Taking Griffin to his first day of high school this week must be what brought back the memories.  Memories of other big steps he took that I could only watch from a distance.  The first seems like just yesterday afternoon.  But, it was eight years ago.  Just about this time of year.  Dawn Hill Country Club.  Siloam Springs, Arkansas.  Deep end of the pool.  Griffin’s seven-year-old toes are dangling over the edge of the high dive.  He seems unable to take the next step.  I knew I couldn’t push him.  Whatever was going to get him off that board was going to have to come from somewhere deep inside of him where he needed what only taking that next step of shameless abandonment could give him. 

It wouldn’t be pretty, I knew.  But, as with all matters of faith, form is never as important as function.  Then, it happened.  With no warning, he just did it.  He took the next step.  And, it wasn’t pretty.  Arms and legs pointing in all four compass directions and flailing away at the empty air.  No score on the form.  A few seconds later, however, his little head pushed up through the bubbles that had beat him to the surface.  Maybe it was relief or maybe it was hearing the applause of a very proud father.  But, on his face, an ear-to-ear smile announced that he had discovered the joy of faith taking the chance.  No score on the form.  But, on the function, on the meaning of it, a perfect ten. 

At first glance, the Lord’s Prayer seems to be about how to pray, about function.  The disciples, having overheard Jesus pray, had asked him, “‘teach us to pray.’”  And, the Lord’s Prayer is part of his response to their request.  But, if all we do is outline Jesus’ model prayer into three or four clean points on practical steps to effective prayer, we’ve missed the bigger point.  This is not as much about how to pray as it is about when to pray.

That’s not all that obvious if you stop with the “hallowed by your name” part.  It’s only obvious when you read the stories Jesus told along with the prayer.  Stories about a neighbor begging midnight bread from a friend.  About a son asking his father for something to eat.  This is about people in need.  This is about people who can admit they have a need they can’t meet on their own and who have been willing to ask for help.  This is about people who have walked to the edge of all their resources, toes hanging over the edge, and who have nothing left but the choice to take the next step of shameless abandonment we call faith.  Kenny Wood says this is praying you do when you’ve come to that place we’re all working like dogs to avoid.  That place where you find yourself with nothing left but the ability to beg.  This is praying you do when you are asking shamelessly, hat in hand, “Friend, lend me . . . I have nothing.”  This is praying you do when you need Daddy, no matter how old you are.

Standing at the checkout counter, I heard the couple just off to my left coming

toward me.  I only caught a glimpse of their faces in my peripheral vision.  But, I

heard their voices.  Somewhere in the back of the store he had apparently told her of some kind of crisis in his life.  And, this was her counsel, “Just remember, God will never give you more than you can handle.”  Sounds nice, doesn’t it?  Perfect spiritual sound bite.  Fits nicely on a church marquis.  One in bad need of a paint job and new thoughts, too.  “God will never give you more than you can handle.”  Sounds nice.  Only problem, it’s not true, not to mention biblical. 

Well intentioned, it’s an over-popularized sentiment that’s probably a poor interpretation of 1 Corinthians 10:13, “God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.”  Providentially protected from temptations to abandon our faith we would not survive?  Only God knows.  Insulated from “more” pain or heartache or dilemma “than we can handle” within the limits of our self-contained intelligence and skill?  Not on your life!  Next time someone tries to comfort you with that when your heart and back are breaking under the load ask them to quote you chapter and verse.  Tell them you won’t hold your breath. 

Memory number two.  Years before the diving board.  Carrying groceries to the car.  The weight in the bags is stretching the plastic handles to their limit.  “Daddy, let me carry one,” Griffin pleads.  “It’s too heavy, son.”  “Daddy, let me carry one.  I can do it.”  So, I handed him the bag, the one without the eggs, and, two or three steps later when it had pulled him to the ground, he said, “Here, Daddy, you carry it.  It’s too heavy for me.”  A priceless father and son moment, it’s a memory of intimate trust.  A memory, even a relationship, we wouldn’t have if I hadn’t given my son something more than he could handle, even if he did ask for it.

If God never gave us or let us have more than we could handle, we would never learn the joy of intimacy with him.  Intimacy that comes from having to pray, “Friend, lend me, I have nothing.”  God may be “Our hallowed Father, who art in heaven,” but he is also our daddy walking by our side.  Giving strength to the weary, hope to the hopeless.  This is biblical, chapter and verse:  “The Everlasting God, the creator of the ends of the earth does not become weary or tired.  He gives strength.  Though youths grow weary and tired, and vigorous young men stumble badly, yet those who wait on the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary (Isaiah 40:28-31, NASV).”  The Bible is the story about children who get tired and weary – carrying the load of bad marriages, broken health, worthless checkbooks, broken dreams for their children and hopeless futures – and a Father, a Daddy, who is never more than a cry for help away.

It’s like Eric Clapton, Tears In Heaven.  Lyrics he wrote after his four-year-old fell to his death from the balcony of a high rise.  “Time can bring you down.  Time can bend your knees.  Time can break your heart, have you begging please . . . begging pleaaasee!!!”  Chapter and verse, “Friend, lend me, I have nothing.”

Memory number three.  About the same time as the grocery bag incident my son cries from his room.  A broken toy.  He hands it up to me, the tips of his fingers just reaching my belly button, “Here, Daddy, it’s broken.  Can you fix it?”  Shamelessly, he’s admitting he doesn’t have what it takes to fix what’s broken, it’s more than he can handle.  He just gives it to his daddy believing that’s good enough.  I don’t remember fixing the toy.  I’ll never forget that kind of faith.  Where do we lose that along the way?

Back to the man who finally gets the bread he needs at midnight because he begged long enough.  What does that mean?  Does it mean that God has his prayer meter running and when we’ve finally put enough tokens in it he’ll answer?  Really?  Is that the kind of God the Bible tells us about?  And, what does it mean that the man finally got out of bed and gave the neighbor what he was asking for, not because he was his friend, but because of the man’s “boldness he will get up and give him as much as he needs”?  Here is what it means. 

There is a boldness we have when we know we can handle a situation.  We charge in with a square-shouldered-tight-jawed-face-held-high cockiness knowing we’ve got what it takes.  A 350-pound defensive tackle meeting a 200- pound quarterback coming through the line.  No contest!  But, there is also a boldness that comes from having reached down into the barrel of your resources and drawn back a hand full of nothing but splinters from the empty bottom.  A boldness that comes when you have nothing left to hide.  You’re finished.  You’re through.  And, you haven’t bathed in a week.  And, you can’t feed your snot-nosed son who slept with you in the back seat last night and whom you’ve now drug with you into the preacher’s office to ask for a handout because you’re hungrier than you are proud.  This man didn’t get what he needed because he was a friend of the neighbor.  At midnight, his friendship meant nothing.  It was his boldness, born out of a nothing-left-to-lose shamelessness, that got his friend of out bed. 

We don’t get what we need from God because we finally break down heaven’s doors with our bloody-knuckled prayer rapping.  And, we don’t get it because we even have so much as a good friendship with which to barter in heaven’s bargain basement.  If we get what we need at all, it will be because, in shameless trust, we just said, “Here, Daddy, it’s too heavy, can you carry it?”  “Here, Daddy, it’s broken, can you fix it?” 

I was watching one of those MTV kinds of shows this week when the lead singer from a rock group popular in the early 80’s, R.E.O. Speedwagon, was being interviewed.  He talked openly about all the partying he had done.  A partying that became not only more important than the music that made the parties possible, but even more important than his family.  One day his ex-wife asked him to go to the beach with his children.  He said no and they left without him.  As soon as they were out the door he found himself standing in front of the liquor cabinet, at 10:00 in the morning.  That’s when he had the epiphany that led him into recovery.  He’d finally gotten so low, he realized, he’d rather drink than be with his kids. 

The most amazing thing about the interview is how open and shameless he was.  He had nothing left to hide.  But, when you’re a rock star, no one expects you to be good or perfect.  So, you can tell it all.  The problem with church people is that we have so much to hide.  It’s more important for us to impress others with how good we are than it is to be honest about what’s breaking our hearts or shredding our hopes.  We’ve bought the lie that good witnessing is more a matter of well-sculpted public relations and never, ever having anything like failure to confess.  And, we leave people with the impression that God only works with people who’ve already got life figured out and under control.  We’ll pray for the missionaries and for the sick and dying all day long.  But, we won’t dare discuss why we’re sick and dying.  Oh, we’ll cough it up about an overloaded gall bladder or a weak kidney at Wednesday prayer meeting.  But, we won’t dare discuss that anger that has clogged the arteries of our faith and has us struggling with our own private addictions, will we?  Rock stars may be closer to grace than we are not because they’re better than we are but only because they have nothing left to hide.

Memory number four.  On the way to school this week.  Griffin says, “Dad, I’m thirsty.”  It used to be “Daddy.”  Now it’s “Dad.”  But, you know, the last thing a growing man can do is ever admit he feels close enough to say “Daddy.”  Daddy is intimate.  It symbolizes dependence, like a child upon a father.  It’s not cool to be heard calling your dad, “Daddy” when you’re fifteen, or fifty.  So, we grow older and we change the names.  And, the one we used to call sweetheart we now call, “Mother,” after she’s raised our kids.  Just a half step away from intimacy.  But, when you think about it, who wants to be married to, much less go to bed with, “Mother”?  Still, sweetheart is a little too close for comfort.  We used that word when we had less to hide.  Now, we say “Mother,” and keep everyone reminded of what do still have in common after all these years.  Where did we lose our sweetheart along the way?  Simple intimacy when we had nothing left to hide and we were still falling in love.  Where did it go?

“Dad,” Griffin said, “I’m thirsty.”  He didn’t have to ask.  Before he could, I’d already turned the car toward something to drink.  Jesus said our Heavenly Father knows what we need before we even ask.  (Matthew 6:32)  So, why make us ask, as in, “‘Give us each day our daily bread”?  Because, there is nothing more intimate than admitting your vulnerabilities to another person in total trust that they will handle them with grace.  And, Jesus didn’t change the names, either.  He said we should ask our “Abba.”  In church, we say it this way, “Father, hallowed . . .”  On the street in Jesus’ day, “Abba” meant daddy.  It still does.  And, when it comes to faith, you never have to change the name.  You’re always free to say it.  “Daddy, it’s too heavy.  Can you carry it for me?”  “Daddy, it’s broken.  Can you fix it?”  “Daddy, I’m thirsty.  Can I have something to drink?” 

That’s the kind of praying you do when you have nothing left to hide.