When my husband and I got engaged, his friend Hal thought it was necessary to educate me on the ways of marriage. Hal was schooled in matrimony by his wife from Venezuela, and now that he was no longer wild and free, he considered himself a marital expert of sorts. We were standing in front of my new undecorated house, and Bruce was helping unload my many heavy bundles from the car.

“Soon, she will call you, Papi, and you will come running,” he predicted. I bristled at the remark. “Papi” is a Spanish term of endearment for Father, but many Hispanic women also use it as a pet name for their husbands.

I looked at Bruce and declared, “I promise you, I will never call you Papi.” That was 8 years ago.

I’ve discovered much about the love of the Father by observing my husband. He delights in playing peekaboo with our grandson. He delays judgment when the phone doesn’t ring on his birthday. He dedicates hours at his workbench to fix a beloved toy. He consistently deposits gifts of grace in our lives and never demands anything in return.

When I am heartbroken and ready to give up, Bruce will often reach out to enclose me in His loving arms and say, “Come to Papa.”

Friends, we are secure in our Father’s embrace. He loves prodigals and cry babies and spoiled brats alike. He longs to shelter us.

I’m sharing “Awaken Y0ur Senses to the Father’s Love” at Flourishing Today.

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