Sabbath School

Because He Loves Me

Embraced despite imperfection

Natasha Dysinger

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Because He Loves Me
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When I was about five years old, friends of ours got a marble machine. My siblings and I were briefly able to play with it and were delighted. A few days later, I remember spotting the small cardboard roll from inside a spent roll of toilet paper. Perhaps it was the tube-like shape, but I immediately had the idea that I could use such tubes to make my own marble machine. I wondered how I could get those little cardboard tubes out from inside full toilet paper rolls, but eventually thought better of it, thankfully. Instead, I made an announcement to my family that no one was to throw away even a single cardboard tube; they were to give it to me. I was hereby collecting them.

As you can imagine, progress in the collection process was muchtoo slow for an impatient and excited five-year-old. So, after time had passed and I only had two of them, I got to work. I took some tape, glue, child scissors, paper, and some cotton balls for good measure. I quickly found out that the two cardboard tubes were inadequate to make anything close to a “marble machine.” So I decided to make something else. I glued, taped, snipped, and added and, eventually, built something that looked like cardboard binoculars decorated with snips of paper and cotton balls. Then I took that thing and gave it as a gift to my mother.

Years went by. The incident was long forgotten. One day as a teenager I heard laughter and my name being called from my parents’ room. There stood my mom with my little creation in her hands. My siblings were getting their fair share of amusement from it. And seeing it all those years later, I, too, had to laugh at the thing as I rolled my eyes. “Mom,” I said, “what on earth? Why did you keep that hideous thing all these years?” It had survived the passage of time and two separate moves, one of which was across the country.

She looked the thing over, turning it around in her hands and her laughter combined with a sheepish expression. “You gave it to me. It was so cute. I couldn’t part with it.” She turned and tucked it back into a little box and slid the box back under her bed.

You gave it to me. I couldn’t part with it.

It wasn’t the cardboard insert to a toilet paper roll, the randomly cut pieces of paper or the cotton balls. It was the fact that the little child who handed over a rather poor-looking creation was beloved.

Imperfect, yet precious

Years have passed since then. I’m now a mommy myself to three little ones. My days are full of the constant work that little children bring. But now I can relate to my mother. Even though I’m more minimalistic than she was with what I keep, I know what it’s like to find some little creation adorable and want to keep it—not because the item is necessarily perfect in itself, but because the little hands that made it are precious; little hands that belong to a little human that is my treasure.

The merits of Christ, in all their glory, make up for everything that is lacking in the little ways we try to love Him back.

Becoming a parent has taught me so much about how I, the imperfect, faulty, sinful human being that I am, am yet precious to God. Beloved. And even – amazingly – pleasing to Him through Christ Jesus. When I offer up my tithes and offerings to God, it’s not because He’s impressed with how much money it is (far from it). It’s that He loves me and, hence, loves that I bring Him a gift, even if He first provided it. He’s pleased when I stop and say a word to the homeless person with a sign on the corner leaving the grocery store, not because I said just the right words, but because I tried to copy Him. I tried in my own little way to show care like He does. The merits of Christ, in all their glory, make up for everything lacking in the little ways we try to love Him back.

But it goes deeper than that.

Forgiveness, even when we knew better

It had been a long day. I was very tired. The evening stretched on discouragingly before me, because—as those with little ones know—the evening is one of the times of day that requires a lot of output. It’s not a small task to get everyone fed, bathed, the house reasonably cleaned, have worship and bedtime stories with everyone, and get wandering little feet tucked into bed, particularly when you’re already tired. And to add to it, my husband had an incredibly important work event that night, so he wouldn’t be home to help. The significance of the event for our business was adding to the emotional weight of the evening. It really needed to go well. I was thinking of him and the implications of the meeting and feeling a bit tense about it.

As the evening progressed, my children seemed to get on a high of excitement, boisterousness, and hilarity, which did little to calm my weary nerves. They did zoomies back and forth from the front door through the living room and ended up crashing into the kitchen fridge. Next, the boys were wrestling. Then there were upset shouts. Then, not two seconds later, hilarious laughing again. I tried unsuccessfully to corral, correct, redirect, (anything!), while simultaneously cleaning up from dinner, picking up the food they had dropped from below their chairs, and vacuuming the living room floor.

Ultimately, I turned around from picking something up just in time to see the littlest get pushed to the floor, and my weary nerves got the better of me. I scolded them sharply, brought an abrupt end to their wild glee, and did not just correct their behavior but brought sorrow to little hearts through my harsh words and angry demeanor.

Within moments, I was ashamed. I had displayed an ironic and remarkable lack of self-control in correcting their lackof self-control. I asked my little ones for forgiveness, prayed with them, and asked God’s forgiveness. But it was hard for me to get back into the sunshine.

After all was silent in bed that evening, I poured out my heart to God. I grieved especially because I have been blessed with wonderful parents, a wonderful husband, wonderful children and a wonderful God. I felt ashamed and sorry for bringing shadows into my kiddos’ lives. Not that their wildness didn’t need to be curbed, but that I had done it in a way that didn’t reflect the mother I want to be, or God’s character, for that matter. His gracious, patient, long-suffering firmness, that does not correct in anger. I’ve walked with Him and know better than to get angry and speak harshly. I had displayed a warped view of Him to my little dearest and best, for “the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God” (James 1:20, NKJV).

God spoke His forgiveness to my heart, but I could hardly accept it. I know better, I kept reminding myself and Him. So He reminded me of something else. Do you love your kids when they do something and they “know better”?

Yes, I do. I don’t like it when they disobey me. But I still love them. It wearies me when they argue. But I still love them. I’m disappointed when they don’t want to share with each other, but I love them. I love them—not their actions, but them—even when they push over their little sister, which they certainlyknow better than to do and which will always get a reaction and correction from me. When their humanity gets the better of them, and they do wrong, I still love them. Yes, even when they know better.

And when they give their little apologies, my heart always melts, and I take them in my arms and kiss their little faces and gladly forgive them, because I love them.

And just so it is with God.

He can be pained, grieved, and disappointed, but He loves me.

He can be delighted with my ineffectual efforts to copy Him because He loves me.

My praise is music to His ears because He loves me.

My repentance “melts” His heart because He loves me.

His forgiveness is poured out because He loves me.

He can rejoice over me with singing because He loves me.

He is pleased with me because He loves me.

And He loves you.

“Because we are the gift of His Father, and the reward of His work, Jesus loves us. He loves us as His children. Reader, He loves you. Heaven itself can bestow nothing greater, nothing better. Therefore trust.”[1]


[1] Ellen G. White, The Desire of Ages (Mountain View, Calif.: Pacific Press Pub. Assn., 1898)  483.

Natasha Dysinger

Natasha Dysinger lives with her husband and children on their homestead in beautiful middle Tennessee. Together they run their business and serve their local church and community.

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