Editor's Note: Today we bring you another great piece from Alisha Olandesca. You can find her on Twitter @stainlessstyled and on the internet at https://stainlessstyled.com.
Do you ever feel like a spiritual toddler?
I do. On the holiness scale, I am a solid 1. I'm striving for that 2 though, with all of my might. I don't think God minds, really. I don't think He keeps track of the results of our pious endeavours. In my opinion, He is really just focusing on how often.. we try.
I digress. If I am the toddler, then God definitely is the obnoxious dad: letting me hang, poking fun, refusing help. All in an effort to watch me struggle towards holiness. And I can really resent Him for it. Like a deep, gnawing, resentment.
The adult in me has at least a smidge of self awareness. Enough to know in my heart that all the trials of life are purifying. That I can offer my struggles up for those in need. That God does have my back, and to keep on trucking. There is comfort in the fact that I can just be still, and know that He is God. I do trust that God has plans to prosper me and not harm me. Enough to know realize when I am being quite childish, and ought to be more mature about my relationship to God.
Most of the time.
Other times I want to give in and throw a spiritual tantrum. To get mad at God, and yell. Throw out ridiculous bargains and ultimatums. Turn my back or lash out. To just be done with my calling, and check out for a while. All the horrible things I used to do to my own father when I was hurting.
And when I'm raw and aching and searching, and I turn to scripture for comfort, I don't think it's funny that the page I randomly open up to is Job. Not funny. At all.
When I need help and I am not getting what I'm looking for, I think of my own father. How he irritated me beyond measure, seemingly enjoying every second of my struggles. Trying to toughen me up and prepare me for life. And how good it felt when I would put my tantrum aside and prove to him that I could endure and overcome. Just for that beautiful moment when I got to say 'I told you so!'. I relished in it.
But no matter how good that 'I told you so!' felt, it didn't compare to when he would kiss me on the top of my head and say 'I always knew you could'.
A father's love will forever leave you speechless. There's nothing quite like it. My own father will always be a bit of an enigma to me. I'll never really understand him. But like our heavenly Father, I'll won't stop trying. And I'll keep working towards my next, special kiss on the head.