There are a handful of things that are guaranteed to make me cry at any time: soldier homecoming videos, people saying goodbye to their childhood dogs, a handful of hyper-specific sad country songs, and a long list of old hymns, specifically How Deep the Father's Love for Us.
It has been one of my favorite songs for my entire life, yet it seems to change shape in every season, as if it's changing along with me. In the past, the piece has given me a rich understanding of how much Jesus' sacrifice meant between the Father and His Son. The act of turning away from His Son was required for my salvation. At other times, it's reminded me of the undeserving nature of my own humanity; I cannot boast in a single earthly thing because it's all for nothing without Jesus' blood as a covering.
Most recently, though, I've found great comfort in the picture of "The Father." In the many countless names of God, I used to struggle to visualize Him as my Father. See, I've spent a lifetime attending sermons in which this title was used primarily as a comfort to those who had no present earthly father, or no good one. I have a wonderful earthly dad, and so I wrongfully believed this title was just not super applicable to me. The title felt reserved for others, but not me.
There is an old philosophical belief, Deism, that views God as a watchmaker (not a Father). He created the watch and started the clock of existence, but He doesn't touch it anymore. Put simply, Deists believe that there is a God, but that He is uninvolved in the lives of His children. I believe that this idea is an unintentional pitfall for a lot of Christians today, especially those raised in the church, even if they are technically not Deists. They believe that God is there and they understand, on an intellectual level, that He loves them and that He sent His Son. However, it is easy to fall into the trap of seeing Him as just there and not as present. I used to prefer throwing the blanket, "but I know God has a plan," over my circumstances instead of seeing God as with me in them and really meaning that. It can feel easier that way. Viewing painful seasons as temporary tests is easier than facing the hurt they're really causing and profoundly acknowledging the feelings and fears they produce.
Southern Baptists often enjoy tossing the "but God is good" phrase around. And, of course, He is good and sovereign, but do we deeply, faithfully believe that, or are we using it to get by? For much of my younger life, I was stuck in an idea that God was sitting back, watching my pain and evaluating how holy my suffering was. I knew He was there and that there was a deep love between us, but I didn't feel Him in the valleys by my side.
Then I got sick. Then I had to quit my passions. Then pain became an ever-present part of my life. Then there just seemed to be a lot of loss.
Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than the insurmountable, supernatural comfort of my heavenly Father. I wanted Him to wrap me in His arms and tell me things were going to be alright. I felt like a small child with a skinned, stinging knee, whose only desire is to be comforted and embraced by their parent. The picture of God as my Father grew clearer.
The Bible tells us in so many places that God delights in us, as His children, and, in listening to this old song, I began to realize that, just as God's heart was saddened and broken for His Son, it is broken for us in our suffering, too. God delights in us, not in our pain. The fact that my Father loves me so deeply and grieves when I grieve is something I will never understand, but that has transformed the isolated feeling that suffering can produce.
My entire view of God changed when I realized that He, knowing us more intimately than anyone else ever could, chooses to sit in our pains with us. He cries with us. He smiles with us. He mourns with us.
Something I only remember, now, as I write this, is a conversation I had with my Mom when I was no more than seven years old, a few weeks after a grandfatherly figure passed away. We had chickens at the time, and the two of us were walking down to put them back in the coop for the night.
"If God knows everything, why does He get sad when we sin, or when bad things happen? He knows it's gonna happen." I'm not sure where the thought came from, but, being a pretty curious kid, anything I didn't understand felt like an insult. In my childlike mind, I didn't understand how God could be informed of the bad and pain of this world, and still be burdened by it. Didn't He have unlimited time to prepare His heart? Clearly, I didn't yet understand the depth and width of His love for His children (not that I fully grasp that now, either).
My Mom thought about my question for a moment, then responded, "Nana knew Papa Al was going to pass away since he wasn't doing well. But it still made her very sad to lose him because she cared a lot about him."
I don't remember if we talked about it more or if she left it with that, but I remember being pretty satisfied with her answer. I hadn't realized how much God feels for His children. It dawned on me then that God cared so intimately about my heart that, even while He knows the pain we're going to experience and the pain we cause Him in our sin, He hurts.
With all of this in mind, I am not exactly rejoicing in the fact that God is pained by our pains. I don't want Him to be sad, much like I don't want my earthly father to feel burdened by my trials. However, I feel God's righteous hands holding me when I have no other place to turn. I feel His tears when my own fall from my face, and I, without a doubt, believe that He is a good Father. That He is my Father.
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