The Works of God

On Sunday morning several things went wrong as we prepared for church – except for Paul, who ate well, tolerated his shower and was dressed and ready with plenty of time.  The climax of the pre-church routine came seconds before I thought I would be heading out the door.

As I was putting the juice away from breakfast, an unopened gallon of milk tipped over and in very slow motion tumbled to the floor with a loud crash.  That crash was accompanied by a small split which shot milk in all directions, but fortunately only a couple of cups worth rather than the whole gallon.

I was already grumbling about things in my heart, with a heavy emphasis on the children’s part in making us late. For some reason, the Holy Spirit brought a 2007 sermon to mind as I was quickly picking up that gallon to try to keep more from spilling.  It was Pastor John’s sermon, Marriage is Meant for Making Children . . . Disciples of Jesus, Part 2.  I even remembered where I was sitting as he preached it, and I almost remembered the phrase correctly, but copied it from the Desiring God site to make sure I got it right:

So I made the point last time that in marriage and in this nest created by marriage, fathers have a leading responsibility in raising children. Not a sole responsibility, but a leading one. The way I like to say it is that if there is a problem with the children at the Piper household, and if Jesus knocks on the door, and Noel comes to the door, he is going to say, “Hello, Noel, is the man of the house home? We need to talk.” Not that Noel bears no responsibility. But I bear the leading responsibility in seeing that the children are brought up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.

So, my sweet daughter had the privilege of seeing God work in her daddy as I laughed out loud, enjoying his goodness – through spilled milk! – at addressing my ridiculously small confidence in him that allowed things like missing shoes or misplaced lesson plans to affect my heart so much. My sinful, grumbling heart wasn’t their fault, and even our being late wasn’t their fault (entirely).  I bear that responsibility for leading them in worshiping God in all circumstances, even the minor ones.

She got some towels for me and we got the remaining milk into other containers.  And we were late to church, but in time for communion. Thankfully, God had already dealt with my heart so this Lord’s supper was pretty sweet.  And while disability is a big deal in our household, it wasn’t the one with disabilities who made us late.  And God turned it for his glory instead.