by Max Lucado
When my oldest daughter, Jenna, was four years old, she came to me with a confession. “Daddy, I took a crayon and drew on the wall.” (Kids amaze me with their honesty.)
I sat down and lifted her up into my lap and tried to be wise. “Is that a good thing to do?” I asked her.
“What does Daddy do when you write on the wall?”
“You spank me.”
“What do you think Daddy should do this time?”
Don’t we all want that? Don’t we all long for a father who, even though our mistakes are written all over the wall, will love us anyway?
We do have that type of a father. A father who is at his best when we are at our worst. A father whose grace is a strongest when our devotion is weakest.