Parenting Hurts

I had a tough stretch being a dad the other day, and went out to the driveway to attack the ice sheet and "work off" a little frustration and pray.

In high school I would get off the bus, drop my books inside the house, and head out to split wood. Great therapy, year round. My hands were tough enough that I didn't even wear gloves unless it was really cold.

My hands are white-collar soft these days, and though I was wearing gloves, they were beginning to hurt. I kept going because it still felt good to work up the ice, and there was more ice left. Inwardly I was partly praying and partly cursing. I was mad.

When I pulled off the work gloves I broke a large blister on my right palm. Painful. Still hurts two days later, and it's one of those spots where bandaids just don't work right.

I love the words to the hymn, "Before the Throne of God Above," and have been thinking about the line, "My name is graven on His hands, My name is written on His heart." (see Is 49:16)

It would really hurt to engrave a name on the palm of your hand. It would be a sign that relationships are incredibly valuable and love is costly, and that you are willing to bear that cost.

I'm grateful that God gives me the opportunity to be a dad. It hurts sometimes. But it's good.