Grace

Today in church I was reminded of a lesson that my dad taught me years and years ago that I never forgot. This is the one lesson that I know I will never forget, and is possibly the most important.

When I was a child, I had a bad habit of disobeying. It was a frequent habit that I never grew out of…and almost always there were (and still are) clear and painful consequences.

I can still vividly remember one evening when I chose to directly disobey my father and had to face the consequences. My brother, sister and I were messing around building Lego creations in my brothers room, which was not a bad pastime on its own. However, the fact that my dad had put us to bed and specifically told us to stay there made it so. He knew we had a habit of getting out of bed when we weren’t supposed to and not falling asleep like we should. So he made it clear: climbing out of bed tonight would result in immediate consequences. We told him we understood and crawled into bed.

Of course, we didn’t stay there long.

While my dad was down in the “dungeon”, we were above him playing and having a good time. Usually we were able to hear when he would climb back up the ramp into the garage and were able to scramble back to bed before he re-entered the house. This time, however, our plan failed. He caught us as we were running back into bed. We knew we were sunk. We knew we had directly disobeyed. And we knew the consequences were sure to follow.

A spanking in the Richardson household usually went a bit like this:

We would sullenly, amidst tears and blubbering, be led into my mom and dads room where we would sit down on their squishy waterbed and wait for the anticipated discipline. My dad would talk with us and ask us to explain exactly what we had done wrong. We were never punished for something we didn’t deserve, and we always understood why we were being spanked. After our spanking, my dad would cradle us in his arms until he could feel us relax, knowing that at that point we weren’t upset with him for spanking us and that we had submitted our will. He would hug us until we had stopped crying, and we never left the room without a throbbing bottom, a sticky face, and a deeper relationship with my dad. Sometimes we even left smiling.

This time was different. Instead of witnessing the punishment of my siblings, my dad had each of us wait in the bathroom for our turn. My brother went first. Sara and I sat there, stomachs churning, expecting to hear the action taking place in the other room. Instead, all we heard was a loud, clear “smack!”. And silence. Seth rejoined us in the bathroom, looking slightly puzzled, and with a summons for me.

I walked into the bedroom and took my place on dads lap. He talked with me for a moment, and then I positioned myself, breath caught up in my chest and muscles tightened in preparation for the first spanking. Instead, all I heard was a “smack!” and felt no pain. I was confused. I clearly deserved a spanking, but for some reason wasn’t receiving one.

I realized that the “smack” I heard had come from my father spanking himself. Instead of spanking me, he had hit his own leg. Instead of allowing the pain, the punishment, and the consequences for my actions to land squarely where I deserved, he took them for me. He bore my punishment. I deserved it. I had done wrong. But he hurt himself instead.

I was shocked. It wasn’t fair. I almost would have rather had my dad spank me instead of inflicting pain on himself. He didn’t deserve it. I did.

He then explained to me that what he had just done was a picture of what Christ did for me on the cross. I disobeyed: I deserved a spanking. I have sinned: I deserve death. And yet Christ took the burden of all the wrong I have done and will do and died on a cross so I wouldn’t have to pay the ultimate price for my sin: separation from the God who made me and eternity in hell.

Thank you, Lord, for your Grace. Thank you for taking the punishment that I so rightfuly deserved.

And thank you, Dad, for teaching me such a clear lesson that I will never forget.