Parents: A Blessing or a Cursing

Moses descends from the back of Mt. Sinai to bring two tablets that outline the rules in which life will be governed. On that list is “honor” your father and mother. I have to be honest; it is extremely hard for me to believe such a commandment should be so universal.

I agree with Frederick Buechner in his book Wishful Thinking when he says,
“How do you honor them when, well-intentioned as they may be, they make terrible mistakes with you that have shadowed your life ever since?”
Or how about when they abandon you? Or they abuse you, either sexually, emotionally, or physically? Or what about the people who left home, went off to college and formed a faith that radically opposed that of their parents? These people find themselves disenchanted after questioning the faith that ‘mom and them’ gave ‘em. Or what about the females who accepted a call from God to go to seminary despite their parents said they were forbidden? What about the young men who discover they are homosexual and now are disbarred from their family trees? What about the young lady who never met her dad? Or the boy who was raised by unbelievers? What about the crack baby born into a hostile environment? Or the girl whose parents just give too little too late? Are these people required by God to “honor” their parents?

Life is not worth living in fear, denial, or guilt because of an out-of-date commandment.

I think a big reason why we struggle to see a need to honor our parents is because we long for a well overdue blessing.

I’m blessed to be raised by Christian parents. They are good people. My mom has taught special needs kids for 33 years. My dad has pastored the same church my entire life. They have sacrificed more for me and my brothers than any parent probably should.

But I lived the majority of my childhood radically smart-aleck. And over time the smart comments turned into disdain. As a teenager I was kind of mean. Probably because I am the younger of two highly successful brothers. I spent the majority of middle school and high school years parading around ballparks watching my brother play baseball. I quickly grew a thick callus and tried not to show it but I was longing and in desperate need of my parents’ blessing. I tried every way to find it. I acted up. I intentionally broke rules. I even attempted to accomplish all the things my other brothers accomplished – president of afterschool clubs, high GPA, play four sports. But nothing seemed to bring to me what it looked like my brothers were getting from mom and dad. I longed for a blessing.

It wasn’t until my sophomore year in college, I was preaching at a summer camp for LifeWay called Crosspoint. I remember my parents came to West Alabama University to hear me preach. After the worship service mom and dad looked at me with tears in their eyes and for the first time in my life I heard them bless me. All it took was to hear them say, “We are so proud of you!” All the pain, all the resentment, all the emotional energy – was released. I was finally somebody’s son. They had told me countless times before and in many fashions that they were proud of me but this was the first time I believed it. It wasn’t because I achieved something or earned a grade or received an award. I was just finally becoming me. I was at a place where I was comfortable enough to accept their blessing as well as their shortcomings and honor them for it.

Becoming who God made you to be might be the best way you could ever honor your parents.

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