Experiencing Father's Heart

Jay Bennett perched on the stool in front of our half circle of desks, one heel caught on the stool’s lowest rung, the other slightly higher. He had been introduced as a respected itinerant teacher, ministering for over a decade to missionaries throughout Asia.  Lanky and relaxed, he studied each of us, the six students of a YWAM Discipleship Training School, as we shared snippets of our background.

I shared briefly. “My husband and I just came from a year in Asia; we have three children; I love to write fiction; I’ve been a Christian all my life.”

Inside I thought about all that I hadn’t said, couldn’t say. I’m hurting and sad. I love Jesus, but in the last six months, I’ve hated myself so much I’ve wanted to die. Can you help me? No. No one can. I already know the rules: Jesus says I have to make my marriage work. But no one warned me that loving my husband would be this hard. Everyone just assumes my struggle is with the Asian culture. How can I say otherwise when divorce is at stake? It’s my fault any way. I haven’t treated him with the respect he needs. I’ll just try harder.

I pulled my attention back to the people around me, shutting down the hurt inside. Jay taught us for the next two hours then we dismissed to the lunch hall. In the afternoon, I returned to the tables with the other students, expecting the lecture to continue. Instead Jay asked us to stand in a circle. He wanted to pray over each of us individually because we were at different places in life and the Lord wanted to speak specific words.

I’d been raised in charismatic circles, and I’ve never doubted that God speaks. So I bowed my head and listened as Jay spoke words of encouragement and hope to the two girls next to me.

When he began to pray for me, he asked respectfully if he could lay his hand on the top of my head. “That’s fine,” I said. He didn’t apply any pressure as he continued praying. Then he took his hand away and said, “The Lord wants you to know—He’s taken away the paddle.”

Paddle? What paddle? I’ve never owned a boat. Confused, I cocked my head and risked a skeptical look at him. He gazed at me, undisturbed by my obvious doubt, and said gently, “The spanking paddle.”

Oh, Jesus. That paddle. Hot tears hit, stinging hard. How had he known? The spanking paddle symbolized my deepest shame. Although my parents had never spanked me without reason or in anger, since being married a crueler paddle had materialized. Not physically, but psychologically. This spanking paddle was big—wide and demanding. It slammed into my backside, ripping shame across every inch of my heart every time my husband “corrected” my behavior as a wife or a mother. The feeling wasn’t just emotional; it was physical. I had to willfully stop myself from putting my hands behind me to protect my anatomy. I had to forcefully tell myself he wasn’t going to hit me, and he never did. Instead the word “divorce” upped the cost of resistance so high that I learned to walk around the parameters of our relationship.

Jay spoke again kindly. “The Lord’s removed the paddle. It’s gone.”

Had He really? Oh, if only He would! I closed my eyes, tears coursing over my cheeks as an emotional whirlpool formed with such sudden intensity that it sucked into its vortex every self-despising thought I’d had. Although I’d passively rebelled and disrespected my husband as well as neglected my kids’ emotional needs, Jesus wasn’t holding up a measuring stick to see if I was worthy of His love. He wasn’t dealing with me as a child in need of a beating but as a daughter in need of His tender touch.

How joyous and wonderful to know the “paddling” wasn’t His will. How glorious to overflow with His love so that I could love without seeking anything in return. And how amazing to know that Jesus never has and never will shame us for our faults. Rather, He sings over us songs of deliverance and pours on us His amazing love, thereby healing our emotions and transforming our thinking to be more like His. That is His Father's heart!