Scoot Back, Daddy, Scoot Back

I had accepted the call as senior pastor of a large congregation that had recently erected a huge state-of-the-art building, resulting in a major indebtedness. Feeling the pressure of my new responsibilities and with a strong desire to impress my parishioners, I had hit the ground running. I was in the office early every day and almost every evening found me out shepherding the flock or reaching out to potential church members.

My wife, Teresa, was very understanding, but our little daughter, Mandi, at two and one-half years of age was perplexed by my absence from home. She loved for me to read to her after dinner each evening and it was a practice that I continued in my new position—with one caveat. I would sit on the edge of my recliner with her seated by my side and read a quick story or two before rushing out for another night of harried activity.

One evening Mandi said something that jolted me back to reality about my role as a father. I had sat down with her in my recliner, once again on the edge, ready to quickly read and run. Mandi stopped me and, patting the recliner seat, said, “Scoot back, Daddy, scoot back.” She knew on those rare occasions when I wasn’t going out for the evening that I would relax, sit back in my recliner, and leisurely read stories to her heart’s content.

Her words pierced my soul as I understood what she was really saying, “Slow down, Daddy, please. Make time for me.” Appropriately chastened, I scooted back.