My father spanked me once. Maybe just once, I don’t recall any other time, but I do recall the once. He had worked long hours and my mother was serving him a late dinner in the kitchen. I climbed up on the radiator next to the table, grabbed the two long pipes that went up into the ceiling and swung on them, back and forth. He watched me as he ate.
He told me to stop. I did not. He told me to get down. I continued to swing. I knew I was being ornery, but I thought we were having fun and didn’t see the harm.
My father, who does like to tease and have fun, was too tired to play that night. I was being too cheeky to notice. He pushed his chair back and stood up and suddenly I understood. I leapt off the heater to make an escape but no sooner had I found my footing, I was launched by his hand on my bottom into the next room.
The radiator incident is not unlike every other time I have played with fire and gotten myself into hot water. There were warnings. I ignored them. There came an awakening shock. Fear, pain and shame followed. To believe the warnings is to respect the one who warns and to respect the one who warns, is to believe the warnings. As I know and love Jesus more, I want to please Him more. I want to abide with Him and not defy Him.
If I could do it over, I would respect my father’s warnings too. Even better, I would help my mother and prepare his place at the table. I would not grieve him, but sit beside him, love and serve him.
Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear. But your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you, so that he will not hear. Isaiah 59:1-2
Meeting God at the Park 