Arrow

Peace. Who resembles God?

That is the name of my son. Well, that's the meaning of it, anyhow.

On the fourth day of the third month of 2013 the good God, my Father in heaven, blessed us with our beloved Oliver Michael Jones.

Oliver

His namesake comes from a good name I've always liked.

It comes from the olive tree. A symbol of peace.

Michael

Its a question "who resembles God?"... a rhetorical reminder that you, oh man, are not God... but you certainly ought to reflect His glory as best you can. In fact, you ought to ask the question "who resembles Him?" when you look in the mirror every day. Does your life radiate out the glory and mercies of a king who came to die as a ransom to save all who would trust His word from their penalty due?

My father gave this name to my brother and the man who was actively used of God to shape me in ways I could never have imagined was named Michael Piatt. I said he was my hero. He didn't save me but he sure did show me what it meant to be a man.

He would often say this:

The less I am the more He is.

This name thing is intentional. My son will walk through this world carrying invisible reminders of what it means to walk in the light, what it means to be broken for the sake of being better, and what it means to be a man.

There is a strength in weakness that I want him to know like the stars know to shine.

We stayed in the hospital for a few days. Turns out, little Ollie was sideways and had to be forcibly evicted via Cesarian.

If you want to know what it’s like to realize you're a dad it’s kind of like this.

You're sitting on a steel bench and you see a light in the distance. It seems to be getting closer. There is a vibration in the ground. A sound echos in through the night. This howl seems to get closer as this light gets brighter and suddenly in the moment where you realize what this thing is you are forever changed.

I said its KIND of like this because its much better than getting hit by a train, however, I will contend the effect is just as profound. If it doesn't change you... well... I just don't know what to say.

This happened, though, I was holding my son, my newborn fresh from the oven pink as a piglet tiny as a football son and I noticed three letters on my hospital issued wrist band:

D-A-D

They call that point of impact.

I am no immovable object and I did, for a fact, encounter an unstoppable force. Over the last week I've been blessed with this new insight on what it means to love and be loved. I imagine the depth that I love my son. It has no bottom. He can't do anything to shuck that. He can't be bad enough. He can't break my heart enough. He can't go far enough. He can't even die and escape my love.

And here's what echoes through my mind as I try to process this: 

"That's the way I chose to love you"

For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten son that whosoever might believe in Him should not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16)

He CHOSE me. As puny and sad as I am. As arrogant and hostile this flesh has been towards Him He CHOSE ME. I, a creature who hated Him, am now an adopted son by the grace of God through faith in Jesus Christ.

But there is a difference between God's love for His adopted children and mine for my son. That difference is not choice because I have chosen to love my son. I have chosen to love him with a ferocious unrelenting kind of love... but that is still a faint shadow... a puny example of the infinitely glorious unending gracious love that He has poured out on those of us who trust in Him.

This is the legacy I strive to leave for my son.

I will fail at times but by the grace of God when He's asked who is king he won't point anywhere but up.