Fathers, Forgive Your Sons, For They Know Not What They Are Doing
Growing up, I had a strenuous relationship with my dad. Looking back, I understand why he was strict with my siblings and I. Kenyans who have grown up in the countryside know that farming is core to our livelihoods.
During school breaks, our dad made us wake up very early to tend to livestock before rushing us to his farm. We would work almost all day with an hour break for lunch — which we almost always took while standing. We felt that he was a dictator and unjust; furthermore, we were just children and needed a rest. But he always accompanied us to work.
In my teen years, I started rebelling. It became worse when I went to a boarding high school. During school holidays, it was work and nothing but work. My dad really was a taskmaster. During one August break, we were tasked with harvesting corn from his farm and later preparing the land for coming rains. It was a lot of work. I was only 15 and sickly.
When I returned to school in September, I became seriously ill, probably from exhaustion during the break. When I contacted my dad to inform him of my illness and to send money to get medication, he called me names and outrightly told me I had become stiff-necked. He told me that if education was proving difficult, I could join them at home. That lit my fuse. After moments of crying, I texted him,
“I am no longer your son from today on. If you wish, come and get the fees back from school. But for me, I am done!”
At this point, I didn’t care and wanted nothing to do with my dad.
Unfortunately for me, my dad wasn’t done with me. He came to school the following day. My heart sank when I saw him at the gate, and I expected the worst. When I was called into the principal’s office to meet him, I could count my heartbeats. Instead of lashing out at me, my dad started laughing- and loudly!
Less than 24 hours ago, I had disowned him and never expected him to be friendly about it. After a short conversation and explaining my condition to both him and the principal, he checked me into a local clinic for treatment. I was well enough to be back in class a day later, but this incident taught me about parental love.
However, this wasn’t the incident that brought us closer or proved grace.
There were other incidents after this that made our relationship even sourer over the years. It got worse when I went to college, and my dad wanted to retain absolute control over my working schedule and ministry engagements. We usually had a three-month break after every academic year. After my freshman year, I went home to stay with my parents and help out on the farm. To me, this was a sign of maturity on my side since I would have easily gone for a paying job in the city.
Toward the end of this break, we had our worst of the worst fights. Emotions were high, and everyone wanted to establish their correctness. I felt my dad was holding me back from ministry, and he felt I needed to obey him without dissent as long as I was under his roof. It wasn’t working for us. He cursed me. I didn’t care. I was done with him, again! I told him off and got ready to leave home for good. The room went silent. Everyone was tense. Mom cried. I cried.
After a few minutes of deafening silence, my dad spoke in a way I had never heard him speak. He was humble, and his voice was broken. To cut a long story short, that day started the next chapter of our lives. A new relationship was forged — a father-son partnership. This relationship has lasted a decade, and although no one wants to recall that fateful morning, I can’t help but remember how it changed my life forever.
I know you are wondering what was different in our conversation. I think God spoke to my dad that morning. He explained to me how his strictness was based on love, that he wanted what was best for me, and that he couldn’t stand by the sidelines to see any of his children get lost. To my disbelief, he said he was sorry and asked for my forgiveness.
That morning, he wasn’t talking as my father but as an alienated friend who was ready for reconciliation. He also left the door open for me to do whatever I felt was best, but whenever I was ready, I could also go to him for forgiveness. My heart was broken! The same morning, I also asked for his forgiveness.
We agreed to never speak about that morning again. But when I started a book on forgiveness, God kept reminding me how forgiveness and love fit into the grace equation. Parental love and forgiveness were what I needed to heal. Before this encounter, I struggled with bitterness and low self-esteem. All I needed was to know that my father was backing me up. I craved his love. I unlocked a new level of grace, and my ministry changed. I became more confident because I knew I had the backing of both my heavenly and earthly fathers.
