with each and every gift, bring hungering hand to the feet of the Father, a golden gift, a cherished alter, where a good and faithful son so cherished his praises bring.
Rose scented offering’s, gliding whispering’s, that transcend without encumbrance through the darkened halls of this age, passing malice and malcontent on their journey’s narrow path, bringing this sweet child’s soft gift to a Father’s waiting bosom. A prayer without end, a gift of all jeweled majesty, bringing but for a moment a smile across the face of a Christ, if but a moment, but as well for all time, for both in but one, can so flow in the heart of a Father that can never forget, never tire, see only love before His eyes, the gift of love so freely given, freely given by the child.
The product of a difficult job well done, that perfect spelling test, a son’s first home run, his hard earned “C” grade, or a truly spectacular catch, that so pretty picture sketched from the hand of a man’s perfect child, a gift of but a clay model of undistinguishable shape, so pure is the praise of such a gift. So equal are the tears of joy such a good Father feels.
How special to experience but, oh so much more when the Father is there to see. Oh so much more the experience of a father, seeing the joy, the life, in the eyes of My child, when you come to Me.
A gift of Praise.
By Peter Colla
“Dear Lord, let me never miss a single chance to experience that perfect gift You dear Jesus have given me as a father, but also as a representation of the Father, let me bless but a fraction You bless each and every time we come to You with hands held high, in true, acceptable, and noble pride.”
GOD IS GRACIOUS! As a loving father he allows us to experience a small- I mean small piece of the pain we feel when we of miss the split second to respond in grace and love. He feels “that” daily from us. Each One of us. Thank you for Grace, thank you for mercy and forgivness! And, most of all thank you that we have opportunity to admit to our children that we were wrong, What a lesson for them to learn. We are an important role model, but only a tool used by God, These children are on loan to us they are not ours. They children are entrusted to us only by our father to guideand lead, humility, a traite our King Wants us to have. So. they lesson your young entrusted son needs to learn is, his earthly father to teach him humility. What an incredible lesson this boy will pass on to his earthly children. . Grace AND HUMILITY. Humility, knowing that we as humans = not capable to love and experiene the Love of Jesus, unless we have experienced it.
God has given you everything you need, accept it.
All I need?…….Spoken with the heart of a true officer.
Yes God has given all I need, and even such as given sword in hand, armor in which any battle to stand, so set we ourselves the cloak of humility on, if but by only our own hand.
I recall with distant peace, and a softer heart, words I read from the vision of Rick Joyner, The Final Quest, where by he states in these writings that without the cloak of Humility, imposible is it to see many of the end time battles raging but short distances from ones reach. Grace AND HUMILITY, and with no lack of emphasis on the latter, I thank you for bringing that again to my memory.
Yes you are so right, and I receive that Word with all the Humility any but mortal man can muster.. But what of the pain? Is that moment of grace, that split second to respond, as you would say “in grace and love” and in conjunction with each One of us, restricted only to the sovereign gifts of a Father, or could it possibly extend into that realm of mercy and forgiveness, from each other, for the inevitable lesson to teach because we have so heartedly learned through experience?
It is but an honor in any capacity to be used by the Creator of the universe, if but in the capacity of a “Tool”, and as such like any soldier, I will take what weapons I have been given, and the men he may call to my aid, following His path where it may lead.
Battles are fierce, and alone in the trenches can be in it self, a humbling experience, and while I have no right to ask more, “more then I need”, also in His wondrous glory He has also decreed “If any man speak, let him speak as the oracles of God; if any man minister, let him do it as of the ability which God giveth: that God in all things may be glorified through Christ Jesus, to whom be praise and dominion for ever and ever. Amen”
That being said, and having all one may “need”, might not preclude a man from reaching out a hand and asking someone else for help, could this not be included in the “all things” category, if even but to ask the Father for yet a second stone in a pouch for a son’s sling? Or a word of needed reprove given by one that in like air will have his back?
Getting Love from Jesus, expressing it in the like, especially when we have felt it, seems to be not as heavy a task, as finding the same in us human’s, who say at time “not capable of love”, when yet so many lessons are still to learn by this oh so little boy.
Well I always preferred the one where Jesus says “if I can? All thing are possible to him who believes.” and the oh so human man responds; “I believe, now help me with my unbelief.” Could such a belief even go so far as to the realm of us humans possibly not capable of love?
I hope so
So much to say and so little room. See I don’t have the whole universe, like you. The reason Why is because I am an awful speller and so Mr. Peter you have an advantage. But please keep on writing. It brings joy to my heart and plants a seed for thought. I have so much to say.
PS Love the piece, times my heart was sad for my sons, there father was not around like they so wanted. The heart break not only was for my sons but also for him (there farther) because he missed those moments and they are all stamped on my heart, the smiles, the crys, the joy, and the disappointment. But you know our Wonderful Father heard my crys and held them close. It doesn’t get any better than that. blessings of joy