Dreams of Skies
Jeremy Wang
My son, do not despise the LORD’s discipline
or be weary of His reproof,
for the LORD reproves him who He loves
as a father the son in whom he delights
Proverbs 3:11-12 (ESV)
My beloved son Mark,
Since before you were born, I have watched over and walked
beside you. Twenty years ago, when you stepped into that tub
of water with a white robe on, when the pastor spoke those
well-worn words, I looked on.
I watched as you strayed, as the memories of that special day
faded, slowly but surely, into the dark. I watched as you grew
up, floating through the years of high school and college,
meeting and learning more and more about people, forgetting
and losing more and more about your Father. Yet through it
all, I directed your path back towards mine.
I watched as my work gradually came to fruition, as you once
again came to know me in all my glory and love. You devoted
more and more of your time to the pursuit of Me, and your
joy grew as you better understood my character and my love
for you. To watch as my Son’s sacrifice transformed you was a
truly beautiful experience.
Of late, however, your doubt has begun to grow. I have always
told you that the world is not a perfect place (not your home),
with sin and cruelty living beside love and kindness, and I
have always desired for you to believe this wholeheartedly.
But as you have settled into your new family, warm with love,
the world has taken on a rosier shade, and I know that your
newfound comfort and contentedness with this world have
not led to gratitude but have instead fostered an impossible
hope (ambition) that you might build a pocket of perfection
by yourself and for yourself.
Earlier today, you took your daughter and your wife deep
into Chinatown, exploring the cramped bakeries and grimy
restaurants. Between stops, though, you had to walk through
streets filled with the product of this world’s deep-seated
brokenness, with people struggling in every way imaginable.
As so many would, you hustled your family past them as
quickly as possible, but young Lucy inevitably stopped and
stared, curious about these people so different from anyone
she has ever known.
I saw you grow exasperated, and I watched, disappointed, as
the corners of your mouth tightened in disapproval. Your wife
was more patient, but soon she too decided that she had seen
enough.
“Let’s go, Lucy! We don’t have all day. Daddy wants to take us
to one last place, a very special one.”
Taking your daughter by the hand, she walked with you down
the street. But when Lucy saw a skinny old man, clothes and
face and hope worn down by years of hard living, sobbing on
the street, both of you stopped, astonished. Lucy, grabbing a
tissue from your wife’s purse, had rushed out from under your
watchful eyes and offered it to the man.
The man looked up in amazement before fleeing down a side
alley. The moment passed, but I knew that it would influence
your thoughts, lead you further down your troublesome path.
Your family returned home late at night, and you immediately
tucked Lucy into bed. I watched as you sat down at the oaken
table by the fire and composed a note:
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