Proverbs 17:25
A foolish son is a grief to his father, and bitterness to her that bare him.
Foolish children bring grief to their father and bitterness to the one who gave them birth. (NLT)
This is an easy one for me to write given the many times I brought grief to my parents. However, I could blame them. I could say that it was their fault for moving to England when I was eleven years old. Perhaps if we had remained in Guernsey I would have been a better student, and a more respectful son. The friends I left behind in the island all stayed on at school until they were eighteen, and then went to university. I don’t recall that any of them got into much trouble.
Surroundings and friends definitely played a part, but at the end of the day it was me who made the decisions. I chose to mix with the bad kids and mess around at school. I chose to start drinking alcohol at fifteen, and I chose to start smoking. I chose to bring grief to my parents. They must have been secretly relieved when I joined the Merchant Navy at sixteen. At least they could no longer see what I was getting up to. But that didn’t stop me from being a foolish son. What stopped me was the need to be responsible in a working environment that was dangerous at times.
Fast forward many years and I have four sons, one daughter, and one grandson. There may have been occasions when one or more them (but not the grandson) have caused grief, but fortunately not so many. That is something for which I am very grateful to my heavenly Father. We sometimes forget that we cause Him grief too when we act foolishly as sons, daughters, husbands, wives, fathers and mothers. It is a huge relief to know that He made a way for fools to be forgiven, and foolish behavior forgotten.
March 21st, 2013 at 10:53 pm
Thank you, David, for that candid post.
March 22nd, 2013 at 7:19 am
Anthony – I guess that the effect on family is one of the risks faced by pastors. We moved from a pleasant island, where my father pastored four chapels in a Baptist circuit, to a church on what would be called a housing project in the US. Some of the mixing with the bad kids was necessary to survive. The five years we spent there were probably the most difficult my father faced during his ministry. Obviously I didn’t help matters. I recall that Dad wasn’t very happy when he got a call from the police asking him to come and collect me from the police station!
April 20th, 2013 at 9:43 am
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