Every Christian father must read this challenging story
"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old he will not depart from it." Proverbs 22:6. L i s t e n , son, I’m saying this to you as you lie asleep, one little paw
ing, of finding fault, of scolding; all of these were my rewards to you for being a boy. It wasn’t that I didn’t love you, son. It was just that I ex pected so much of a little boy. I was measuring you by my own years. There is so much that is good, and fine, and true in your character. The little heart in you is as big as the trunk of the oak, all of this was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me goodnight. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness and kneel here, so ashamed. It’s a poor apology, I know. You wouldn’t understand these things, if I told them to you while you were awake, yet I must say them. I have prayed God to strengthen me in my new resolve. Tomorrow I’ll be a real daddy. I’ll chum with you, I’ll play with you, I’ll suffer when you suffer and laugh when you laugh. I’ll bite my tongue when impatient, cross words come. I’ll keep saying, “ Lord, he’s nothing but a boy, just a little boy; a gem you’ve entrusted to my care.”
in the dirt. There were holes in your good clothes, and I humiliated you before your friends. I made you march in the house, and said, “ Clothes are expensive; if you had to buy them, you would be more careful.” Imagine that, son, from a father. It was silly, stupid logic. Do you re member later when I was reading, how you came in timidly with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. “What is it you want now?” I snapped. You said nothing, but ran across the room and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me. And your little arms tightened with an affection that God set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering to your room. Well, son, it was shortly afterward that my paper slipped from my hands and a sickening fear came over me. Suddenly, I saw myself as I really was in all my selfishness, and I felt sick at heart. What has the habit been doing to me? The habit of complain-
crumpled under your cheek, and the curls wet on your damp dirty little forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the living room, a wave of remorse and shame crept over me. So I came to your bed side to ask your forgiveness. These are the things I was think ing, son. I had a tough day at the office, I was cross. I scolded you as you dressed for school because you gave your face a dab with the water, and left all the dirt on the towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your teeth. I called out angrily when you left some of your things on the floor. At breakfast I found fault too. You spilled things; you put your elbows on the table; you wouldn’t sit erect in your chair. As you started off to play, you turned and waved a little hand and called, “ Good-bye, daddy.” I frowned and said, “ Hold your shoulders back.” Then it began all over again in the afternoon. As I came up the street, I saw you playing
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THE K IN G 'S BU SINESS
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