Psalm 103 is David’s song of adoration to God, full of blessing and praise, thanking the Lord for his mercy, compassion, and unfailing love. As Christians, we are given an inheritance, an inexhaustible treasure, a love we could never earn, even on our best days. Our lives as Christians are like exquisite strands of pearls, necklaces strung with grace upon grace.
Why is God ever merciful and compassionate? Psalm 103:14 tells us.
For he knows our frames; he remembers that we are dust.
God created not only us but also our children, down to the tiniest detail. He recognizes the frailty of our bodies, along with our sins and weaknesses, our obedience, and our giftings. King David lifted high his song of praise because he remembered the depths of his depravity, the shadowy crevices of his wicked heart. A heart that lusted, schemed, committed adultery, and then murder. But God drew near to David upon his repentance, softening and restoring his heart amid the anguish of the death of his infant son, born from an affair with Bathsheba.
Many years ago, the older sister of my best friend grew moody and distant, back talking her Christian parents, while pursuing friendships with a corrupt crowd. She grew increasingly flippant, stirring up stress in what had previously been a warm and happy home.
Her parents prayed and doubled down on expectations and curfews, but to no avail. Her disobedience resulted in the loss of privileges and perpetual grounding.
Everything came to a crescendo late one Saturday night, when her father, checking in on each bedroom of their large household before turning in, discovered a large stuffed bear tucked in the place where his eldest daughter should have been sleeping.
He woke his wife, and together they prayed and phoned other parents seeking any potential information. (This was a decade before cell phones.)
They were gradually able to piece together the sad truth: their daughter had crept out to a concert of a musician who was the antithesis of everything good and God-honoring, a concert her parents had forbidden her to attend.
What could they do but wait? One hour bled into the next, and the wife cried herself to sleep. At three o’clock in the morning, their daughter tiptoed inside, not realizing her father was sitting in the shadows of their living room. His heart shattered at the sight: his precious daughter’s makeup was smudged, her shirt hung untucked, its buttons misaligned.
How impossible it seems to parent well in times of crisis.
In moments of deep sorrow, we would do well to consider our children’s precious frames, to remind ourselves that they are dust, as are we. Our children, sons of Adam and daughters of Eve, require discipline.
Should there be clear rules?
Of course.
But they also need a tender touch of compassion. Mercy. As parents, let us remember that we, too, are dust, while simultaneously children of our King. Through faith in Christ Jesus, we are restored, redeemed, and gloriously forgiven–heaven-bound. This is the gospel truth.
For every trial, every embarrassment, every rebellion, remember their dusty frames. And then take a long, sweeping glance at our Savior who died for us. We were vagabonds, sinners in need of saving. Pray for your children’s repentance, for the Spirit to soften their hearts and awaken their souls.
My friend’s sister did not know that her father was in the shadows. She tumbled into bed, fell asleep, and slipped downstairs a few hours later, hard-hearted and headachey and morose, seeking coffee. She was surprised to spy her father on his knees, hands clasped, praying aloud.
He sobbed, pleading with God to turn his daughter’s heart. In anguish he repeated Psalm 103, stopping at Psalm 103:14, tucking his own name and then his daughters’ within those verses.
He had no clue that his daughter heard his prayers.
It was his tears, his brokenness that soon broke her. It was his acknowledgment that he, too, was a man of dust, imperfect, and needing a perfect Savior that melted her stony heart.
Soon thereafter, her secret and forbidden boyfriend shattered her heart, and her entire house of sticks fell earthward. In despair, at the end of herself, she ran into her father’s loving embrace.
Romans 2:4 states, “God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance.” She repented and turned to Christ in saving faith.
Yes, God knows our frames and remembers that we are dust. Just as God has compassion on his children through Christ, may we display tender compassion to our children.
For more gospel-centered parenting resources,be sure to check out Rooted’s Family Discipleship Curriculum.
