It was turning out to be a rough morning.
As I sat at the computer, Ellie (four or five years old at the time) came to me and asked me to go up into the attic and get down something for her. I told her that I was busy. When she realized that she wouldn’t be able to change my mind, she walked away crying.
I could hear the sounds of her wails fading through the kitchen, dining room, and then living room. I sighed. Then, from the front of the house, came words loud enough for me to hear: “Nobody cares.”
I’ll admit that I was irritated. Very irritated. I got up and followed Ellie, who by this time was in her bedroom. I went in to talk to her—or, more accurately, let off steam at her. “How dare you?” I asked. “How dare you say I don’t care about you? All the things I do for you, and I do one thing you don’t like, and you say I don’t care?”
It wasn’t the right approach because I wasn’t approaching her redemptively at all. I was coming to her in anger. The talk was unsuccessful (mostly because of my attitude), and I came back to the computer, fuming.
But gradually, I began to hear God’s still, small voice in my heart, and I knew I had been wrong. Yes, Ellie’s attitude needed to be corrected, but I should have done so in love. Precious little children are not designed by God to be able to respond at a peer level to adult anger. By the time Ellie came to me a few minutes later, wanting to sit on my lap and have me hold her close, I was much calmer. I explained slowly, calmly, and lovingly that “I used to have a job where people told me I was wonderful and I made money, but I gave that up to stay home with you kids.” She was listening, so I continued gently.
“I used to be able to go out to restaurants and eat any time I wanted to, but I don’t do that as much anymore so I can stay home and make meals for you kids. I used to be able to buy myself lots of things, but now, I buy you kids things instead.”
After a pause, Ellie said thoughtfully, “I guess you do love me.”
She had gotten the message.
But she wasn’t the only one who had gotten it. I, too, had something to learn.
Through Ellie’s emotions, God caused me to realize that many times, we do the same thing to Him that Ellie did to me. We accuse Him of not loving us just because He does something we don’t like, or fails to do something we would like. If God really loved me, we think—because we wouldn’t dare address these thoughts to God directly—He would be helping me out more right now.
What would God say in response to our accusations? Perhaps He would remind us of His majesty and sovereignty without ever giving a direct answer, as was the case with Job. Or perhaps He might say something like this: “I sent my Son to die for you. I provide the very air you breathe and your ability to breathe it. I provide every material blessing you have. How dare you accuse Me of not caring?”
The reason Ellie’s comment bothered me so much was because she (though unintentionally) was implying that my love for her was lacking, when in fact, I love her with all my being and would die for her without hesitation if that were required of me.
When we imply that God doesn’t love us, we grieve His heart for the same reason. He loves us with all of His being, and He died for us without hesitation.
Have you grieved your Father’s heart by questioning His love for you? Have you implied, or even told Him directly, that if He really loved you, He would do things your way?
If you have, run into His arms and beg His forgiveness. His arms are still open to receive you even though you’ve wounded Him. Confess your sin of doubting His love and His goodness. Then, receive His incredible grace that receives you and restores you to a right relationship with Him.
Realize the truth and speak the words, “You do love me, God.” Then go, in the mighty security of His love, and doubt no more.
Job 42:5-6—My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.