A Forgiving Father
It was around dinnertime when I witnessed a minor infraction committed by one of my children. I saw my daughter take a yellow crayon and, for seemingly no reason, snap it in half.
Before you could say “I’m telling Mom,” my other daughter came over to tattle.
I approached the crayon-snapping child and asked her, “Did you break the crayon?”
With fear in her eyes, she replied, “No.”
I prodded further and was met with another denial.
I gave her one last chance, but she still wouldn’t fess up.
After three denials, her rooster crowed.
I sent her to my closet, telling her to sit on the floor and stay there until she was willing to admit what she had done. She trudged her way into the closet, sat on the floor, and began crying. Loud, pitiful crying.
Every 15–20 minutes, I went into my room and poked my head inside the closet, asking her if she was ready to confess. She continued to assert her innocence. I have to give it to her—she lasted a long time, much longer than I expected her to. She pled not guilty to the tune of two and a half hours.
It was agonizing. Every time I went to check on her, I was thinking to myself, Please just admit that you are lying so this can be over!
This particular child was (at the time) my “easiest” child. She was the child who caused me the fewest headaches and required almost no discipline. She didn’t make a habit of lying; she just had a moment of weakness. She did something dumb and got caught doing it. She was embarrassed and afraid. She was desperately trying to avoid the consequences of her poor choice.
To be clear: I don’t care about broken crayons. But I do care deeply about honesty. A crayon costs a couple of pennies; you can’t put a price on character. I would personally snap a million crayons in half if it meant she would grow up to be a person of integrity.
Finally, I entered the closet and sat down on the floor beside her. I basically pleaded with her to end her own suffering by simply admitting what she had done. She asked, “If I say I did it, will I be in trouble?” After a long pause, I replied, “There will be consequences. But if you tell me what you did, I will forgive you.”
Her eyebrows lifted in hope. “I broke the crayon,” she said. She was relieved. I was even more relieved. The night of horror was over.
Many times since then, I have thought of the events of that evening. I can’t say for sure if my daughter learned her lesson, but one thing is for sure: I learned a lot from the whole debacle.
I have personally behaved like a tearful crayon-breaker. I have made mistakes, then pouted about them. I have suffered so much more than I needed to, all because I’d rather minimize, justify, or deny my faults. The fact is, God knows the truth. He isn’t fooled by drama or cover stories. He doesn’t buy into defensiveness or excuse-making. But he is a forgiving father.
I watched my daughter commit her crime. I knew what she had done, and I knew she was lying. As she persevered in her anguish, I realized she had cornered herself into a position where she would need to confess her original crime and admit that she had been lying all evening. If only she had come clean immediately!
If she had admitted right away to breaking the crayon, she would have been met with a disapproving frown and a “Please don’t purposefully break your things.” When she chose to deny her sin, she traded in a slap on the wrist for a night in the clink.
I wanted to forgive my daughter. I wasn’t mad at her. I didn’t want her to suffer another minute longer. I wanted her to admit her transgression so I could meet her with an embrace of reconciliation.
Ultimately, my little girl needed to know that she would be forgiven—only then was she willing to admit what she had done. So I assured her ahead of time that I would forgive her. Punishment was promised, but so was forgiveness. She would pay a price, but our relationship was secure.
There is an inherent risk in admitting fault: the risk that you won’t be forgiven. If you confess your wrongdoings, others may hold them against you. The offended party may choose not to forgive you. If we admit that we are wrong, and others withhold forgiveness, we find ourselves in the very unpleasant position of being both wrong and unforgiven.
We have a forgiving Father, but God’s forgiveness can be taken for granted. One of the most memorized verses in the Bible says, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9 ESV). We can live in the assurance that God’s forgiveness will never be delayed or withheld.
lives in Michigan with her husband and four (soon to be five!) children. She is a lover of music, language, and all things thought-provoking. She is a witness and testimony to God’s redemptive grace.
Photograph © Natalia Sobolivska, used with permission
