When I was in my 20's, my husband and I were youth counselors for my church. I was born in that church, so the teens of this group were youngsters I had watched grow up. Little brothers and sisters of my friends. Children of adults I knew and loved. Along with older adult counselors, we took a group to New Braunsfels, TX. It is a town known for its river and the rapids produced. Tubing on a hot summer day is the very best.
Now "in the day" we pretty much let kids take off and ride the rapids. No adults taggging along, just the honor system that they would "play" within the campground we were staying at and just limit their activities to the part of the river contained within. Being there as a young married couple, looking back, we more of less were along for the fun and a cheap vacation. At the evening meal, everyone gathered together, ate, and told tall tales of the days events.
However, that night there were a couple of girls missing. Now, I knew the girla and was not really worried. They had probably found some cute guys and just lost track of time. This was in the day when there was not a pervert believed to be lurking behind every boulder.
However, the older adults were in a frenzy. They were looking high and low and being "persons of responsibility" we did the same. They turned up later, saying they were "witnessing" to two boys they met. I didn't believe it for a minute, but I do remember being glad and relieved they were found.
Years later, a counselor again in the same church, I was with another youth group going to New Braunfels again. However, now I was one of the older adults. In fact, I was large and in charge and add to that mix, a parent of one of those kids. It was a totally different set of circumstances. Not really, but I was, and therefore the mix. I had seen too much, felt too much, been responsible for too much, been a parent too much. I was not the person I was 15 years earlier. I could see the big picture, heard the horror stories, felt the weight of all those kids and my friends, their parents. I worried from the minute we left the parking lot til we set foot on terra concrete once again.
It reminded me of the story of the prodigal. Not so much the end or the beginning, the leaving or receiving. But the middle. My first trip I was the brother. Not really caring about what happened to my brother(s), or sisters. Just focused on me. The only effect I probably saw, was the workload I had to carry due to his absence. Though, I am sure it had it's upside. Like two siblings that share a room. When one is gone, there is a little loss, but your thoughts quickly turn to "what is in it for me". Because that is the center of your world - YOU - DUH! The dad on the other hand, thought about that prodigal day and night. A see saw of hope and despair. Knowing the worst of the world paired with the immaturity of his son. Knowing the match was not even, nor fair in any form or fashion.
So when younger brother returns, there was no way the reception would be the same for dad or big brother. Not the same person, not the same place, not the same relationship. Funny how agape love can change a person. It matures us, provokes us, worries us, emotes us. It takes a strong man and turns him into a weepy baby. It is a love that is beyond our ability to comprehend.
That is what God feels for us. At this point in my life, I no longer think of God as a parent. I think of Him as a grandparent, much like me. A grandparent is the closest thing on earth to an unconditional, agape-loving parent. They look beyond flaws and tantrums because they have this third generation-removed myoptic vision. They cannot see them any other way. I think that is the way God sees us. In the grand scheme of things, it is probably not really the best parenting, if you think about it. But who are we to say! He invented parenting, loving, and all that other good stuff. In fact, why am I trying to put another spin on the love He has for me and mine. It is indescribable. So I will stop it, already
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