I remember being a kid, sitting in the church pew, and hearing this commandment. I remember looking over at my mom who was giving me a look that said, “Did you hear that?” I probably rolled my eyes because I thought God was backing her up on the whole 8 p.m. bedtime and doing my chores thing. Back then, that’s what honoring my parents meant: obeying them and following the rules. And sure, maybe that’s part of honoring– listening, heeding, and abiding. But it goes deeper than the age-old “because I said so” mentality that we’ve attached to that idea.

A few years ago, my childhood pastor gave a sermon on the controversial Old Testament vs. New Testament debate. You know, the one where one side of the fence thinks we can just throw away the Old Testament and only study the New Testament, because it’s the new covenant that replaces the old. The other side of the fence thinks that the inclusion of the New Testament in the Bible is a contradiction to God’s original word. One side believes that God is lawful judgement, and to focus too much on His love is to water down His sovereign word. The other believes that God is love, and to dwell too much in the Old Testament covenant is a decision to not see God in the fullness of His character.

I am very blessed to have grown up with a present, God-given father. To call me a daddy’s girl is a little bit of an understatement. When I was a child– and let’s be honest, even now– there was nothing my dad wouldn’t do to make me happy. Sometimes, that meant taking down the swing set during the winter to rebuild it inside, just so I’d never have to miss a beat of playtime.