My son Ames has an incredible memory. He’ll recall the last time we visited a spot when we pull into its parking lot, down to what we were wearing and what color the walls were. Like most preschoolers, he loves routine and structure. He wants ideas he can put his hands and his brain around. He repeats himself a lot, and I spend a lot of time delivering assurances on promises given.
Over the few years we’ve been together, I’ve learned that one of the best gifts I can give my son is my word. For us to thrive together, I have to mean what I say and follow through with certainty. Even if it’s easier to pacify him in a public place, I must make the hard choice to leave a place when things deteriorate, especially when I’ve warned him. Even if I’m exhausted, I must read him that book or sing him that song before bedtime, especially when I’ve told him I would. My word is my bond with this kid, and I cannot treat our conversations lightly. This relationship is a gift, a treasure, and one that challenges me daily.
I’ve found it goes both ways, though. I tend to ask Jesus the same things over and over, trying to grab hold of His ideas and His affections and His will. I want so badly to wrap them up and secure them tightly, in my grubby little earthly hands. In reality, the most assured gift I can give my soul is to fully receive the grace and goodness He has for me. Jesus meant what He said when He claimed to be the way to life. He meant what He did when He died for me. He delivers on His promises, every single time. He doesn’t take our conversations lightly, and He’s never too exhausted to sing me that song before bedtime. His gospel message is mine for the taking. His word is His bond.
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