Our Father…

Jesus said when we pray, we are to begin with “Our Father…”  This got me thinking, “What if my Heavenly Father lived in my house?”

Would he sit down on the edge of my bed in the morning and say, “Time to get up!  I have made an amazing day for you.”  Would we talk over breakfast about the day ahead?  Would he remind me that I would face temptations, but that he would always make a way out for me?  As I walked out the door, would he say, “Remember, I will never leave you or forsake you?”

Would he call me mid-morning to check in?  Would he encourage me about an upcoming meeting that might go badly?  Would he give me an idea for a project I was working on?  Would he tell me that I would run into a colleague, and she would be crying, and that I should not rush past her, but encourage her?

Would he come by and pick me up for lunch?  Would he ask how my morning went?  When I tell him about my “little white lie,” would his eyebrows arch in a questioning look?  Would he gently remind me I need to acknowledge that “little white lie” as a sin, ask forgiveness, and go back and apologize to the person I lied to?  Would he send me off with a warm embrace?

When I get stuck with a problem I can’t figure out, I’d call him.  Would he tell with a chuckle that he faced that problem before and give me an idea how to solve it?  Would he remind me to call someone I promised to keep up with? 

When I was tempted to leave work early, would I remember his teaching, to put in a full day’s work to get a full day’s pay?  He taught me so much: would I remember not to stare at the attractive woman walking down the street?  Would I remember not to be angry with the driver who cut me off?  Instead of judging the guy with the loudspeakers that rattle my car and teeth, would I remember not to judge him, but try to understand him?

When I got home, would he be waiting to hear about my day?  Would I feel the urge to tell him about the times I didn’t live by his teaching, or the five occasions I violated his rules?  If I confess, would I again feel his warm hug, telling me he forgives me and loves me?

Would we cook supper together, maybe sing some songs together?  Maybe we would sing an old hymn or a new contemporary song.  Or maybe we would sing “Always stay humble and kind,” by Tim McGraw.  One thing I know: My Heavenly Father has perfect pitch.

What would we talk about at supper?  Would we talk about his heartbreaks, how wars trouble him deeply?  Would we talk about the homeless man I gave five dollars to, but never asked his name?  When I ask him if it will rain tomorrow, he smiles and says, “We’ll see.”

I doubt we would watch TV.  Honestly, it’s no fun watching “Jeopardy” with him; he knows all the answers.  Instead, he might tell me stories that date back thousands of years, stories of how David killed Goliath, or how Solomon fell deeply in love with a girl and wrote her a love poem, or how he told the prophet Hosea to marry a prostitute.  I might ask, “Why in your name did you ask him to do that?”  Would he smile and say, “It was the best way for him to learn about grace.”

He might even tell me some funny stories, like how his other son, Jesus, once walked three miles with some men who thought he was dead, and they never recognized him.  Or he might tell me about the time he told Abraham and Sarah they were going to have a baby in their nineties, and they both laughed so hard, they snorted. 

When it was time to go to bed, I would thank him for being such a great Dad.  I would thank him for forgiving me for the dumb things I did that day.  I would ask him to give me good advice on how to live the next day.  I would ask if there was anything else I needed to cover.  And I would go to bed, knowing that he would be up all night (he never seemed to need sleep), watching over me.

When Jesus taught us to pray “Our Father,” I think this is what he had in mind.  We would learn to do life with our Heavenly Father.  His son would teach us.  His Spirit would guide us.  We would be encouraged.  We would never be alone.  A life of joy could be ours.

So, what’s stopping you from doing life with your Heavenly Father?