The Secret of Catch

When I was young, we had one of those standard family station wagons that marked the suburban landscape of the early 80's, even though ours stayed out in the country with us.  It was powder blue and on long trips, my sister and I would put the backseat down and use the stretch of the hatchback as our fort.  It was there we played games, read books and eventually fell asleep under blankets like our own moving hotel while dad and mom sat in the front.  We called it the Blue Bomber.

I mention it today because as I was remembering my father, and though there is so much to tell about this man some other time, I was struck by one memory of game dad often played with us while he drove that vehicle.  When mom wasn't occupying the passenger seat, my sister and I would pile in that space and whoever sat next to daddy would inevitably end up playing "catch the hand."  In essence, my father would put out his non-driving hand palm-up and we would try to tap the center and pull back without him catching our hand.  Then we'd switch.  He might have said it was some speed challenge from some Bruce Lee flick, but for me it was a chance to just have fun with dad.  The thing was, he always seemed to catch my hand and yet when we switched I couldn't seem to catch him.  I just assumed I was too small, too slow.  I didn't know his secret.

As the Bomber got older, the fabric covering the ceiling panel began to sag, making large upside down bubbles of baby blue felt that fell perfectly onto my tall father's head.  One day he was so frustrated, he pulled the whole thing off in one complete sheet.  The secret behind the puffy blue interior that had been my sister's and my sky when we lay back on those long journeys was revealed.  The newly exposed moss colored foam coating was a real tangible thing.  No longer a secret, it marked our hair with small bits of fuzz every time we got in or out of the car.  Some bits were so small, they stuck like dust to our foreheads and arms, a visible reminder of where we had been.

As I got older, I learned that there was no speed magic in my father's hand either.  His secret was just as tangible.  I remember the day I saw the action for how it really was.  I went to tap my father's palm, and I noticed that his hand was already reaching up toward mine, shortening the distance and assuring the capture and the giggles. 

Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.  

--James 4:8a

Despite my father's human failings, as a child I simply knew him to be someone I wanted to be around.  I felt safe when I was with him.  It was in that security that I knew I was loved.  

God the Father loves without failing and in Him we find ultimate security.  It is out of this love and mercy that God is constantly drawing us toward Himself.  So whether confident or nervous, when we take that step toward Him, we can be assured  He has already closed the gap to receive us.

The story of the prodigal son tells us that while the son was still a long way off,  the father saw him and came running, embracing him (Luke 15:11-32).  Isn't this the nature of our God!  Instead of a hand, He captures our heart; instead of giggles, He gives us a wellspring of joy.  We become marked with the dust of His grace, evidence to those around us of where we have been.  We have been with our Father.