Do you have any idea who my dad is?
Book of the Week: Knowing God, by JI Packer (1973)
Song of the Week: Psalm 63 (Album: Live in the Prayer Room) by Jeremy Riddle
I have a confession to make from my past: I used to say my testimony was boring. I'm sorry that’s not a very juicy revelation, maybe you’d want to hear something more scandalous: priors, affairs, or the mustache on my driver’s license is fake (it’s real (my dentist asked this week “were you trying to look like the Lorax?” (I wasn’t))). I just thought my story was so bland - God struck me with the Gospel at a young age, I grew up in a safe and predictable environment, my parents still love each other, blah blah blah. It wasn’t until high school and college where I learned that a safe, loving, supportive childhood, raised by two parents who have only continued to grow in love the Lord and each other is all I could ask for; in earnest - what more could I want?
The figure that stands the tallest in my story is my dad. Mike was, and still, is a hero of mine. Ever the picture of a bulletproof dad, he provided stability, surrounded our house with confidence in the Lord, and loves our family with a pastoral heart. Growing up, I felt different when my dad walked with me. I felt untouchable because I was walking with a man more powerful than the monsters. Just last week I had a stressful situation rise up in my life that my parents helped me walk through - I texted my dad and said I was sorry for him having to get involved, and he responded with “Nope. That’s what dads are for! *sunglasses emoji*” When he talks that way, it molds my heart. 27 years after my birth, my dad not only still has a desire to be in my life, but also still accepts responsibility for me, and knowing this changes the way I see him and talk to him.
Recently I’ve seen a shift in my prayer life, and it’s been anything but boring. As I grow more in my understanding of the character of God, the things he likes, his power in our world, and so on, my prayers have changed. Much like the relationship I have with my dad, my knowledge of God’s heart and abilities build the words I use when I talk to him. For example, if I don’t know that God is the creator and sustainer of life, my prayer of thanksgiving for another day of breath in my lungs will be anemic, if not non-existent.
What’s come to underlie my prayer life and posture before God is the radical idea that we get the opportunity to call the God of the universe our Abba, “dad/papa” in Aramaic (John 1:12, Romans 9:26). The implications of this are great - God’s character, and my standing to him as his son, changes the way I pray because it changes the way I see the world, other people, and my place in the broader redemption of creation. It’s as if, when the enemy messes with me, I can look him in the eye and ask “Do you have any idea who my Dad is?” Let me tell you who my heavenly Dad is, and how that changes things.
My Dad is the commander. Around 700BC, an Assyrian King named Sennacherib had laid siege to Judah and made his way to Jerusalem. With the mighty Assyrian army bearing down on his city, King Hezikiah of Judah cried out to God with a very honest and unpretentious prayer - something along the lines of “these people are terrifying, we’re about to die, please save us”. God responds through Isaiah promising that not even an arrow that Sennecharib shoots will come into the city, and in the middle of the following evening, the angel of the Lord went into the Assyrian camp and killed 185,000 of them. One angel, 185,000 enemies. God’s title The Lord of Hosts (2 Sam. 5:10, Psalm 24, Isaiah 6:3) means he is the commander of angel armies. When I kneel to pray each morning and evening, I am talking to the commander in chief - who can stand against?
My Dad is the healer. As the Israelites wandered in the wilderness, they came to a place called Marah and tried to drink the water there; they couldn’t, too bitter. Moses prays to God, the Scriptures say God showed him a log and he threw it into the water, then it became safe to drink. In this brief moment of back and forth, God again names himself in order to signify his identity to the nation of Israel - he calls on them to be faithful for he is “The Lord, who heals you” (Jehovah-Rapha, Exodus 15). He heals not only water, but us in many ways. When we pray, we are talking to the one who heals.
My Dad is the judge. The courtroom is an emotional place for those on trial. The prospect of standing before a judge, at the mercy of the power they have, is something to revere and one day you and I will give an account (Romans 14:12, 2 Corinthians 5:10) before God the judge. We have no reason to be confident that this trial will go well other than two major factors - for those who put their trust in Christ, our Dad is in the judges chair, and our verdict is based on the work of Another. With our Dad as judge and Christ as our representative, the Accuser (Rev. 12:10) stands unable to hurl his accusations as the verdict of clean is pronounced over our prayer for forgiveness and we boldly ascend to the throne of grace (Hebrews 4:16) with a conscience sprinkled clean and a heart of full assurance (Hebrews 10:22).
My Dad is the provider (Genesis 22, Hebrews 11), so my prayers are faithful and grateful. My Dad is Almighty (Ps 132), so my prayers are bold. My Dad is the Lord my peace (Isaiah 9:6, John 14:27), so my prayers seek peace. My Dad sees me and hears me (Genesis 16:13, Psalm 65:2), so my prayers are personal. My Dad is everlasting (Ps 90), so my prayers point me to eternity. My Dad loves me (1 John 4:16), so my prayers are warm and tearful.
I was born with no right to the childhood I had. I did nothing to deserve it, I didn’t work for it, I was given it, and because of the faithfulness of my dad to his calling as my protector, I was safe, and considering the state of our broken world, there is nothing boring about that. Romans 9 reminds us that the only right we have to lay claim to God as Father is through the work of Christ. Let our prayer time be showered in gratitude as we call on the Father, calling on Jesus for salvation, looking forward to spending eternity with God.
