This morning, I was reading the Classic Writings of Billy Graham, where Mr.Graham had tried to explain how we may be sincere in our desires to serve Christ, but that does not make us perfect or fault-free. To simplify his point, he chose a letter written by a five-year-old to her dad, a Scottish preacher, who was away in New Zealand on a mission tour.
'Dear father, I wrote all this myself. I send you a kiss from Elsie.' the child wrote. The father did see the crooked strokes, his child's struggle to print large capitals, and the absence of a single properly formed letter. Yet, he showed no displeasure nor blamed the child for her poor writing. Instead, he treasured the letter like an art piece. He knew for sure, it was the best his darling five-year-old could do to convey her love to him. The child had put her whole heart into the letter, sealed it with a kiss and sent it to him from faraway. How could anything be more precious to him than that ?
As I was reading the story, my thoughts reeled back to the time when I wrote somewhat a similar letter to my father, whom I lovingly called,Pappa. Probably, I too would have been around her age at that time. That summer, my mother, two older sisters and I were holidaying at our aunt's house in a hilly country side, skirted by cocoa and pepper plantation. My father couldn't join us on this trip due to work and that made me, the youngest of the five to miss him the most.
So, whenever I saw my mom write to my father, I scribbled something on a piece of paper and sent it along. And when the postman brought my father's letters, I eagerly awaited on my mom's lap to hear her read the part where my father had inquired about me. Then, one day, my mom came and handed me an envelope addressed to me. A letter for me? I couldn't believe my eyes. My chubby cheeks beamed when I saw the handwriting of my dear father. The fact that he had written specially to me made me squeal and run around the house showing the letter to everyone.
Today, I cannot recall what my father had written in that letter, but I do remember of carrying the letter all day long in my frock pocket (yes, we did have cute pockets in our dresses) and reading it again and again. In a day or two, I could easily recite the letter by heart. Soon, it became a past time for my sisters and cousins to call upon me to recite the letter in front of others. Shy, I might have been by nature, but when it came to recite my father's letter, I didn't shy away at all. My curly hair pinned up in two colorful barretts, I stood there with my chin up and my squint eyes gleaming, and recited my father's entire letter for my onlookers amusement.
I wish I could say that I read my heavenly Father's letter (God's Word) too with the same fervor and devotion. Maybe at times. Other days, I do it because I ought to, rather than I love to. But, that doesn't mean that my Heavenly Father loves me less, nor His grace towards me is going to be shortened. However, it's my sincere desire that I will regain my childlike trust and devotion, and bring much delight to Him in the coming days, months and years.***
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