Every father who has a daughter must face that day when he has to give her up. In fact, I suspect that if I read all the books available on the subject, I’d find that the “giving up” occurs in stages over the life of the father-daughter relationship. You give up a little when she first goes to school. You give up a little when she has her first boy friend. You give up a little when she goes to high school. You give up a little when she goes away to college. And you give up anything that’s left when she gets married.

It was meant to be that way, I think. The universe exists on gradual change. Man has very neatly marked the beginning of each of the earth’s seasons, but those artificial demarcations are of little importance to the planet. The winds blow as they will and the rains fall as they must. And each new sunrise brings us an imperceptibly different world that gradually shakes a new set of leaves, and lives, at our feet.

Our frail human natures demand the subtlety. Imagine what would happen if the earth rotated only once an hour. How would the citizens of Cincinnatti feel if they were suddenly jarred into Kansas City, and then, an hour later, into Denver. If they survived the physical trauma, I doubt they’d survive the emotional distress. Dorothy may be able to go to sleep in Kansas and wake up in Oz, but the rest of us need a little time to read the road signs along the way.

And Oz is, as I get to the point, where I live. My personal tornado was the departure of my daughter from our house. My “giving up” appears to be occuring in one cruel gust of wind. Adopted by us six years ago at the age of ten, our daughter has run away.

The whos, whats, wheres, whens, and even the whys, are not important now.

Dads aren’t supposed to stand in the corner. But, for me, it was the best way to learn about fatherhood.

The adoption of older children is not an easy proposition. It’s often hard for the parents. And it’s often hard for the children. So when my wife and I decided several years ago to adopt a 10 year old girl and her 7 year old brother as our only children, we needed all the help we could get. And all the prayers we could muster.

Although we have tried to give our son and daughter a normal life, there will always be a part of them that is anything but normal. They, like almost all older children up for adoption, had experienced more pain in their few years than most of us will endure in our lifetimes. There are precious few books on the issues we have had to face and even fewer parental peers with whom to face them. Parenting for us, then, truly became an exercise in our faith.

One such exercise occurred the weekend of the opening of the 1988 Winter Olympics. As was usual in our early months together, our kids had committed a major offense on Saturday night. It was as if they had hoarded bad-behavior coupons all week long and then redeemed them all at once in one Saturday sin spectacular. I can’t remember now what they did that particular weekend, but I certainly remember my paternal pain. How could we deal with this particular offense, and how could we constructively punish these repeat offenders? We decided to defer sentencing until Sunday.

My Sunday morning was somber. An axe was going to have to fall sometime that day, but it was going to have to be after church. If our kids had known of their pending fates before we left the house, they would have been miserable during church and probably would have “shared” their misery with us and others. No, judgement time would have to be later that day. But the sermon that Sunday morning changed my decision, my afternoon, and my life.

I had determined early in the morning that there was no alternative but to administer two licks and to assign an hour of corner time to each child. Rules were rules, and my kid’s had to learn them. But the pastor’s sermon that morning was on unconditional love. And his challenge during the closing prayer was for each of us to find one way during the coming week to show God’s unconditional love to those around us. It took less than a second for my answer to that particular prayer. I was to take my kids’ punishment for them.

My new decision felt good for all of about five minutes. Then reality sunk in. Give myself licks? Put myself in the corner? Miss the Olympics? I prayed for a second opinion. Nothing. But daddy’s don’t do corner time, I petitioned again. Nothing again. My fate was sealed. I believed in prayer then, and I believe in prayer now. I asked. He answered. And that was that.

After lunch we had our family conference. I explained to the children the punishment necessary for their offenses. They understood and were prepared to accept their fate. Then I explained the new decision. I reminded them that Christ had taken our sins upon Himself and that He had taken our punishment for us. I said that I was glad to now take their punishment for them and hoped that someday they would remember this incident and realize more fully it’s spiritual significance. I asked them to please accept my gift and to enjoy the Olympics. I then gave myself four good licks and went to the corner for two hours.

What happened next still amazes me. I had thought that the lesson to be learned that day would be for my children. And, certainly, there was a great lesson there for them. But the real lesson was to be learned by me. My family was overwhelmed by my actions and their first response was to show their constant gratitude and concern. Every few minutes someone would come around and thank me and ask how I was doing. Soon, however, the “worshiping” dwindled. Then they turned to work. They just couldn’t enjoy themselves knowing what I had done. They did the laundry. They cleaned the house. They did everything they could to show their appreciation except the one thing I wanted them to do: accept my gift and enjoy the afternoon. After a while, I became an embarrassment. Fathers aren’t supposed to be in corners. They passed without speaking. They turned away.

After a while I began to understand what was going on. I had wanted my children to understand how to receive my sacrifice, but first I had to understand the nature of it myself. I wanted it to free them. I wanted it to give them joy. I wanted it to give them peace. But their gratitude had turned to guilt. And their guilt had turned to rejection. And then it hit me. It was not my sacrifice I was contemplating in my solitude. It was His.

You cannot understand Fatherhood until you truly understand Sonship.