My Remote Controls

Obviously my name is Bob. I have a wife named Amy. We have been married for almost seven years. I have three children and we have lost two to miscarriages. (I can't wait to meet them in Heaven.) My daughter, Hosanna is five. My son, Noah is three. My youngest daughter, Chloe will be one in April. My two older ones are my remote controls. Hosanna and Noah get great pleasure when I entrust them with a task. I asked Hosanna to go upstairs and get my radio, a small "boom box" type. She ran off with eagerness to do her task, with Noah hot on her heals, only to come back and tell me that she couldn't find it. You see she was looking for the wrong radio. I explained to her that it was the one about "this big" and had a handle but she had formed a idea in her head that I wanted my walkman. After much pitter-patter on the floor above me, a quick game of tag, and a "Dad told me to get it Noah" she returned with the radio. I told her thank you, that I was happy, and that she did an awesome job.

I began to think about that transaction. I really and truly believe that one of the greatest "word pictures" in the Bible is But when Jesus saw [it], he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. (Mark 10:14) The picture is staggering in all of its proportions. It says that we must come to Christ as a child, full of faith. We must come to him believing.

As a child, I remember when I asked my Dad who my grandpa was and why I had never seen him. He told me he had died. I can remember that I had a vague understanding of death, so I asked Dad "how did Grandpa die". Now my Dad was wise enough at that time and just silly enough to know that the phrase "pancreatic cancer" would not satisfy my young curiosity. It would just lead to other questions that would result in a little boy learning that a horrible disease had ravaged his Grandpa's body and that the crude medicines of the late 60's had finished off what remained. So Dad told me another story. When I was about 4 or 5 in the Mid-70's it was still respectable to like cowboys and to despise Indians. As we drove down the road and passed some ancient farm that had long since been abandoned, Dad told me a story of Grandpa's Last Stand. Grandpa had died at a shoot out at that old farm. He was surrounded by Indians that had made one last attempt to re-take Ohio from us. They had massacred the family that lived at the farm and hung the father in an old dead oak tree next to the barn. Grandpa had seen it and went to rescue the family but it was trap. Grandpa defeated the rebellious, blood-thirsty Indians but not before being "gut-shot" and dying a few days later, the hero of Medina County. Every time we would drive past that old farm I would recite that story and point out the tree where the man had been hanged and the barn where Grandpa made his stand. Even as I got older and we would pass that old farm I would tell my old tale, until finally Dad told me the truth. At first I didn't believe him, but then finally I understood. Miles before that spot we would pass the cemetery and my parents would point out my Grandpa's grave marker and say that's where your Grandpa is buried. It must have naturally lead to questions of his death and about the space of time it takes to drive those three miles we would come across the old farm, whose prominent landmarks were a dead oak tree and a dilapidated barn.

I tell this tale because I had the faith of a child. It was true to me because I had faith that my Father would never deceive me and would always protect me. At first I thought it was a cruel joke, but only recently with children of my own do I understand that he was actually trying to protect me.

My children find such pleasure in doing and serving now. Hosanna, in her beautiful, five-year-old naivete, was purely and completely satisfied because she pleased her daddy. But 5 years from now, when she is more jaded or 10 years from now when she is a rebellious teenager, will she get a any pleasure out of serving her old Dad, or will she just do it because she has to?

I pray to God that I would serve Him as a child, understand Him as a child, and depend on Him as a child. What great joy I have experienced as a child of God when I just "did" His will. I want that pleased feeling when my Heavenly Father says... "Well done Bob."