Calvary illustrated best!

Blue eyes scan the room for some sort of sign that the audience is grasping what he is saying. His voice flows in and out- not real deep but not high either. Every once in a while, he walks the floor of the stage, to illustrate a point or get our attention. Then he takes his spot back behind the pulpit.

Speaking with such ease, he shows not a single sign of nerves. Talking to a large crowd comes so easy for this man. I wish with all my being that I could be as outgoing as him. He settles easily into a crowd of people, while I stand in a corner wishing to go home. He makes meeting new people and establishing new friends look so natural and fun. While I complain about each new move we have had to make in the last eight years and all the new friends I would have to meet, my father rises to the challenge of meeting new people and making new friends.

I fear the thought of having to be the first to say hello to a new person. Not my father though, he easily makes new acquaintances. Being an extrovert he seems to never have met a stranger. He almost never shies away from an opportunity to talk to someone.
Although we do not act a lot alike, we certainly look similar. The “girl version of Dad” is often how I have heard others refer to me.

My blue eyes and brown hair mirror his. The wretched witch’s nose is something I could have done without, but unfortunately I inherited this from him also. However I must count my blessings because I was bequeathed with thicker hair, I won’t have to worry too much about his receding hair line problem.
Every time I look at Dad I am reminded of years gone by. The hair loss (due to baldness inherited from his grandfather) and the less vibrant color and life in his skin are all reminders that time has flown by and with that things have changed.

Amongst the many changes, there is still one thing that has not changed- the fact that he is my father, my help in time of need, my listening ear, my instructor, the shepherd of my heart.
He has always been a good father, someone I laugh with, cry with, share problems with and have fun with. Some of my fondest memories are times spent with dad, fishing, hiking, bike riding, walking, and playing football and basketball with. He gave me my passion for the outdoors and a love of God’s creation. He also gave me a love for music.

One of my favorite people to sing with is my father. He harmonizes with me so well and has taught me a lot in the area of music. I look forward to every chance I get to sing with him. One time, we even decided to whistle a hymn together at home. I whistled the melody and he backed me up with harmony. Little memories like that are ones I cherish and hope to relive with him again and again; till the Lord comes or calls us home.

He also has been a great spiritual leader. From the time I was young he shepherded my heart towards God. One of the many ways he did this was by encouraging me to do my devotions everyday. He began to teach me the importance of having my time with God alone each day when I was around eight years of age. Because of that I do not struggle to have that time and I enjoy them everyday. He is the reason I now call my siblings best friends instead of just “brother” or “sister.”

For as long as I can remember he would always remind us that we were friends, not just siblings. Whenever we got into a tussle, he would always remind us that we should not hurt our friends and he emphasized the fact that we needed to treat each other as best friends. The reason that all of us siblings refer to each other as friends and see each other as such ( although one could not always tell by how we treat each other) is attributed entirely to our father.

But perhaps the way he impacted me the most was by his illustration of Jesus Christ to me. He did this in many ways (far too many to fit into this paper) but one such way outstands them all.
This opportunity that my dad chose to grab and illustrate Christ to me happened when I was around ten to eleven years old. I had seen pictures of Jesus Christ and heard His story every where but the way my father chose to illustrate it was far more descriptive than any Sunday school story I had heard up to that point. This was neither a painting nor a word picture but rather a combination of circumstance and the message behind it all.

It must have been afternoon time or something, because I can still remember my siblings playing outside and the sun shining through my west window. I had committed a sin (I cannot remember what exactly) and had been told to report to my room for a spanking to be administered by dad. How I hated when he made us wait for our spanking. He did this often; almost every time any of us Duffy children got into trouble we would have to wait for him in either our own bedrooms or his, and those moments that ticked by so slowly were one thing we hated most and I almost could swear that he knew it.

As I sat there on my huge bed that I shared with my sister, my anger began to well up inside of me. When I was younger I was a tyrant. I was awful towards my parents (fortunately it is not as bad as it once was). I was also very stubborn and would sometimes out right defy my parents.
So, as one would imagine, when I heard his footsteps coming up the stairs, I already had a plan in my mind as to what I was going to do. In those few seconds before he even darkened my door, I had planned to frustrate him. He had just frustrated me by getting after me and was now about to spank me but I would have none of it.

He walked into the room spatula in hand, and told me to bend over for my consequence. I of course refused, my plan to frustrate already taking motion.
He persisted in asking me time and again, staying ever patient with me, but I was not about to give up. I refused every time he told me to bend over. I even went so far as to defy not only verbally but physically by crawling across the bed to the opposite side of the room. I could and would have played that game all night if he would have it. And I think he must have known that, for in the middle of this back and forth tennis match of words he changed the whole course of the game I thought I had set up and had under control.

He stopped persisting and pulled a new card that I was unfamiliar with, but would forever change the way that I look at Christ.
He coaxed me to the side of the bed he was on, then handed me the spoon. Whoa! Now how many parents would be dumb enough to do that? At first I was taken aback not expecting this at all. I held it in my hand, beginning to giggle.
“Spank me ,Bethany,.” He said.
“No” was my reply of course but I now knew he was not joking.
“Spank me, you have waited too long to receive the punishment yourself, so now you will spank me.” He pressed.

In his eyes I could tell he was not going to give up. That stubborn sheen that often was mine now was mirrored in his eyes. Bethany would not win this battle. And as is my habit no matter what the game is, when I begin to lose I give up.
I gripped the spatula tightly. Giggling so as to cover my emotion, I hit him softly still hoping that it was a joke and that any minute he would turn around and ambush me and grab the spatula and I would receive the punishment due me. But it did not happen. “Harder Bethany.” was his only reply.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I planted the spatula firmly on his hind quarters several times, until he told me to stop. He had taken the punishment that I deserved. I knew I was guilty and deserved a consequence for my action and yet I never had to pay it. My dad took my place he bore the pain due me.

He had paid the price; he was totally innocent and did not deserve that spanking and yet took it for me.
That day was the most vivid picture of Christ that I have ever come into contact with. Christ, just like my dad (at least in that moment), was totally innocent and did not deserve the punishment he received.

But the thing is, they bore that punishment for someone else. They bore it for me. What a picture! And my dad was the one who demonstrated that. God must have put it into his head knowing that I needed it and still am reminded of it even today. I will never forget it; I can still picture it in my mind like it was yesterday. Many people have displayed Christ for me but only one has illustrated it really well for me thus far.

Christ was never as real to me as in that moment. I accepted Christ when I was four and understood what Christ had done. But this illustration was such a great picture that I will never forget and a story that I will tell to better illustrate Christ’s message to my own children and others around me.
One of the parents many responsibilities in the stewarding of their children is to display and show forth the gospel to their children. And I would have to say that for me my dad illustrated this well. I will always be grateful to him for everything he has done but most importantly for shepherding my heart towards Christ and for leading me to a saving knowledge of Him. For illustrating Calvary in such a real and defined way!

This Christmas season my focus will be on what my dad illustrated for me that day.
And that is this, Jesus was born to die that I might live. I deserved the punishment He bore and yet I walk off free without blame without the punishment. All because an Almighty God chose to humble Himself and take on the form of a man and chose to take the punshment due me.

I have so much to be thankful for this Christmas but especially for the birth of Jesus Christ and for His death which made me free! All i had to do is accept the gift and believe! Just like that day with my dad. All i had to do was accept the fact that "dad" was going to take the punishment for me. Not only did my earthly father do this for me but more importantly my Father in heaven did as well!!

He died for us the least we could do would be to LIVE for Him!