A FRIEND POINTED SOMETHING OUT TO ME THIS WEEK.

Oct. 29, 2017

I grew up fairly privileged.

Not monetarily. Mom and Dad always scrimped on things to provide for the needs.

My dad got my first baseball glove with points he made from his job as a cookie salesman.

But, I never wondered whether my parents loved me.

There was something intransitive. They weren’t physically demonstrative. We weren’t huggers.

But I always had the sense when I was with them, they were glad I was there.

I felt like I was their favorite.

Apparently, my brothers and sister felt the same way.

When I was born again at the age of 26, I began a relationship with the God of the universe. As my Father.

I began to believe that He really did like me, that He liked me to spend time with Him, that He still loved me, even when I did stupid, selfish things.

He had great plans for me.

I can see in my mind possibilities for greater and greater involvement with my Father, growing closer all the time.

A friend told me this week that, because his dad had always maintained a distant relationship with him, that it is not easy for him to think of God in this way, to see himself as a “favored son.”

My wife tells me that my perception that people generally like me is not her perception for herself. That that also makes it difficult for her to feel worthy of God’s favor. She knows in her head that He loves her, but the feelings of being loved don’t come naturally for her.

My eyes are always being opened a little wider by listening to others.

What is your perception of God?

How do you think your childhood may have affected this?

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s