I was on break at work the other day, sitting in a park outside my job as I often do, eating some oatmeal, enjoying the cool fresh air. This mother and son come walking into the park. The son is crying. He is throwing a fit actually.
They sit on a bench close by. At first I am offended. Could they not tell that I was enjoying the serenity of the park? Why must they come and rip my thoughts in two with a child’s cry?
The kid then throws himself on the ground in anger. The mother picks him up and puts him over her knee, spanking him a few times. This does nothing to quell his cries, but only makes them more severe. Then she does something interesting, she brings him close to her.
He continues to cry out. Yelling in her ear at this point. Her expression is blank. I watch curiously, then look down, I don’t want her to know that I am taking notice of what is happening.
A few minutes go by, and she spanks him again. He cries even harder now. I think to myself, “how can someone sustain this amount of exasperation without passing out?”, yet the child continues on.
Then something strange happens and I begin identify with the child. The mother, sitting calmly, trying to discipline her child, to teach him the way that is best for him, she is God in this little metaphor that my brain begins to build.
I wonder how often I continue to throw a fit, throw myself on the ground, cry out, for something completely ridiculous, when He just wants to hold me in His arms, when He wants to give me whats best. I realized, sitting on the bench, that what I often want is not what I need.
This thought has stayed with me all day. Picturing myself as a son of God, and him parenting me, literally disciplining me, much in the same way this mother was disciplining (however poorly) her child. And I realized how selfish a child I was, how much discipline I actually required.
It was a great thought. And also convicting one.