A few years ago, our daughter-in-law, Zoe, came from Vancouver along with our 13-month-old grandson, Asher, for a brief visit. Our son Curtis was not able to come as he was taking a course at the University and couldn’t get away, but we were so happy to see Asher as it had been a few months since we last had been together.
I enjoyed every minute of the visit. I loved playing with Asher and just watching him. Maybe I’m biased but I remember thinking to myself, “He is very intelligent. Probably even precocious, I might add.” (I think every grandparent thinks that of his children…) When I told him to pick up the orange ball, he picked it up. When I told him to put the orange ball into the blue cup, he did. Then when I would tell him to pick up the yellow ball, his head turned to something else and our picking up time was over! But I still thought, “He’s very smart.”
Then one evening, an amazing thing happened. After supper we were all sitting around, visiting and laughing, watching Asher, when the phone rang. It was our son Curtis, Asher’s dad. I answered it and spoke with him for a while, telling him of all of Asher’s antics. Then I handed the phone to Zoe.
She chatted with Curtis for a while and then she put the speaker phone on. She placed it near Asher and Curtis began talking to him. I watched as Asher’s eyes lit up when he recognized his dad’s voice. He immediately grabbed the phone and held it to his face. It seemed he wanted to get into the phone and touch his father. But then, when finally Zoe took away the phone, I saw the most distressed look come over Asher’s face. He began to sob, a most heartbroken cry I had ever heard.
It dawned on me that he had recognized his father’s voice and now was desperately missing his dad. My heart broke as I watched Asher’s grief stricken face (a look on his face that was totally different from one if he had been crying because he’d fallen and hurt himself.)
I said to the others, “I think I’m gonna cry!” My heart went out to see the pain on my grandson’s face.
My wife came to the rescue. She swooped Asher up, carried him off and distracted him by pointing out the overhead fan in our entry way. Quickly the sobbing subsided.
Then the thought crossed my mind: “Is this the way I feel like when I speak to my Heavenly Father in prayer? Do I get as excited? And would I feel as distressed if I couldn’t talk to Him or be with Him?”
That reminded me of a story that the famous Reformation Church leader Martin Luther once told about his puppy. Luther watched as he stood near the table looking for a morsel of food, watching with open mouth and motionless eyes. Luther later commented, “Oh, I could only pray the way this dog watches the meat! All his thoughts are concentrated on the piece of meat. Otherwise, he has no thought, wish or hope.”
May that same kind of passion and desire characterize you and me in our relationship with God.
