Blessed are the Car Washers

On Memorial Day, "the man" and I decided to tackle a little much needed maintenance work and wash my terribly dirty car. Now, I've partnered with Parker enough to know that when a five-year-old "helps" the total time of any project increases by about 150%. I also know that I'm pretty prone to getting "frustrated" (read... so caught up in my own agenda that I lose patience and inevitably end up violating Ephesians 6:4 regarding fathers exasperating their children). So I had promised myself that this time it would be different. This time it would just be me and the man, hanging out, doing our thing.    Yah, right!

Kingdom Work

Working with Parker is always a picture for me of what my "kingdom work" looks like from God's perspective. In his own way, Parker was extremely dedicated to the car washing enterprise... he was just set on doing it his own way. Water was sprayed everywhere, clean brushes and sponges were cast aside in the dirt in the pursuit of other things that caught his attention, some parts of the car were washed over and over while others seemed obliviously overlooked, and clean parts were dirtied more than dirty parts were cleaned. And up to this point, Parker was having a ball!

"Accomplishing the mission" was clearly a distant 83rd priority compared to enjoying an afternoon with me and doing something together. He wasn't worried about outcomes, or procedures or if he was doing everything right. He wasn't uptight about whether or not he was fulfilling his life's calling or stewarding his gifts well. He wasn't trying to establish his own righteousness, or build his reputation, or prove to other people that all of his years of training and education made him a superb car washer. He didn't have any worries that if he didn't use just the right amount of soap, or clean every corner perfectly that maybe his dad would love him a little less.  In fact there is no amount of expertise, experience, or skill that he was bringing to the job that I actually needed to get the car clean.  He just wanted to be with me. He just wanted to be with dad, doing something together, content to let me set the agenda.

And if I didn't work at World Harvest, this is probably where I'd let the story finish. But by now you know it doesn't end here, don't you?

Temper

About 10 minutes into our project, my "there is one, and only one right way, to do something"-righteousness began to emerge. After all, what's the point of taking the time to wash the car if you aren't going to do it well? And what kind of father would I be if I didn't teach Parker the right way (my way!) to do things? Answer: I'd be the kind of father that didn't exasperate my child over inane issues.

So within 30 seconds of me starting to show the lad proper washing technique, it all started to go wrong....

"Hey, sport! How about if you stand over here and spray this direction. That way we won't get the parts we've already washed dirty."

"Ok, now. We need to be careful. You just got daddy all wet, and we are spraying dirty suds back onto the clean parts of the car."

"Parker Thomas!! Didn't you hear what I just said?!! Get that brush off the paint, and back on the dirty wheels!"

(as I am pulling him by the arm way from the car)

"Parker Thomas Graeme Knaak!! We just cleaned that door! Do you see what you did! Do you see the mess that you've just made! Now daddy is going have to wash this all over again! Why don't you listen. Now sit there and think about what you did."

Repentance and Death

Another vow broken. Another instance of my sin-stained heart leaking all over my loved ones. Another opportunity to be "the good dad" missed. In a little over 6 minutes, Parker had gone from son to slave and he knew it.  What started out as joy and fun and being together turned into drudgery and shame and work.

And to tell you the truth, I was a lot more upset about his inability to meet the demands of my law that I was about my murderous, shaming parenting style. Until, I saw him slowly walking away, with his head downcast. Fifteen minutes ago he couldn't contain his joy. Now he looked like I had run over his stuffed dog with the lawn mower.  But did I go over there and take time out to talk to him and bring him back into relationship.  Sadly, no.  Why, you may ask?  Because I had a car to wash, or rewash as the case may be.

A little latter when we were inside I asked if we could talk.  He didn't really want to, but he agreed.  When I asked him how he thought the car washing went, he didn't say anything for a long time.  And then one, giant tear slowly formed and slid down his smooth little cheek.  That one tear was the distilled essence of my sin, not so subtly taken out on my child.

We spent a good little while talking.  ("Dad, why do you talk to me like that.  It's just rude!") And in the end I did my best to explain how my "frustration" with him indicated just how much daddy needs Jesus.  Ten years of theological higher education doesn't really prepare you for the intensity of seeing your cold-hearted idolatry trample on your little boy's heart.  I thought that I was trying to teach him how to wash a car properly.  It turns out that he was teaching me just how much Jesus had to pay in order to set me free from my sins.  I wanted him to learn how a good dad can have fun with his son.  Jesus wanted him to learn how a needy dad can model repentance.  A child's tears were the reminder that I needed to again come to grips with the fact that the blood which dripped from royal veins was shed as the only restorative capable of penetrating my sin-blackened heart.

One of the best things about having a younger child is that, much like pets and mothers, they don't hold a grudge very long.  In a little bit, we were rolling around on the floor wrestling and giggling.  All of the parenting books tell you to look for the "teachable moments" with your kids so that you can help them learn real life lessons.  None of them tell you that you are actually the one who needs to the do the learning in those moments.