About My Father’s Business
As I approached my front door, I noticed a small brown package. I picked it up and inspected the exterior. It was nicely wrapped but showed obvious signs of wear and tear. My name was on it, but it seemed to be coming from an unfamiliar address in… Russia? Why was I receiving a package from Russia? I hadn’t ordered anything recently from there. I stared at the package for a moment before realizing what it was. It was the book I had been eagerly waiting for! Excitement beamed across my face as I quickly entered my house, closed the door, and admired the package. I couldn’t wait to show my husband, Jay. We had been eagerly anticipating our favorite author’s new book for over a year, but it always sold out before we could order a copy. After many failed attempts, Jay gave up on pre-ordering from the author’s website and decided to wait for a third-party website to restock it. When I finally preordered a copy, Jay insisted he would still get his copy before mine. Now, my book had arrived before his. Jay would be so jealous, and I couldn’t wait to rub it in.
With the book still in my hands, I dropped my bag on the floor and called out for Jay. When I didn’t get a response, I sprinted up the stairs and barged into our bedroom.
“Jay, guess what I ha—” When I saw my husband’s face, I dropped my book and ran to his side.
“Jay, what happened?” His shoulders slumped, and tears welled up in his eyes.
When he saw my concern, he attempted to adjust his demeanor, blinking away his tears and forcing a grin.
“Nothing, my dear. How was your day, babe?” He tried to touch my shoulder, but I backed away, staring coldly at him.
Seeing that I wasn’t buying his lie, he turned his face away.
“I’m f-fine. It’s just that my sister called. The caterer for my grandmother’s birthday quit. I don’t know what to do anymore, Izzy. It’s less than a month until her party, and we don’t have anyone who can make our native dishes.”
Jay stared intently at his feet. He had been planning this party for a year, investing tens of thousands of dollars. He was determined to give his grandmother the best 80th birthday party ever, including her favorite native dishes. I understood his frustration; those dishes were complex, and finding a caterer for such an event was challenging in our small Oklahoma town. I bit my tongue and sighed.
“I can cater.”
He looked at me, his eyes widening. Although I was an excellent cook, he knew I disliked it. I especially disliked making his native dishes due to their complexity and stress. Whenever we craved them, we ordered out. Cooking them for a large event would be even more stressful and time-consuming. I have to drive for 4 hours to get to the nearest African store. It would take me at least 3 days to prepare and cook for all those people.
“Izzy, you don’t even like to cook, let alone our tribal dishes. We’re expecting over 100 guests. How will you cater to all of them? You barely enjoy cooking for the two of us. And don’t you have an exam coming up?”
I bit my tongue again. He was right. I didn’t like cooking, especially his native dishes, and I had my professional exam coming up. However, I knew how much this party meant to him.
“I do, but I would do it for you and grand—”
He shook his head. “Izzy, you do—”
“No, Jay.” I sat upright, staring at him sternly. “If it matters to you, it matters to me. Your problems are my problems, and your burdens are my burdens. I may not love cooking, but I love you. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you.” Softening my gaze, I caressed his chin.
As our eyes locked, I saw his façade crumble, tears welling up once more. He knew I wasn’t lying; there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him.
“I know, babe. Thank you.”
He adjusted himself, sitting up straight in bed, the sparkle returning to his eyes.
“Now, what was it that you wanted to tell me?”
Love is a beautiful thing. When we love someone, we feel their pain; their joy becomes ours, and their pain becomes ours. We desire their happiness, willing to climb mountains and compromise for them. We spend money, sacrifice our most prized possessions. Love is measured by sacrifice. Do we truly love if we can’t sacrifice?
Lately, the Lord has been challenging me about the love I claim to have for Him. If I truly love the Father, it must reflect in my actions. The same way Izzy was willing to sacrifice her time and resources for the man she loved, I must also be prepared to expend my time, energy, and finances in pursuit of matters close to the Father’s heart. This fundamentally reshapes our perspective on serving the Lord. Our service isn’t merely obedience to commands; it’s an expression of our love for Him (John 14:15). Just as a mother sacrifices sleep for her children, a boy parts with his money for the girl he cares for, a wife invests her energy in her husband, and a brother dedicates his time to his younger sister, we too must step beyond our comfort zones for our Father.
Hence, if His heart resonates with the plight of lost sons and daughters, ours must resonate likewise. We should actively endeavor to reconcile lost souls with Him. If our Father deeply cares for the well-being of orphans, widows, and the marginalized, our concern must mirror His. We ought to prioritize extending generosity to the less fortunate. And if our Father abhors sin, injustice, and wickedness (James 1:27), our stance should be no different. We must actively pursue justice, truth, and equality, advocating for the rights of the oppressed (Malachi 6:8; Proverbs 21:3; Isaiah 1:17). It’s incumbent upon us to stretch beyond our comfort zones in pursuit of what matters to our Father because, ultimately, love is always evidenced through sacrifice.
