Several years ago when my oldest was playing high school
baseball my family and I were sitting in the stands enjoying yet another perfect
example of youth sports when one of the infielders made an error on a difficult
play. One of the grandparents from our own team starts in with how terrible it
was that he missed the play and began shouting all kinds of nonsense on the
field. Like at most youth sport events the parents and grandparents alike sit
there critically analyzing every move their maturing kids make as if they could
do it better themselves.
I found myself appalled that someone from our own team
would treat one of our own players with that kind of ridicule. As my heart
began to ache for the young embarrassed player one of the dad’s spoke up and
respectfully told this worked up grandfather that his rant was unnecessary. The
grandfather fired back, “Oh, Is that your kid?” and the father replied, “No.
But he's somebody’s kid.”
Those words have stuck with me for years. I wish I could
say that I have been perfect in this myself but the truth is I judge other
people’s children and am plenty guilty of whispering things that are much worse
than what this grandfather had shouted onto the field. I have disrespected and harbored
hatred for teachers, co-workers, friends and their children, church family,
even perfect strangers without a second thought to the fact that they are somebody’s
kid.
Every human being was created by God and for God and I
could just stop this blog right there and have said enough but unfortunately I
still don’t get it yet. I think God really wants to show me that all of
humanity is His. Not. Just. Me. That each child whether lost in a sea of brokenness
and despair, found in Christ with life and love, or drifting in between in a
state of wonder and doubt, they are somebody’s kid. And when I judge the lost,
broken, dying or anyone for that matter I am saying I can play better on the
bench than the Creator of the universe.
Sometimes God wakes me up gently and other times I go
through deep hardships and I get to see His love for humanity in a greater way.
He has used unemployment for me to learn to be generous and to teach me that he
is the great provider. He has used unfair treatment to allow me to learn how I want
to treat others because I would never want someone to feel like I was made to
feel. And He has used my own children. And that is the worst. That is never
gentle because as a parent I would do anything to give my children life and
keep them safe. I wish I could keep them from making painful mistakes and from
suffering. Watching my children enjoy life brings more delight to my heart than
my best moments. And watching your children suffer is far greater than suffering
yourself.
But if my children were perfect would I ever feel the
ache in God’s heart for His lost and dying children? Would I feel that sucker
punch to the gut for the world around me that is desperate and hurting? Or
could I look right at my co-worker with hate, walk by a smoker and scoff, roll
my eyes at the young people hanging around the mall half-dressed or make
comments about the errors being made all around me? If my children were perfect
would I have heard God speak through the suffering of my own son? That the ache
in my heart that I feel right now for my own child He feels for every one of
His. That is why He would leave the 99 and go and look for the one who is lost.
I want my heart to ache deep for those who are lost,
broken and dying. I want to show compassion to the marginalized and empathize
with the hurting rather than judging them for making mistakes because at the
end of the day we are all somebody’s kid.
