From Competence to Counsel

A couple of years back a group of young adults from my church set off on an adventure. They were heading out of town to a much-anticipated camporee. The first part of their journey was effortless—the main road was straightforward, clearly marked with mile markers that reassured them they were on the right path. There were clear road signs and occasional sturdy guardrails on either side of the road to keep them on course. So they drove on, confident, starry-eyed, and excited.

The instructions were clear: once they reached a specific junction leading to an off-road track, they were to contact the camp masters for further instructions. They had been warned that that particular trail had no signs, no arrows, nor any overtly clear indicators whatsoever. At the junction, however, they assessed the situation and, from their vantage point, could see the campsite—a vibrant splash of colors, tents, and banners littering the green hill. That, they determined, was their beacon, their compass to find the campsite. So with a collective sense of determination, they charted their path, confident that they would be able to get there on their own.

They turned left and then right and then left again, each turn plunging them deeper into a thick maze and a bumpy road. And with every meter they advanced, their visible beacon slowly vanished from their sight. Just as their confidence would waver, they’d see trail tracks from bus wheels that had gone before them. Their resolve reinforced; they’d go even deeper into the thicket. But as the sun sank into the elusive horizon, their excitement and adventurous spirit gave way to restlessness and frustration. Finally they conceded and did what they should have done earlier; they called the camp masters and asked for a guide. The skilled attendant found them in no time and helped the driver trace a clear trail to the campsite.

Going Off-road

Growing up in a traditional Adventist home, my parents established godly family traditions. The routines were clear: morning prayers, evening devotions, rest and wonderful fellowship every Sabbath, and occasionally midweek church club meetings. I was never conflicted about my spirituality during my formative years. It helped that my parents were consistent—the people we were at church were the people we were at home. These things worked to establish distinct internal systems and mental pathways for operation. Ours wasn’t a flawless household. Far from it. But my parents modeled a conscientious submission of our imperfections at the altar. Needless to say, the first leg of my life journey, with the tender and present guidance of my God-fearing parents, was straightforward and generally smooth.

You could imagine, then, that I was truly well equipped for the off-road trail—the independence of living outside the nest. By many standards I was trained to bloom on my own, and supposedly knowledgeable enough to consult when in doubt. Throughout the proverbial defining decade of my 20s, in that transitional yet definitive season, I approached life self-assured. My hands were full, extremely full, of every arsenal and every tool one could think of.

You see, beyond being strong-willed and quick-witted, I am also inclined to self-sufficiency. Add this to my anxious nature, and had I been on that bus with the young adult group, I’d have been the first to come up with a dozen different ways to get to the campsite in record time. And yes, you guessed right: none of the methods I’d have presented would have included asking for a guide. It’s a no-brainer, then, that in my life journey I have often taken detours in self-assured judgment. Exploring off-road trails, I would capitalize on my perceived wisdom, following mirages and inclinations. Granted, there are times I would somehow find my way, but often I’d be on winding paths that often led to dead ends and deep frustration.

You and I are equipped with foundational tools such as intelligence and skill. We can (and must) use the knowledge we’ve acquired to plan, create, and build. Yet for a Christian, that shouldn’t be where our confidence lies. The Bible presents the Christian as a sheep. A helpless sheep (Ps. 23:1) that has no want—such a paradox! Yet it is in its recognition of its utter helplessness that all the sheep’s needs are met. My competencies, as valuable as they are, can never replace my utter dependence on an infinite God and gentle Shepherd. So when I reach a crossroad as I navigate the journey of life, with compass, map, and navigation system in hand, my first impulse should be to ask the Lord to show me the way to go.

Our competencies, as valuable as they are, can never replace our utter dependence on an infinite God and gentle Shepherd.

The Legacy of an Earthly Guide

I have always understood from the Bible that honoring my father and mother means obeying them in the Lord. It is a duty I accepted, a path to a long and prosperous life. But my understanding of this principle truly deepened when I began reading Ellen G. White’s writings. She presents a broader, deeper perspective, a higher principle, then translates this into actionable duties.

“God has bound our hearts to Him by unnumbered tokens in heaven and in earth,” she says. “Through . . . the deepest and tenderest earthly ties that human hearts can know, He has sought to reveal Himself to us,”[1] she expounds. As a foundational principle, I have come to recognize that God would have me learn of Him through my earthly parents. To help me understand my duty to Him, God has supplied me with stewards here on earth, entrusted with the responsibility of guiding me. This understanding has led me into a deeper, more meaningful relationship with my parents.

In her book Child Guidance Ellen White writes: “Upon all parents rests the obligation of giving their children physical, mental, and spiritual instruction.”[2] My parents have been, and faithfully remain, my first teachers and instructors. Their instruction and example were the foundation of the development of my character, social graces, and mental powers.

“If you are blessed with God-fearing parents,” Inspiration writes, “seek counsel of them. Open to them your hopes and plans, learn the lessons which their life experiences have taught, and you will be saved many a heartache.”[3]

“Who are so well calculated to point out their dangers as godly parents?” Ellen White offers. “Who can understand their peculiar temperaments so well as they?”[4]

With the benefit of time and perspective, I am now persuaded that there is an infinite, timeless resource in godly and present parents. As an old African proverb says: “An old man sitting under a tree can see what a young man perched on that tree cannot see.” We don’t have to grope in the darkness. We have the privilege of a beacon and a guide.

The independent spirit is then recalibrated to embrace the invaluable resources that we have in God-fearing parents. The obligation to honor (and therefore consult) is “binding upon childhood and youth, upon the middle-aged and the aged.”[5] There is no period in life during which we are to be excused from this high calling. Despite maturity or apparent independence, parents have not been called to relinquish this stewardship, nor children to sever the ties.

Testimony

By opening my heart to my parents in conversation and receiving their counsel, I have evaded many a snare, I have boldly advanced into ventures that I would have otherwise ignored, I have stayed put in situations when my inclination was to run, and I have crawled when my inclination was not to move. I might have a dozen pathways to my expected end, but in their experience and God-given wisdom, my parents often see a smoother, safer trail—an alternative for me to consider.

As the conversations draw me in and bind my affections to my parents, I have seen the ripples spread into other spheres of our interactions. Scripture bears the concept of intentional reciprocation: Consider Ruth, the Moabite. While she is still in her prime, life gives her an opportunity for a fresh start after her husband dies. When her mother-in-law bids her to move on, in the sight of God and through our finite lens she has every right to do so. As the young woman basks in the myriad possibilities God has for her life, her vision turns to her mother-in-law by her side. She chooses to stay with her aging mother-in-law to serve and bless her. God honors her choice and honors her.

Ellen White writes, “Let not the heart of one connected with you starve for the want of kindness and sympathy.”[6] As they pour into me, I am learning to pour into my parents as well. It is by receiving freely and lavishly given expressions of affection and sympathy that aging parents find consolation in their latter years. Ministering to their comfort brings a deep sense of satisfaction to both parties. Children are instructed to “lighten their cares, to guard their reputation, and to succor and comfort them in old age,”[7] bringing “all the cheerfulness and sunshine” into their lives and smoothing their pathway to the grave.[8] So I must seek to understand the peculiarities of their evolving characters and personalities, and be patient with their infirmities.

Honoring my parents, I am persuaded, is both a duty and a privilege. And as inspired writings transform this concept from an abstract thought into practical, actionable principles, I am persuaded that “there is no better recommendation in this world than that a child has honored his parents, no better record in the books of heaven than that he has loved and honored father and mother.”[9]

Look Higher

In building and rebuilding the relationship with my parents, I have come to realize that a call to continually honor and love my parents is also a call to service. Service not only to my biological parents but also to all the older people God has brought into my life. It is a call to submission to the authorities that God has placed over me, a call to authenticity—to striving more to be than to seem; and a call to sacrifice—to look beyond myself and to acknowledge my own helplessness.

But beyond this, looking again, and this time, higher, I behold an ever-present heavenly Father who already knows my frame, and remembers that I am dust; a Father who is willing and oh-so-eager to present me faultless, in the presence of His glory with exceeding joy; One who promises to instruct me, saying, “This is the way, walk in it” (Isa. 30:21). The commitment to honor my parents is a clarion call to look again, and look higher—to behold God as my gentle Shepherd, a wonderful Counselor, and an ever-loving Father.

We may be partakers of the godly nature. “Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is” (1 John 3:2).

[1] Ellen G. White, Steps to Christ (Mountain View, Calif.: Pacific Press Pub. Assn., 1956), p. 10.

[2] Ellen G. White, Child Guidance (Nashville: Southern Pub. Assn., 1954), p. 493.

[3] Ellen G. White, Messages to Young People (Nashville: Southern Pub. Assn., 1930), p. 435.

[4] Ellen G. White, The Adventist Home (Nashville: Southern Pub. Assn., 1952), p. 73.

[5] Ibid., p. 292.

[6] Ellen G. White, The Ministry of Healing (Mountain View, Calif.: Pacific Press Pub. Assn., 1905), p. 360.

[7] E. G. White, The Adventist Home, p. 293.

[8] Ibid., p. 361.

[9] Ibid.