Friday night is "date night" with my wife, Pam. We made that commitment in 2016 when our job situation was beginning to create a marital "ships-that-pass-in-the-night" scenario and we needed intentional time to catch up, to reflect, and to talk about things that were significant to our faith journey.

Four and a half years later when I moved to a different position with my employer, our work schedules became much more compatible. And though we were now home together each evening, the time had become so meaningful to us that we decided to continue the tradition.

A couple of months ago, our Friday night restaurant-hopping led us to a place we hadn't been for a while. The atmosphere was warm and inviting and the food was fantastic. After we ordered, a young father and two little girls were seated in a booth across from our table. The children were sweet and giggly as they sat on the opposite side of their dad who appeared to be diligently texting.

I thought, "Ah, a busy dad, trying to finish up his work before having some daddy-daughter bonding time." But as the evening continued, he remained disengaged as he stared intently at his phone, smiling to himself as he seemed to anticipate and respond to texts. My heart broke as he appeared to be completely disinterested in his daughters who now were busily chatting and looking at a brightly colored iPad. Moment after moment, I saw them look toward him to tell him something, then stop, realizing that he wasn't listening. And even after the waiter had interrupted by taking their order, the dad still went back to his phone.

"Ugh, what a missed opportunity," I thought. And while an introvert, by nature, part of me really wanted to say something, albeit gently, to the young father... you know, something along the lines of, "Hey Dad, time goes very quickly, and you are not going to have many moments with your daughters like this, so maybe you should put your phone away and make some memories." However, the chicken in me prevailed and I never worked up the courage to say anything to him. So we left in silence. And while I am quite mindful that I clearly had no idea of the family dynamics, and that I knew absolutely nothing of what was going on, and was obviously making assumptions... my heart was still saddened by what I perceived.

Our experience at the restaurant sparked a lot of conversation on the way home about time at the table with our daughters. We laughed as we recalled pretending colored sweetener packets each had a different currency value, snapping milkshake straws at Mcdonald's, and bouncing a super ball in a rest-area food court as we traveled with them as young children. We also found ourselves a bit tearful as we recalled more recent times around the table with our daughters that included tender conversations of our brokenness as parents, woundedness, grief, forgiveness, and healing. Needless to say, we arrived home from that date night full of gratitude.

I had forgotten about that experience until last evening's date night. While sitting at Carabbas, debriefing from an intense week, a young father and what appeared to be two young siblings sat down at a table across from us. The dad was attentive to getting the little girl and boy settled as he then sat down across from them. He was smiling, asking them questions, pointing to pictures on the menu, and actively trying to understand their responses. As the warm, fresh bread came, he broke pieces off for each of them, giggling as they seemed to thoroughly enjoy dipping the bread into the oil and spice mixture. While I couldn't hear what they were saying, I could see the father fully engaged in conversation with them. The children beamed as they talked with their dad.

Watching this scenario, I was moved. And honestly, as saddened as I was by the disengaged father at the restaurant months ago, I was gladdened with joy watching this dad interact with his children at the table. And again, though I am an introvert, this time I could not help myself. Gathering our keys and leftovers, I thought, "I think I am going to say something to this dad."

As we slowly walked over to his table, he was intently bantering with his kids. I gently interrupted saying, "Excuse me." Startled, he turned his head toward me, still smiling from the conversation. "I just wanted to tell you that you are a great dad." Unexpectedly overcome with emotion, I continued, "The way you are interacting with your kids,  the way you are talking with them right now, is building a relationship that will impact them for the rest of their lives. You are doing an amazing job." He appeared a bit stunned and with amazement in his eyes, he stumbled with his words saying, "Well, um, thank you... thanks a lot. I really appreciate that."

As we walked to the car, I jokingly said to my wife, "Look at this introvert talking to strangers in a public place." And she affirmingly responded, "Yes... and making me cry. I got a little choked up as you were talking."

Reflecting on those two contrasting "time at the table" experiences, my heart was filled with gratitude to God. You see, while there are many images of God in Scripture, most poignant to me in this journey of faith has been that of "Father." That father at Carabbas, embracing time at the table with his children, reflected the beauty of a Father who is deeply attentive, actively engaged, intentionally kind, relentless in love, rich in mercy, and lavish in nurture. "As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust" [Psalm 103:13-14].

Beloved, know that God wants to spend time with you. He is not disinterested, He is not disengaged, nor is He distracted. He is not too busy. And, He is not preoccupied with other issues. And you, precious one, are not a nuisance, not a disruption, nor are you a pest. Rather, you are the Father's chosen treasure, His joy, and His delight.

The truth is that God wants to be with you, initiating and relentlessly offering an unceasing outpouring of His grace: His empowering presence that enables you to become everything He sees when He looks at you. You are known, you are seen, you are heard, and you are loved.

If you haven't in a while, why not take some time at the table with God? If you need a starting place, perhaps this song, "I Miss My Time with You," will be a sweet reminder of the intentionality of God's heart towards you. Selah.

One last thought, precious one. I am mindful that our experience with our earthly fathers affects how we view God as Father. But, with a tender heart, I gently say, the quality of our relationship with our earthly father does not negate the nature of God as Father. The Compassionate One "knows" and "remembers." That reality is found in the beauty of the God who initiates and the God who is willing to wait, the God who gives and the God who takes away, the God who reveals and the God who hides, the God who is gentle and the God who is strong, and the God whose voice shatters the cedars and the God who whispers. God knows you. God sees you. God hears you. And God loves you. Amen.

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