The Gift of Choice

As a five-year-old child, I threatened my mother. “I’m going to run away,” I cried. I made this threat whenever some event or situation made me unhappy. My young mom, at that time, was a parent of three small children. One day, she had finally endured enough. Removing a small suitcase from the closet, she packed some of my belongings. As it was a chilly fall day, she wrapped me in a warm coat, placed the suitcase in my hand and walked me to the front door. As I stood on the porch in dismay, she calmly said, “You can come back home anytime you’re ready.” Then she closed the door.

As I faced that closed door, panic gripped me. In my imagination, the scenario was supposed to unfold much differently. First, my mother would apologize for causing my unhappiness; then she would beg me to stay! Now, however, I faced a moment of crisis. I don’t know where to go. It’s cold out here. I want my mother! Banging on the door, I cried out for her mercy. To allow me to face reality, however, my mother wisely waited a few moments before opening the door. (For me, it seemed like an eternity.)

Calmly, she said, “You can come inside, but I never want to hear you speak of running away again. Do you understand?” Nodding, I readily agreed. Mom brought me in, removed my coat, and enfolded me in her arms, gently wiping my tearstained face. I never made that threat again.

Another Runaway Story

Although many can relate to memories of childhood foolishness such as mine, Jesus told a more serious runaway story in his familiar parable, The Prodigal Son. The younger son of a Jewish family decides he cannot wait for his inheritance; he requests that his father grant it to him immediately. This request represents a terrible insult to the youth’s patriarch. The son’s implication is clear: I can’t wait around until you die, Father, to get what I want!

The father, nevertheless, grants his son’s selfish demand. After squandering his wealth in wild living, however, this young man soon finds himself broke, starving, and longing for home. As he trudges towards his father’s house, rehearsing his plea for forgiveness, he witnesses an amazing sight. His dignified father has been watching, waiting for this moment, and is now running down the road towards his long-lost boy. Wealthy Jewish patriarchs did not hike up their robes, bare their legs, and run down dusty lanes. Yet this father joyously abandoned his dignity to welcome his prodigal home.

Before his son can beg forgiveness, the father compassionately embraces and kisses his wayward child. Rejoicing, he calls for the best robe (the father’s own robe) to replace his son’s dirty clothes; a ring to adorn his son’s finger; new sandals to protect his son’s battered feet; and a feast to celebrate his son’s return with a fat calf on the menu.

The common thread of these two stories is not only of young runaways but also of a parent’s compassionate love toward a wayward child. To allow a sinful, self-absorbed son or daughter to follow an unwise path is one of the hardest choices a parent must make. Yet it is a most loving decision, one our Heavenly Father offers us—the gift of free will.

The Love of God, our Father

Scripture tells us, “God so loved the world that He gave us His only Son” (John 3:16). Further, Matthew’s gospel declares, “God causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (5:45). Theologians refer to this benevolence bestowed on all mankind as God’s common grace. This means that even those who hate God will receive His daily kindnesses, whether from sun or rain or the birth of a sweet baby. However, this love is different from the all-encompassing love of God for His children who have been saved by His grace, who have entered His family through faith in Jesus’ sacrifice for their sins. This is not just a Creator’s love, but it is the tender love of a Father towards His child.

In the Genesis account, when God placed Adam and Eve in the Garden, He not only gave them great freedom to enjoy His creation but also instructed them not to cross one important boundary: to refrain from eating the forbidden fruit growing from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Further, He gave them something most precious—the gift of choice. They could decide to obey or not. Then, they would bear the consequences of their choices, just as the prodigal son and I experienced.

Of course, Adam and Eve tragically chose the sinful path of disobedience. After finding themselves naked and afraid, they scrambled for fig leaves to cover their bodies. Yet their Father knew that in the cold, brutal world they were about to inhabit, they would need more substantial clothing. Max Lucado aptly describes this scene, one in which we all must recognize the “stark naked[ness] of our own failure”:

So what does God do? Exactly what he did for our parents in the garden. He

sheds innocent blood. He offers the life of his Son. And from the scene of the

sacrifice the Father takes a robe—the robe of righteousness. And does he throw

it in our direction and tell us to shape up? No, he dresses us himself. He dresses

us with himself. “You were all baptized into Christ, and so you were all clothed

with Christ” (Galatians 3:26-27).[1]

Here, we see the tenderness of our Father towards His children: An act of undeserved, loving kindness as God replaces our dirty, sinful garments with His righteous robe of love. He is always compassionate, tender, and gracious towards His own. May that loving attitude for others be ours—not because they deserve it (we certainly don’t) but because we want to be like our Father, and lead lost children home.

[1] Max Lucado, A Robe of Righteousness, Grace for the Moment, Volume II, (J Countryman division of Thomas Nelson, Inc., China), 160