Imagine yourself as a child in a Christmas-time shopping mall, running from one light-emblazoned display to another; so many wonders to choose from, so little time. Suddenly you spot the one thing in the whole world that you really, really, really want, so you look up to tell Daddy, but only strangers surround you.
“Daddy?” You look around. “Daddy?!” with more force. “Daddy!” you scream, but no familiar, loving faces look down to you.
Psalm sixty-one begins with King David calling out to his Father God, “from the end of the earth.” This might read, “From the end of my self will I cry unto thee.” The self, when it is separated from God, is a barren rock, or a sandy shoal, shifting with the wind and tides. When I stray from the identity I know—meaning Christ, if I belong to God—I find myself in an “outer darkness,” with no compass point to guide me homeward.
Like small children when we find ourselves lost, we cry out to Daddy (or Mommy, when Daddy isn’t around) to deliver us from the big, bad unknown. The great problem for most people is not knowing their Heavenly Daddy, or knowing Him, forgetting what He looks like.
King David knew that fear, that calling out from an overwhelmed heart. His response? “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”
Even now, after walking with my Savior for forty-one years, I find myself chasing after the world’s pretty lights and fake santas. How often have I paused to look up for my Daddy’s smile, only to find Him distant? Distant, maybe, but always there, within reach of my little hand.