“Don’t give up dad.”
I remember looking into the mirror and saying those words to myself one dark Father’s Day, years ago. And I was about to give up.
I felt cheated when my first-born son, Jacob, was diagnosed with autism. I cringe to even write those words today, but I felt it. I instantly felt the loss of Jake never being able to play sports, or go on hikes, or go hunting and fishing. Would I ever teach him to dance with a girl, or drive a car, or tie a tie? Of course, in my small world as a new dad, I thought these were all the activities fathers were supposed to do with their sons. More importantly, I thought these were all the activities sons were supposed to be able to do with their fathers.
Still later, other disabilities would surface—Jake had a severe seizure disorder, he would never speak, he had to wear leg braces, his eyes were crossed, he was incontinent, he suffered from severe sensory disorders, and he would never develop beyond the cognitive ability of a 3-year-old. Suddenly being a father took on a certain sadness and a very real darkness. I wondered if God could even see me though that darkness.
The story I had written for my life—a story of success, esteem, and honor was seemingly being re-written as a tragedy of suffering, humiliation, and failure. Losses were being stacked up against expectations; and future uncertainties were crushing my dreams of fatherhood.
Looking back, I can see now that God was good to crush them all into fine dust and let the wind blow them away. He had a much better story to write.
My tiny world as a father was about to grow much bigger than I could have ever imagined, and much deeper than I could have ever dreamed. Like a skilled surgeon, God slowly and mercifully cut away all my superficial expectations of earthly fatherhood and replaced them with images of an eternal heavenly Father. Those self-encouraging words “Don’t give up dad” Were replaced by His divine promise of, “I will never give you up.”
Suddenly I saw myself as the disabled child and God as the loving Father who would care for me despite my inabilities to care for myself. He would clean me when I was content to be filthy. He would hold me when I tried to run away. He would love me, even when I could not (or would not) reciprocate that love in return. His promises would speak truth over me when I could not say a word.
This illustration of fatherhood changed my perspective from “feeling cheated”, to experiencing the very presence of God in a very real and almost tangible way. And whenever I was in danger of straying from the Lord or trusting in my own strength, my son and his disabilities magnified my weakness and drew me back to the strength of Christ and His gospel.
Truth is, you will never know how strong God can be until you first know how weak you are. In my greatest weakness I couldn’t give up, because in His greater strength He wouldn’t give me up.
With the encouragement of some goldy men, we wrote a little book telling the story of God’s grace in the life of my son. That little book has been distributed to thousands of hurting families—all over the world! Shortly after the book was written, we partnered with Guidelight ministries (formerly The Elisha Foundation) and for the last 15 years I have been blessed to travel across the nation with Guidelight, encouraging families experiencing disability, with the gospel of Jesus.
Jake is now 31 years old. It’s hard to believe how fast time has gone by. But it’s not hard to believe that God has been a faithful Father through it all. There is so much evidence of His mercy and grace in my life. As Kierkegaard wisely noted, “We live life forwards, but can only understand it backwards.”
So, for the dads out there struggling this Father’s Day; for those who feel cheated and who may be experiencing loss and sadness. For those wondering if their story will ever be anything but a tragedy. For those whose expectations are being overrun by future uncertainties and whose dreams are being crushed by the reality of disability—don’t give up.
The Father who will never give you up is still writing your story.
