"A Family Like God's" (Part 16)

Unless the Lord builds a house, the work of the builders is wasted. Unless the Lord protects a city, guarding it with sentries will do no good. It is useless for you to work so hard from early morning until late at night, anxiously working for food to eat; for God gives rest to his loved ones. Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him. Children born to a young man are like arrows in a warrior’s hands. How joyful is the man whose quiver is full of them! He will not be put to shame when he confronts his accusers at the city gates. (Psalm 127 NLT).

Let’s conclude this series with three questions: First, is the Lord really building your home? Stop and think about your answer. Second, do you view your family as God’s gifts and rewards? Gifts and rewards are usually treated with special care, aren’t they? Are you genuinely happy with your “full quiver”? Third, is it pleasant for your family to be with you? When we allow the tyranny of the urgent, the ever increasing demands of life, to siphon our tank of energy and interest so the family is left with nothing but the fumes of broken promises and empty dreams, we are laboring in vain! We are substituting the artificial for the authentic. And that includes Christians who are so busy in “the Lord’s work” that they haven’t time for the home. What a sad contradiction their lives are! Don’t let the time slip away in your family. Start making is like God’s family today! Here’s a closing thought from Charles Swindoll:

“Someday when the kids are grown, things are going to be a lot different. The garage won’t be full of bikes, electric train tracks on plywood, sawhorses surrounded by chunks of two-by-fours, nails, hammer and saw, unfinished experimental projects and the rabbit cage. I’ll be able to park both cars neatly in just the right places, and never again stumble over skateboards, a pile of papers (saved for the school fund drive), or a bag of rabbit food – now split and spilled.

“Someday when the kids are grown, the kitchen will be incredibly neat. The sink will be free of sticky dishes, the garbage disposal won’t get choked on rubber bands or paper cups, the refrigerator won’t be clogged with nine bottles of milk, and won’t lose the tops to jelly jars, catsup bottles, the peanut butter, the margarine or the mustard. The water jar won’t be put back empty, the ice trays won’t be left out overnight, the blender won’t stand for six hours coated with the remains of midnight malt, and the honey will stay inside the container.

“Someday when the kids are grown, the instrument called a telephone will actually be available. It won’t look like its growing from a teenager’s ear. It will simply hang there… silently and amazingly available. It will be free of lipstick, human saliva, mayonnaise, corn chip crumbs, and toothpicks stuck in those little holes. Someday when the kids are grown, I’ll be able to see through the car windows. Fingerprints, tongue licks, sneaker footprints, and dog tracks (nobody knows how) will be conspicuous by their absence. The back seat won’t be a disaster area, we won’t sit on crayons or jacks anymore, and the tank will not always be between empty and fumes.

“Someday when the kids are grown, we will return to normal conversations. You know, just plain American talk. ‘Gross’ won’t punctuate every sentence. ‘Yuk’ will not be heard. Grunts will be replaced by normal sounds of discernable words. ‘It’s my turn’ won’t call for a referee. And mom and dad will actually be able to finish a conversation without hiding in the attic to do so! Someday when the kids are grown, we won’t run out of toilet tissue. My wife won’t lose her keys. We won’t forget to shut the refrigerator door, I won’t have to divert attention away from the gumball machines… or have to answer ‘Daddy is it a sin to drive 62 in a 55 mph speed zone?’

“Yes, someday when the kids are gone, things are going to be a lot different. One by one they’ll leave our nest, and the place will begin to resemble order and maybe even a touch of elegance. The clink of china and silver will heard on occasion. The crackling of the fireplace will echo through the hallway. The phone will be strangely silent. The house will be quiet… and calm… and always clean… and empty… and filled with memories… and lonely… and we will not like that at all. And we’ll spend our time not looking forward to someday, but looking back to yesterday. And thinking, ‘Maybe we can baby-sit the grand-kids and get some life back into this place for a change.’”