Bearing Daddy's Likeness

I was busily riding my bicycle round and round the perimeter of the carport one summer afternoon when the insurance man pulled up the driveway. In those days, your insurance agent made a personal visit to collect your premiums, and most likely, to try to sell you more insurance. Dressed in slacks, white dress shirt, and tie, he exited his car and stepped into my path. When I came to a halt in front of him, he greeted me with, “Hello there young lady. Is your mama home?”

I peered up at him and promptly responded, “I look just like my daddy.” With that, I resumed my infinite loop.

All my life I’ve been told I favor Daddy. As a kid, I thought he was handsome and cool so it thrilled me to believe I bore his likeness. Having him talk in his Donald Duck voice was a must when friends were around. He could also be counted on to come up with corny jokes and funny puns. That’s still true today.

“Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children.” Ephesians 5:1

I’m not sure I could be so bold in claiming my resemblance to my heavenly father. The truth is some days I favor him, and some days I don’t.

I could beat myself up for my many shortcomings in this area, but I’ve come to understand through experience and maturity that he isn’t disappointed in me. I’m his kid. While he counsels and encourages me to grow up into his image, he…like any good father…loves me right where I am, for who I am.

A few years ago, I was asked to sing at a ladies spring luncheon held by my parent’s church. I’m not a great singer. I have no illusions about that, but Daddy seemed to think so. It might have been a women’s event, but he didn’t let that stop him from being there.

Only afterward when one of the ladies came up to me saying in a sugary southern drawl, “That was the sweetest thing,” did I know he’d been there. She’d caught a glimpse of him tucked into a corner of the church’s kitchen. Out of sight, but still able to hear, he stayed until the song was finished then climbed back into his truck and drove home.

That simple act did more to demonstrate for me the nature of God than a thousand sermons. Daddy didn’t want to hear me sing that day because I’m good. He wanted to hear me sing because I’m his. His was the delight of a father in his child.

I think sometimes we forget that God is our Abba, our Daddy. That he’s looking at us the same way we look at our children, with hope and longing and heart-wrenching love. He wants us to succeed in our quest to be like him. And he’s patient.

Both Daddy and I have changed. The years have marked us. Even so, I hope I still bear his reflection. More than that though, I hope I’m following his example of reflecting the likeness of my heavenly father.

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” 1 John 3:1