Daddy.

I knew from the beginning that I wanted to have a family. Wanting such a thing is like wanting to get married. All you know is what you see other people doing and you want what they have. You don't know how hard it can be even thought they tell you it's hard. You don't understand how great it can be, even though you can see it in their faces.

When we got married, I felt like I was coming alive all over again. It was like something that had been missing so long I'd forgotten about it was suddenly back. When we had our first born, the feeling returned. Something I didn't even realize was gone had returned to me.

Since then we've rounded out the fold to four children, wild and wonderful. Each of them is so different, but so intricately connected to each other. I wonder if I'll ever really know them or if I only just see the things they show me. A few days ago, that first born, the one that changed my life forever, lost a tooth. I came home from work and that tiny bit of sharp enamel was sitting on the desk. This one is the benchmark, the child by whom I mark my years as a father, and now he smiles with a gap in his lower row. I think, my God, it's going too fast. Mommy says it out loud so I don't have to, so I can just be strong and proud of him for being older.

He smiles a lot now, too. There was time when he didn't. Families are organic.They grow and change, usually for the better. It's hard sometimes, changing. Sometimes it's too hard. Maybe we were just being selfish, but I couldn't let them go. I decided to teach them myself rather than let them leave me for a faculty of strangers every day. We learn together, reading books, learning about science and history and everything. We go to the park. We go to the library. We build, laugh, learn and love. And I'm there. I can see it all. If they figure something out for the first time, I don't have to wait for them to tell me or to bring home a test paper a week later. I saw the moment they understood.

I play with them. Not as much as I should, but as much as I can. They delight in play. I am a hero. I have the golden touch of play. Whatever I want to play with them becomes the best game in the world. Frisbee, Catch, Lego, it doesn't matter. If nobody wants to color with the little one, I can. If I do, they all will. Suddenly coloring in a coloring book becomes great entertainment. They all show me what they've colored. I look and laugh and notice all the right details and they swell with pride. They won't remember this as an adult, but they'll remember I always loved them.

I got called a lot of names as a kid. Most slid off without hurting but not all. But now I get called something that is as commanding as it is respectful. It is a higher calling that's common as dirt. From the lips of my children it can be the most endearing term of affection. They call me Daddy.

God is like...

Sophie sits at the foot of the front stairs. Her mother has been watching her play in the front yard all morning. Her sidewalk chalk is gripped in one small hand and working over the pavement to create a portrait of Dolly the Doll. Dolly sits patiently in a child-sized chair. She's a good sitter for portraits and has been represented in crayon, finger-paint, and even dry macaroni once.

Sophie looks up when the phone rings, but she's not distracted long. Her mother steps inside for a moment to see if it's the call she's been expecting. The wind blows. A few early fall leaves swirl out of the red maple.

A big dark shadow falls across the little girl. She turns to see what has blocked the sunshine. A tall, hard-faced man is looking down at her. Mirrored sun-glasses hide his eyes. His thick arms are crossed across his chest. He's dressed in black from the toes of his jack-boots to the collar of his crew shirt. He hunkers down and moves a hand toward Sophie. "Hello, little girl..." He says.

 If you're thinking the man in black is someone to be afraid of, you're right. His training is in combat. He's a skilled fighter and what he fights he means to kill. He's not trained, like a police man, to hesitate and consider his actions. If he's involved, someone higher up has already decided killing is okay. Are you scared for the little girl in the hands of such a man? Why? Has he threatened her? Would it help if you knew he was a Navy Seal?

Maybe a couple more line from the scene would help.

The girl turns and shades her eyes against the sun. Her face breaks into a toothy grin. "Daddy!" She shrieks, and throws chalky hands around his neck.

 Does it help? My point is this. A lot of the time, we Christians turn God into some cosmic teddy bear that wouldn't hurt a fly. It is true that God is not wanton in his destruction. After all, why would you be quick to destroy what you so carefully created. But, I think we are remiss to portray God as someone you don't have to be afraid of. Solomon said the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. Why is that the starting point? Because you have put something very important in its proper perspective. He is the creator, we the creation. He is the forgiver, we the forgiven. And there is an offense to forgive. I've tossed many a failed project into the trash bin. I'm eternally grateful God is not so cavalier about his own work.

As for the little girl, that the man is her father does nothing to change what he is capable of. Imagine the fate of someone who raised a hand against this girl in his presence. He is dangerous. As for Sophie, all she knows is those hands bathed her as an infant, tuck her in every night, comfort her when she's upset. Those hand might be lethal weapons, but as far as she knows, they were made for love.