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Use the holiday to emulate God’s grace and mercy

I was in kindergarten that year. I went to school in the afternoons, so that left plenty of time for playing in the mornings.

Dad was working on the porch roof. He had the loader tractor bucket raised up level with the roof and it had various and sundry tools in it, along with a bucket of roofing nails. I sat in the seat of the tractor and listened to Dad whistle while he worked, as he always did while he worked on any project.

I played with the tractor’s steering wheel and that little do-hickey that spins and you use it to steer the tractor. I loved spinning that thing. On the right hand side of the steering wheel were the hydraulic levers that worked the bucket.

I had watched him use those many times, but could never figure out which one did what. Did the left one raise and lower the bucket, or did it tip the bucket up and down? I just couldn’t remember. Subsequently, every time I got on that tractor curiosity got the best of me and I always reached over, grabbed a lever and pushed it forward, just so I could see which did what.

But on this sunny September day, I knew I shouldn’t touch those levers, not with Dad depending on it to hold his tools and himself. So I continued to play with the steering wheel do-hickey and listened to the whistling.

Lunchtime came, so Dad and I went in to eat with Mom. It was so much fun to eat lunch with my parents all by myself without the three older siblings around to snatch all their attention. I finished my sandwich and got up to go back out on the tractor.

Knowing his youngest daughter had a difficult time keeping her hands to herself, Dad warned me not to touch the hydraulic levers or everything would fall out of the bucket and nails would be everywhere.

Appalled that he felt the need to give me such a warning, I assured him, in my five-year-old way, I had no intention of touching those levers; I would just sit on the seat and play with the do-hickey thing.

I climbed up on the Oliver 1250, sat down in the big seat and glanced at the levers. No, don’t touch the levers, not even a little touch. No, don’t do it.

Why not?  It’s not like anything will happen. I know which one is which, this one tips it up, and the other tips it down.

No, he warned you, don’t touch those levers. Why would I do a thing like that? I’d never want all those nails to spill out. Dad would be so mad and disappointed in me. No, I don’t want him to be mad at me, I would never even think of touching those levers.
But one little touch won’t hurt … will it? No, of course not, just touch it, that one right there, yes, just … push it … forward …

CRASH! All the tools and the nails went spilling out onto the porch steps.

Oh, what have I done? Why did I do that? He told me not to, why would I do such a thing? Why can’t I just leave things alone? Dad’s gonna be so mad at me, he’ll probably yell at me. What am I gonna do?

I sat in the tractor seat in horror at what I’d done, waiting for my dad to unleash his anger at his hardheaded, disobedient five-year-old redheaded daughter.

Both Mom and Dad came out onto the porch. As I got down off the tractor, nervous and scared, he just looked at me with the forgiving grin of a dad who instinctively knew his daughter would touch the lever.

He put his arm around me, pulled his scared daughter close to his side and said, “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

What my dad offered was a mountain of mercy, grace and forgiveness to a child who didn’t deserve it. His reaction was a demonstration of how our Heavenly Father reacts to us on a daily basis when we knowingly do what He’s told us not to.

Grace and mercy are wonderful gifts to extend to one another. What better time of year to hand these out to those friends who disappoint us, those strangers we’ve never met and those family members who are starving for us to reach out and offer something we’ve always had – but waited too long to give.

Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.

12/17/2008