When I was a little girl my father used to work hard and did not have much time for me. Rarely did he take the time to talk to me, play with me or take me for a walk. I craved my father's attention and would do about anything to gethim to notice me.
I particularly remember one Friday afternoon. I was five and a half. Everyone in my family except my father was preparing for the Sabbath. He was not a Seventh-day Adventist and he was getting ready to go to his barber for his regular haircut.
I was ready for the Sabbath. My clean, freshly ironed dress was on, my long curly hair carefully brushed and my black shoes polished. I was waiting impatiently.
All of a sudden I got an irresistible desire to go to the barber's shop with my father instead of staying home and having evening worship with my mother and my grandparents. I started pleading with him to take me with him. My mother objected. She did not want me to be late for the Sabbath. There 1.;‘,s little time left before sundown. But I was persistent and finally she let me go. I promised to be back in time.
Happily and proudly I took my father's big hand and walked towards the barber's shop.
There were many customershere and there was a long wait before my father's turn. Sitting there among all those unknown men, I thought to myself: "Maybe my Dad and fare not so close because we are so di fferent. If we were a little bit more alike, we would surely be closer to each other. I have to think up something to change that."
Soon it was Dad's turn and several minutes later the barber gave him a brand new hair cu t. I was delighted. Daddy looked so nice. Then an idea occurred to me. I quickly approached the barber and said, "Do the same to me." He did not seem to understand, so I explained. "Make the same hair cut for me, please." He was surprised and totally confused. So was my dad. [ looked up and begged, "Please, Daddy, let me get a haircut like you."
"No way," he objected. "What would your mother say? And your grandmother."
"Please, Daddy, I want to be just like you. Please, Daddy."
Father was determined not to let me do that. Soon I was in tears begging for his consent. Everybody in the shop knew what was going on. Finally, father consented to my proposal.
I sat on a big barber's chair. He took off the yellow bow my grandmother put on the top of my head and soon my long curls were on the shop's floor. I did not care at all. A little bit later, I left the shop, my hand in my father's hand. My long pretty curls had been replaced with a short masculine haircut, I did not care that it looked ugly on me. I did not care that the kids in my neighborhood laughed at me as soon as they noticed me. I did not care for the creased yellow ribbon in my pocket. I did not even care that I was late for the Sabbath.
I was like Dad. We had the same haircut. We were alike. That was the most important thing for me at that moment.
Remembering this childhood experience some time ago, I asked myself: Do I have the same earnest desire to identify with my Heavenly Father? Do [ so eagerly want to be like Him day after day?
God has always had an abundance of time for me. He has waited so patiently for me to come to Him. He uses every opportunity to make sure He is with me day by day. And He is the only One I can imitate and follow in everything without fear. He is my perfect Example.
"To be like Him. Like My Heavenly Father. Like Abba." That was Jesus' motto at the beginning of each new day. Let it be mine and yours also. *