As I sat there in the darkened kitchen waiting for Dad I got to thinking about my father’s words the day before. How he tried to make me understand that “experts” know how to do their jobs and are not usually questioned about it.
It was funny that the answers to my father’s comments were found in a dream. Trusting in God was important but asking questions and learning was something that I was sure God would not mind. After all, God allowed me to have that dream. I got to thinking that God probably liked curious people and those who seek the truth. I felt good about things. I smiled when I saw my dad making his way to the kitchen. He was surprised to see me.
"How come you're up so early, kiddo?" my dad said as he went to make a pot of coffee.
"I had a dream that I needed to tell you about!" I said excitedly.
“What could be so important about your dream that you’re willing to give up your sleep?” My dad smiled at me, curious about what I might be up to.
“Dad, you remember how you told me that when people hire you to build their house or office building, they don’t tell you how to build it—they just trust that you’ll do it right?”
“Right. And I told you that I trusted Bill the mechanic to repair my car without telling him how to fix it.”
“Exactly! Dad, in my dream, you had built such a beautiful building that people came by just to admire it. The newspaper reporters and photographers were surrounding you like the paparazzi.”
“Wow! It must have been some beautiful building.” My dad poured himself a cup of coffee and me a glass of orange juice. He sat down across from me to hear the rest.
“Dad, that’s just the point! The building looked beautiful but underneath the structure was weak, it smelled bad, and there were unfinished rooms. It was horrible!”
“Sure I was the builder?!” Dad was teasing me.
“Dad, it was just a dream. I know you wouldn’t really build like that. But back to the dream, the floors started to buckle and the walls came crashing down. A beautiful picture of Jesus fell on us while we were trying to run out before it collapsed.”
“Whew! As a builder let me say that what you had wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare.” My dad wasn’t smiling any longer. Just the thought of such a mess was getting to him.
“Okay, kiddo, so what was the message of your dream?” my dad asked me. I think he knew the answer but he was going to let me tell him my thoughts about it.
“Well, I still agree with you that your customers come to you trusting that you will build their house correctly and will not tell you how to build it. After all, you have a great reputation. But after their building was completed, your customers would come back to you to tell you if it wound up collapsing! Right?!”
Dad laughed. “That they would!”
“Your customers won’t check on you while you’re building their house but the only way they will really be able to tell if you’ve done a good job is by living or working in it. The same is true when you take your car to the mechanic. You will tell him the problem and when you pick up the car after it’s been repaired, you will know if the mechanic has done the job correctly by driving the car. If it breaks down on the way home, you’d give him a call right away. Do you follow me?" I was sure that my dad knew where I was going. I was sounding just like he did the day before.
"So, taking this all the way back to the pastor, how would we know he is doing his job correctly? What do we measure his success by?" my dad said as he was sipping his coffee.
"Exactly!" I said, thankful that my dad understood
what I was truly concerned about and that I had my reasons for feeling that way and that my issues had credibility.
"Aysha, I know that our church has not been a very exciting place for you recently. I remember how excited you used to be when you’d tell your mother and me the Bible stories that you learned at children's church -- David and Goliath, Daniel in the lion's den, Moses, Noah, Jesus and all the others. Your joy and exhilaration over the Word made me feel young again and recall the times when I was a youngster and first heard those same stories. I was able to relive the joy of discovery simply by listening to you tell the story."
He paused then asked, "What do you want to do?"
Not quite understanding what he meant, I asked, "What do you mean?"
"What do you want to do about this whole situation?" he asked. “You know, your dissatisfaction with the church and with the way Pastor Shelton is preaching?”
I got the feeling that maybe Dad was a little dissatisfied with the way our church was being run, too. He had probably remained silent to keep from upsetting Mother.
Knowing that figuring out what I wanted to do was not an easy task and was going to take time to completely think it through, my dad said, "Think about what you want to do now. You have made a lot of good points about our church and how Pastor Shelton conducts the sermons.”
He stopped and looked down, stirring his coffee.
“Honestly, most of the time I have simply been going to church more out of duty than actually wanting to learn,” he continued. “And, of course, your mother doesn’t like it when I don’t go.”
I knew it! My dad was having some of the same feelings as I had been having. But to keep the peace, he had just been attending church and keeping quiet about his concerns. Like I said before, my dad and I are an awful lot alike! But my dad had more to say. I think he was enjoying our conversation. It was his chance to vent a little.
“Work is usually what dominates my thinking. I feel bad, Aysha. I should have been a better father and been a better example for you. I should have spoken out like you have.”
I got up and rushed over to my dad and hugged him. “Dad, there is no better father in the world than you. And I don’t want to ever hear anything to the contrary!”
Well, needless to say, my dad liked hearing that! He smiled and hugged me back.
“I tell you what. I'll make you a deal.”
I was perplexed. “A deal?”
“Yes, a deal between you and me.” He hesitated a moment, like he wanted to make sure he had his thoughts together.
“How about this? You read and study and write up your thoughts. You know, an alternative approach to how Pastor Shelton teaches. How you think his preaching could be improved. What your approach would be based on your research. But whatever you come up with has to be based on the Bible. It can’t be just a laundry list of gripes and complaints about the pastor's doctrine. You do your best on your research and if you can convince me that your ideas are better than Pastor Shelton’s, I will do my best to convince your mother that our church is not for you. And since you’re getting to be a young lady, then I promise I would strongly recommend to your mother that you should have the freedom to choose another church to attend. Deal?"
My mind was racing, trying to grasp all that my dad just said. My dad was presenting me with a challenge that I wasn’t sure I was ready to take on. How could I compete with a man of the cloth? Even though, in some sense, I was questioning the pastor’s preaching abilities, I didn’t feel my knowledge of the Bible could match his. Even if he eventually was proven to be lacking and not the best choice for our pastor, he still knew tons and tons more than I did.
Then I thought of my mother. She wouldn’t be in favor of what my father was proposing. Dad would be getting himself into big trouble with my mother. Mother didn’t like to rock the boat. She’d worry about how it would look if her twelve-year-old daughter was “calling out” or in a competition with the pastor of our church. My mother would be embarrassed if word got around that I was trying to show up the pastor. I sure didn’t want to be in the doghouse and I didn’t want my dad to be in the doghouse either. He wound up there sometimes when he came home really late. He liked being in my mother’s good graces. It was a much nicer place to be.
"Mother won't like this," I said, knowing that my dad was fully aware of what her reaction would be.
But my dad tried to act like it didn’t bother him. "I haven't been scolded by your mother for quite a while now, I'm about due!”
Dad gave a quick look at his watch. “Hey! I gotta get out of here! Dad grabbed his laptop and keys and rose to head to work. He patted my head and buzzed me on the cheek and hurried for the door. Dad never liked to be late. He said it was a bad example for his employees. He stopped at the doorway to the garage for a moment.
“Hey, now, I don't want bits and pieces of your research. You bring me your full report, your findings when it is completely done. Okay, kiddo?" He headed on out without waiting for an answer. He said he’d see me later.
"All right! Thanks, Dad!" I said with a wave. My dad probably was more patience with me than I deserved! But I loved him for putting up with me and my endless curiosity. He always knew what I needed and always put what I needed ahead of what was good or easy for him.
I was thrilled—almost euphoric. My dad and I had a “deal.” He thought enough of me to let me figure things out for myself.
I would be forever grateful to him for that.
