I never had a daddy. I had a biological father whom I never met. My mother married my step-father when I was 8 years old, but he ended up being – for lack of a more definitive word – inconsequential. He wasn’t a bad man; he just simply lived in our house. He took up space. I’ve often explained that there was the chair, the couch, Frank and the lamp; we fed Frank and dusted the rest. In short, he was definitely not a daddy.
I’m 53 years old, and I could really use a daddy right now. Someone who could hold me, comfort me, reassure me that things would be fine – that he would do what he could to make sure things would be fine.
I’ve just read Jennifer Arimborgo’s blog post “How to Avoid Wormy Manna” in which she explores God’s daily provision for the Israelites as they wandered through the wilderness after being delivered from slavery. In spite of the many miracles they’d seen, they would keep leftovers of manna against God’s instruction. God promised to provide their daily bread, but their doubt drove them to reserve a bit – just in case.
Just in case of what? In case, God forgot about them? In case God ran out of manna? In case God changed his mind about providing for them? In case God got mad and decided to punish them by withdrawing his provision? In case God was a liar?
God was their Abba father, their Jehovah Jireh – our Provider – and His Word is full of scripture that tells us none of these possibilities are realistic concerns.
According to Calling God “Abba, Father” Daily Reflection / Produced by The High Calling:
“Because we have been adopted into God’s family, we are privileged to call him “Abba, Father.” The word abba is an Aramaic word, one that was used by Jesus himself and echoed in the earliest Christian community, which spoke Aramaic (a language close to Hebrew). Abba was a word used by children for their father, something like “daddy” or “papa” today. But it was also a term of respect used by adult children for their fathers. Thus the word abba richly expresses our relationship with God. We are dependent upon him like little children. We are free to run to him as children run to their daddies. Yet we also offer God the highest respect and adult love.”
Because God is unchanging, we can rest in the security that He is still Abba, Father, Jehovah Jireh to his children. And because I am one of His children, I can lay claim to the promises of my heavenly “daddy.” (If you haven’t read Jennifer Arimborgo’s blog, I really encourage you to check her out at Feeding on Jesus. She has such a delightful, open-armed way of exploring the intimacy our heavenly triune wants to relate to us!)
We can easily criticize the Israelites for hording manna in spite of God’s promises, but only because we have the benefit of having the rest of the story available to us. These Israelites had been born into a world in which they hadn’t been lovingly cared for. They were expendable labor with no intimate care from the Egyptians to whom they were enslaved and on whom they were dependent. Who could blame them for doubting that their next meal was guaranteed? Except God, who else in their lives had loved them enough to truly care about their needs? Who else had cared enough about them to pursue a nurturing relationship?
How many of us who genuinely believe we are children of God, adopted into His family through our belief in the sacrificial death of his Son for the sake of our sins, have not experienced the intimacy of a truly loving daddy like our Abba, Father? Is it not just as challenging for us to trust Jehovah Jireh when He promises that He is “able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us.” Ephesians 3:20 ESV when so many of us struggle with the memory of an Earthly father who had limitations to what he could provide. Or worse, lied about, forgot about, or withdrew provision for the sake of punishment?
What I need right now is something I’m not sure I know how to look for. God has unlimited resources. He can do more than I could possibly imagine to secure my future needs and has promised to do so. And yet, I’m anxious that He won’t. Heck, I hate to admit that there’s even a part of me that wonders if He can even if He wanted to. What kind of faith is that? What kind of faith do I have if I believe I need a contingency plan in case God fails me? Is the smallest offering of faith enough for God to honor as Jesus honored Peter’s very short-lived confidence to step out of the boat onto the sea’s roaring waves?
I’m praying that it is.