Brandon Neil Richards

Today I was heading to the store to pick up some coffee, my wife’s decaf wasn’t doing it for me. As I put my shoes on and announced where I was going, Jewel Grace my four year old, said, “Daddy will you need a helper? Jane is unavailable, so I’ll go with you and be your helper” She put down her toys and came to me for my answer. It took me a moment to respond because at the same time I was hearing the Lord speak to me about her.

I told her I wasn’t even going to ask Jane, I was so glad she asked because I needed her help. She didn’t care where we were going, just that she was helping her daddy.

Its fascinating when the Lord speaks to me through my children. Just previous to this little conversation I had been praying to ‘help’ my God. The reality is God doesn’t need my help, but He chooses to use us if we’re willing to follow.

Jesus chose His disciples by the words “Follow Me”, He said (Matthew 4:19, John 1:43) Some dropped everything they were doing, and followed. Some left their families, their businesses, their jobs and didn’t even ask where they were going. Others wanted to say fare wells to their families or bury their dead relatives and didn’t return to follow the Lord (Matthew 8:22). Jesus went on to say “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me (Matthew 19:21)”.

What does it mean to follow Jesus?

The definition of the word ‘follow’ so revealing, you should read it for yourself:
http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/Follow

• Becoming fishers of men, or instead of satisfying our carnal self (catching fish), we satisfy the needs of others(fishers of men). (Matthew 4:19)
• Plowing the ground for harvest. Plowing is the preparation of the soil for planting, and we plant for a harvest. Praying is spiritual plowing. We pray over the grounds we have to seed. We pray for the lost, we pray for harvest.  (1 Kings 19:19)
• Severing the tie and forsaking dead works (1 Kings 19:19-21, Matthew 9:9, Matthew 16:24, Matthew 19:21)

The Price

I’ve often heard from some of the faith leaders of our times about the mysterious, ‘price.’ I never understood ‘what’ the price was, I always had hoped that one would just tell us what the price was so I could start paying it. When in fact, I was really stupid. The price is something that only the owner of the thing can give you. The price is different for each person. For some it may be family, for others it may be a business, for others it may be servitude. The easy way to find out what the price is, is to ask God what you must do to be His disciple. I’d almost bet that you already know. It’s that thing that preoccupies your time and gets in front of your relationship with God. It’s that thing inside that says, No I will do this myself. Sadly, many do not pay the price.

God wants our loyalty (Luke 9:62), this will often mean sacrifice, service, and contentment to follow despite what others may be doing(integrity). Enduring the weather(spiritual warfare) and not giving up on the fruitless stony ground, but continuing to plow until the stones are no longer an issue of sowing.

A couple of years ago I heard the Lord sing to me, “Come over the mountains, Come across the sea…” beckoning me to follow after Him. After these words there was only a solid tone of music as if someone where holding in a note on the keyboard. The progression waited… the note reverberated through me as if the next part of the song were waiting on me.

I believe just as He sang that to me and the progression is waiting, He is also beckoning all of His children to follow Him, to go where He goes, to pay the price.

Will you pay the price?
What is your price?
Will you be His helper, or are you unavailable?

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My earliest memory of my dad is in the 70's when he was in the Army. I remember him driving home in an Army van, I thought that was the greatest thing in the world. Those memories are only splotchy now, I can't remember his face from when I was child. When I look at old photos, I really can't remember them, but I assume since there are photos, it really happened. The harder I try to remember, want to remember, the more fleeting they are.

I don’t remember how old I was. I can only tell you that at the age of thirty-four it is as vivid now as it was then. My dad and I spent numerous nights together walking through pitch dark fields, guided by only the moonlight and occasional glow from my dad’s cigarette as he inhaled; we were fox hunting.

In the darkness I could only make out his form, his gestures, and the occasional words as I followed silently behind. My dad had explained to me how important silence is to being successful, how important following closely in his footsteps is to not falling. We often walked through fields spattered with manure, overtaken with sage grass and unfamiliar to both of us. It was easy to be separated in the dark or fall behind. My pace was quick and sure, stopping only when he stopped. Making no sound, not a breath. We listened for the call of our prey.

I’m not sure how my dad knew where to find them, but we increasingly managed to locate the fox’s hunting grounds. For our family, being successful meant supplemental income from the sale of the animal’s pelt. Our tools were a spotlight, a rifle, and an amplified call which played various tapes of animal calls. I still remember the pattern of the calls from one of those tapes. It was the best tape we had, and most often used.

The process was to play the tape in the darkness and occasionally scan with the spotlight at eye level to see the glowing eyes of a fox coming to the call. I often got to hold the light when a fox was spotted, while my dad aimed the rifle for the shot. I’m sure he missed occasionally, but I don’t remember it if he did. My dad was and is an extremely accurate marksman. A well aimed shot to kill a fox would be in a location as to not damage its pelt, typically the head.

Once the shot was fired and depending on where we were and who’s land we were ‘on’, we would either get the dead animal and move to a new property or stay for another.

Either way, arriving back to our home, my dad and I entered the basement of our small trailer. I didn’t enter the basement often and I’m not sure why now, but I do remember the occasional rat and spiders. On these nights with my dad, those things didn’t matter. I followed to help skin the foxes.

The process of skinning a fox isn’t really that difficult after you’ve seen someone do it. Basically, hang the animal from his back legs, loose the animals sleeves with a sharp knife, add a few other choice cuts and carefully pull the fur down and inside out (fur on the inside). Carefully cutting as to peel the skin away from the animal’s musculor-skeletal frame.

I remember my dad allowing me to help pull the skin and hold the animal in position while he made cuts to free the animal of its pelt. What was once a familiar furry animal became a gruesome monster-like beast.

I’ve often felt ill prepared for all the circumstances I’ve encountered during the thirty-four years of my life. I’ve often misplaced the frustration, the anger, the bitterness, the hurt and wanted to blame it upon my dad. Some of it is most likely justified, but 99% of it isn’t. My dad was big enough to take it. Now that I have my own children, I’ve learned a tremendous amount from them. It’s made me thankful that my dad is who he is [ Exodus 3:14 ] and I treasure the things he has placed in me [ 2 Corinthians 4:7 ].

I didn’t know it then but through fox hunting, my dad was teaching me valuable principles.

He taught me:

silence is important to hearing
how to follow when its dark
how to avoid falling
how to avoid wrong steps
how to avoid getting separated from him
remaining close insures I can see the path
patience leads to success
light reveals the truth
things which appear good on the outside, aren’t always pretty on the inside
hold still, while he carefully cuts
blessing comes, when something dies

Things I love about my dad.

he is a dad
a daddy
not a father who is distant
isn’t unapproachable
I can call him up anytime
he calls me son

Things I love about God.

He’s all those good things my dad is and more.

What are some things you learned from your dad, that have helped you understand more about your relationship with God?

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A recent prayer time with my family. I had both of my daughters sit on the sofa to prepare their hearts. I asked them to close their eyes and think about God, about Jesus. I asked them to think about the stories they've heard about Jesus and about the other Bible's stories they know. I asked them to think about what God did in each of them and while they did this we prayed that God would reveal Himself to us, to show us Himself, to speak to us.

After a few moments, I sat down with Jewel Grace who is two years old. I asked, “Jewel Grace, what does Jesus look like? She pulled her thumb out of her mouth and responded almost instantly, “He’s pink.” I then said, “He’s pink.” believing God heard our prayers I continued, ” Is He any other color? She responded again, ” He’s pink and puw-pul”. I asked her, “Jewel Grace why is Jesus pink and purple? She responded with a look of concern in her eyes and pulling her thumb our of her mouth to touch her body she said, “He broke Himself.” and it was about this point that I was so glad for Jewel Grace, she had seen Jesus in her child-like state. Her look of concern was looking to me for an answer. I said, “Yes, Jewel Grace… Jesus was pink and purple”, I pointed to her little bruised legs from all her playing and jumping,“and I said He was bruised all over and broke Himself for you, and sister (who was also listening intently and so wanting to share what she saw), for mommy and daddy, and everyone. Jesus broke Himself so bad that He died, and He died for us.” It was one of those times I could tell my words were just sinking in to her little life. She captured everyone of them and I know she understood, maybe not the fullness of it, but the seed of it. And it will grow.

I repeated the questions this time speaking to Jane. Her response was that “He’s wearing a white robe and has brown hair that’s short like yours with a beard that goes into it.” and I thought about how this applies to me and others. We each seem to have a different picture of what Jesus looks like. Artists’ throughout this age have tried to capture the image of Jesus and my Jewel sees Jesus broken, pink and purple while my daughter Jane sees Jesus being Jesus but kind of like her daddy in a way. The truth is that to my children, me and their mother are, should be the image of Christ to our children and so often we lose site of who Jesus is being distracted from the things of this world.

What does Jesus look like to you? Have you taken the time to find Him? If you can’t find Him yourself, then how will your children know who He is?

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