Daddy's Coming

Once upon a time, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, my sweet teenage daughter decided to regale me with an unforgettable escapade from her third-grade days. Picture it: a not-so-pleasant day in school, a little girl feeling as green as a grasshopper after a bumpy ride on a rollercoaster. Yep, that was her. Poor thing was rushing to the bathroom like it was the Olympic sprint event, trying to escape the clutches of a particularly naughty tummy.

Finally, in the midst of her tummy turmoil, she figured it was time to call for reinforcements. Off she trotted to the school nurse, hoping for some semblance of relief and maybe the magic ticket to get her mama to whisk her away from the world of math quizzes and cafeteria mystery meat. The nurse, a pro with the compassion of a saint, quickly picked up the phone and made a call. But here's where the plot thickens like mom's famous gravy!

You see, I was busy working at my friend Amy's house that day, and lo and behold, while the nurse dialed a number, she mistakenly reached another Amy! Yes, it was a classic case of "You called the wrong mama!" The unsuspecting nurse handed the phone to my daughter, who assumed she was chatting with the Amy I was helping that very moment. My daughter probably thought I was knee-deep in cleaning and couldn't answer my phone at that moment, so my friend graciously swooped in to help, blissfully unaware of the mix-up.

The nurse wrapped up her call, her face lighting up with a cheeky spark as she turned to my daughter. "Guess what? Your daddy's coming to pick you up!" Cue the suspenseful music, folks! You could almost hear the dramatic strings playing in the background as my daughter's expression shifted from blissful ignorance to total bewilderment in the blink of an eye.

"Wait a minute!" she thought, her tiny brain likely short-circuiting in the best way possible. "Is Jesus coming to my school? And does He even know how to find the place? I mean, I hope He's not lost!"

You see, her daddy had passed away suddenly after her first birthday in a car accident, and to help with the grieving process, I crafted a little family tale for her—one that included the idea that her dad had taken up permanent residence with Jesus. In her innocent and imaginative world, she was one of the lucky few with two daddies: the one who was forever with the angels and the one we called Jesus. With a smile creeping across her face, I couldn't help but chuckle at the magical misunderstanding that was brewing.

She imagined, sitting there in the nurse's office, images of our Lord with a big ol' smile, just waltzing through the school gates, ready to sweep her off her feet. Would He knock on the nurse's door or just float in through the window? The possibilities were endless!

But as the minutes passed, the poor kid's stomach didn't magically settle, and her curiosity was battling her respect for authority. Feeling a mix of illness and sheer awe, she mustered up the courage to sidle back to the nurse, her tiny voice quivering with both fear and determination. "Um, excuse me, Ma'am, I don't actually have a daddy."

The nurse's expression shifted from professional to purely aghast—like she'd seen a ghost. Stammering the words, "Who exactly did I just call?" she queried, her brain scrambling to catch up with the situation. And without missing a beat, my daughter said, "I don't know, but my daddy lives in heaven."

Just when the awkward tension could have filled a balloon, a big, burly man burst through the door, his face a mix of concern and confusion. Sisters and brothers, the nurse turned to him, flustered as she explained the epic mix-up in a rush. Meanwhile, my daughter sat there, probably thinking, "Well, at least I got a free story for the years to come!"

Once the dust settled (and with the nurse hoping for her chance at redemption), she dialed the correct number this time, and guess who arrived in a flash? You got it—this frantic mama sprinting toward school, ready to rescue her baby from the clutches of the miscommunication chaos. I picked my daughter up from school that day, and we laughed until our bellies hurt at the wild adventure that unfolded amidst her tummy troubles.

As I sat listening to my daughter this particular Saturday, reminiscing over her story, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, reminding me of a valuable lesson that we, as adults, often forget. The words of Jesus echoed in my mind, resonating with a profound truth: "I tell you the truth, unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven." (Matthew 18:3 NLT). And then there was His invitation, "Let the children come to me. Don't stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children." (Mark 10:14 NLT).

At that moment, when she heard the words, "Your daddy's coming," my daughter's face lit up with pure joy and a tiny bit of confusion. Still, her first thought, even in her discomfort, was to turn to Jesus. Oh, how wonderful would it be if we could instinctively choose Jesus in every circumstance, just as she did? He, after all, chose us first—laying down His life for you and me.

Imagine how joyful our daily lives would be if we carried that childlike faith with us, remembering that our Father is coming for us. Picture it: He's coming to bring us home, where there are no more upset tummies or pain, no fears to weigh us down. It truly warms my heart to think of His glorious return—coming on the clouds, just as His Word promises.

There's no need to speculate about what will happen next, for He knows exactly where we are in each moment, eagerly anticipating our reunion. I can hardly contain my excitement, and I find myself asking, are you ready to go? Because I know I am ready to see Daddy coming!