The Abba/Papa God

Siena's Grandpa

Jesus called his Father, “Abba,” which I’m told loosely translates to “Papa,” and suggests the familiar, loving, gentle daddy. I have trouble relating to God the Father, not having known my own dad well, so I think about a grandpa, instead.

The grandfather I was closest to was often called “Papa Joe,” by the younger grandchildren. My mother’s father, Grandpa was an ideal image of Abba/Papa God. On Sunday mornings while Grandma was creating the heavenly smell of crispy bacon, Grandpa would sing and lift me onto his shoes so we could dance together. He was a blue collar worker who rose early each morning and worked his shift, not to further his career, but to provide for his family. Grandpa was a family man.

Granddad, my father’s father, came over early in the 20^th century from “the old country” and worked to make something from his nothing. By the time I came along he owned a ranch, a dairy, and many rental apartments and houses. In his case I was one of the younger grandchildren that didn’t know him long enough, but I know he worked constantly to make a better life for his family. Another family man.

So I like to think of God as a family man. Someone who lets His children climb into His lap or dance along with Him in His joy.

I’m understanding that image even better now that I’m a grandma. I really do try to enforce and respect my daughter’s rules for her daughter–though for some reason Siena comes to me when she wants sweets–but grandmas aren’t about rules. We are about loving unconditionally. We aren’t as stressed and tired as parents, not bearing the brunt of responsibility, so not as worried about doing things right. I think we are more able to simply enjoy our grandchildren.

I like to imagine God the Abba/Papa looking at me the way I look at Siena. I’m so delighted by her! I know in spite of her two-year-old tantrums she is absolutely loving and lovable! When she raises her little arms up to me and waits, trusting I’ll pick her up and hug her, love surges in me. And God, the source of all love, is 70 times 7 more loving than I. How can we doubt He feels the same delight when we reach up to him? Abba/Papa is always ready to lift us up to dance on His shoes.

Unfounded fear

            I wonder why we fear people who are different?

          Perhaps due to years of stranger danger caution from our parents. Maybe because our news media profit when they makes us worry. Or is it a survival instinct? I hope it isn’t only me, but I suspect it’s universal. I remember reading about a woman who travelled the world and invariably was welcomed but told that the people in the next town or across the border were less hospitable and she shouldn’t trust them.

            Whatever the reason, I’ve been afraid of visiting China for the 10 years my husband has been travelling there on business. Last month his itinerary was ideal for me to accompany him; I’d be able to spend time in several cities, including Beijing. He raised the incentive by arranging for us to visit the Terra Cotta Warriors that had intrigued me since I first read about them. I waivered in my reluctance.

            I reminded myself I experienced the same hesitance to visit Israel three years ago. Preparing for that trip, I imagined car bombs and terrorists waiting around every corner. Yet even when I joined a 4-person tour to Bethlehem, not realizing Bethlehem is in Palestinian territory, I was treated there with great welcome and hospitality.

            But China is a communist country. I’m a child of the Cold War and I remember it being big news when then-President Nixon travelled to China, an unheard of destination. I feared visiting a country that wasn’t known for respecting individual rights.

            Yet, my travel in Israel remains one of the highlights of my life and I had nearly let my fears keep me from that experience.

            I agreed to visit China, but I worried.

            So what did I experience? Without exception, everyone treated me with courtesy and respect. Men asked if they could take a picture of me with their wives. Women asked if I’d pose with their children. Teenagers stood to give me their seat on a subway, as they did for anyone my age or older. Tour guides politely asked me about my opinion of Obama, or which party I belonged to. Some shared their own worry that without a strong Russia, the USA’s dominance would endanger world balance.

            I can’t speak about China’s leaders or its politics. I only know that the everyday people are very much like our everyday people. They wait with smiles and hugs for their children to burst out of the building on the first day of school. They work hard to improve their families’ lives. They dance in the park when they hear music that suits them. They photograph what is unusual or beautiful. They carry iPods and cell phones and are frustrated by traffic jams and delayed flights. Both the church I attended and an acrobat show were full.

            Yes, their culture differs from ours, but in ways that seems minor, like the softness of voices, the use of parasols, the prevalence of bicycles, the acceptance of population density, or the challenge of living in a country of single-child families.

            I never felt endangered while in China (other than riding in a taxi) even when lost. My qualms were unfounded and I feel foolish to have waited so long to accept my good husband’s invitation to share his experience. I’ve been blessed once again by facing my fear. When will I learn to trust in God and never let fear direct my life?

Parental Example

            Within a month’s time, my husband and I both celebrated the lives of one of our parents. My father-in-law passed away after too short a struggle with cancer. My husband took on the responsibility for planning the funeral, including a heart-felt eulogy that recounted what a good father he had been. My brother spoke next as a representative of the countless young men that Dad influenced in his years of work with Scouts, as well as the numerous young men he taught about life while he taught them to be his work assistants. The priest and many of the frequent visitors to Dad’s bedside during his last few weeks talked about his years of enthusiastic volunteering with St. Vincent de Paul. Others benefited from his decade of hospital service where he greeted patients, helped direct them to the right department, and retrieved the wheel chairs that travelled the campus. Nearly everyone mentioned his “thumbs up” attitude, his commitment to service, and his strong work ethic.

            One month later, my entire family gathered for the first time in thirty years in Anaconda, Montana. Ours was a joyful reunion to celebrate my mother’s 80^th birthday. I had spent a few days with her the month before and experienced her typical activities. I tagged along as she attended Mass and the rosary daily, delivered communion and a Word Service to the nursing home, helped organize and attended a deacon ordination and a May crowning, and the weekly Adoration. I wasn’t there for one of the funerals–she averages two a week–which she organizes and plans with the bereaved families. But I accompanied her on her visits to friends: morning coffee here, a sandwich there, dropping in to check on one or pouring a cup of tea for another. Everywhere we went, people told me how wonderful my mother is and what a spirit she has for service. Our family celebration of her birthday had to include this “other family” of hers, so we hosted a tea with light refreshments in the church hall and more than 200 people attended!

            Two parents, both busier in their “relaxation years” than I am in my everyday life. Both making their lives meaningful by working for others. Both surrounded by people who love them for the service they give. Their lives exemplify one way to live well.

            They also both invite me to reevaluate my life. I am a home body who needs much time alone to process my thoughts and maintain my calm. The areas I’ve chosen to serve in are primarily solitary by choice. I write, I crochet prayer shawls, I pray for my family, friends, church, and the world. Most of my personal service is to my family–whether babysitting,  house cleaning, or lending a caring ear.  I host extended family gatherings and maintain connections. I see myself as an enabler to others in their service; I keep the household functioning while family members serve the world through their particular gifts. I’ve raised children with hearts more open than mine.

            I’d like that to be enough. I’d like to stay in my comfort zone. I want to excuse myself as an introvert who is drained by contact with people rather than energized. Yet, I know my mother and my father-in-law both were introverts who grew beyond their natural inclination and became extraverted. My husband opened his eulogy by describing his dad as shy and quiet and, as expected, the funeral attendees laughed. No one who knew him for the last 40 years would have described him that way. Yet leadership classes and becoming a Scout master drew him beyond his shyness.

            Some psychologists define maturing as growing in our weak areas until we are balanced. An introvert becomes comfortable with people. An extrovert becomes comfortable with contemplation.

            I have my own weaknesses to overcome, which may be different than the ones our parents grew through. I also have my unique call to follow and my unique strengths to place in God’s service. I hope my writing reaches out to people in need and offers help. I hope my service to my family makes a difference in the world.

            We can’t say one way of life is the only way to live well. I wouldn’t expect my children to live exactly as I have, or to serve the ways I serve. Maybe that is part of our challenge, to find our unique way to make this life meaningful. If there were only one way, we wouldn’t need to have a personal relationship with God to figure things out. We’d simply follow the defined steps. But given the distinctive nature each of us experiences–strengths and weaknesses, gifts and challenges–we are invited to constant conversation with God to get it right. If God is a parent anything like us (and He says He is) He longs to share our lives, our thoughts, and our decisions.

       In Mere Christianity, CS Lewis quotes George MacDonald, “God is easy to please, hard to satisfy.” Any effort we make to follow His path pleases Him, but He is never satisfied. He calls us to continue to grow more like Him throughout our lives.

      Sometimes I think I’m doing ok in my life choices. But then the lives of my mother and my father-in-law, and the life of Christ, challenge me to resist complacency.