iamnotjared

Angels in the Outfield

The anxiety I was feeling was as if I were standing at home plate and not my son. He obviously was not as nervous as I remember being in little league baseball. He agreed to play again this year with a pursed bottom lip, a bouncy nod of the head, and a somewhat intrigued “OK…” He went to all the practices with a positive attitude, seemed to have a good time, and was not bothered by the fact that he may have been the smallest one out there (his birthday being right next to the cutoff month).

He was the quintessential boy in the outfield who was more interested in kicking dirt, picking flowers, or spinning around than playing. Or rather, waiting to play. I suppose that’s the hardest part of being in the outfield, you never know if or when you might get some action. He did best at catcher where there was a regular supply of missed pitches from the coach. Still not quite throwing the ball all the way back to the mound, but close, and closer as the season went on.

The hardest part for him was hitting. Seemed like he was always a little behind the ball. Harder this year when three strikes means you’re out and not just getting to hit off the tee. But still, it didn’t seem to bother him too much. I wonder how much he was aware of his shortcomings and overcompensated with a positive attitude. Sometimes after a loss he would repeat “it doesn’t matter if we win or lose, it’s if we have a good time.” Which I totally agree with, but… it feels really great to win! And he celebrated as much as anyone when they won, even if he didn’t contribute much.

I know this parental anxiety is all on me. And I try to not let it show and instead I simply support, help, encourage where I can. I’m not embarrassed as a parent, I just remember how I felt when I didn’t do well. But thankfully he’s not me. Being in the stands feels a million miles from him. Every time he’s up I want to be right behind him, giving him little corrections and building him up with a whispered “You got this!” Instead I find myself hushing the grandparents cause I’m afraid they’re distracting him.

At the last game, I had one of those “I wonder if this is how God feels” moments. I was standing at the back of the park where I could more closely see him in the outfield. Every time he would start to lose interest, I could feel myself trying to telepathically send him nudges. Again, I’m not worried for me, I want him to feel good about this. I want him to know the joy of catching a ball, making a good play, getting on base. I certainly don’t want him to feel like he let the team down by messing up. (Of course, in the grand scheme, knowing these are all good life skills to have experienced.)

I don’t know if God is anxious, but can you imagine the constant disappointment He witnesses. The Bible alludes to angels watching. “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” Some say this is God sending angels in the form of regular people just to see what we do. That seems odd to me. I picture it more like a baseball game, where the angels are waiting for us to swing the bat and make contact, thrilling the crowd with our hospitality. So if that’s true, then, oh the disappointment of a losing season they must feel on a regular basis.

I think God is rooting for us. I think He, like a parent, knows He shouldn’t force us to do something against our will. So instead, He’s done everything else: given us support, mentors, reminders, stories, and one literal perfect example of how it could be done. The Bible isn’t a rule book. It doesn’t read like a rule book. It reads more like a story of how everyone messes up, and God is willing to redeem their messes for a greater good. You would think we’d have it all under control by this point with as much as has been messed up in the past. But here we are with new challenges, like cellphones or avoiding discomfort, keeping us from entertaining angels. Maybe they’re not disappointed as much as they are bored.

The point isn’t to entertain them, but to give glory to God through the things we do, for being the creator and sustainer of it all.

The last game of the season, something must have clicked. He got three hits in a row, just when the team needed it the most. Now they weren’t the biggest hits, but fortunately in little league, it doesn’t take much. I know I was more excited than he was. He was happy he made contact, but I’m watching with this much grander perspective on my mind. I love the idea that God reacts the same way. The times when we don’t react in anger. When we show patience, hospitality, forgiveness. When things don’t go our way and we take it on the chin. When we remember to show thankfulness. When we simply do what we know we should be doing anyway, the Angels jump up, arms in the air, and scream “YES! They get it! They’re doing it. LOOK! They’re doing it!”

Dad Revelations, Foster Care, Parenting

One Last Time

I remember the moment when my daughter grew big enough to change from holding just my finger as we walked, to holding my full hand. I can’t tell you her exact age, and I’m only 80% sure about where we were, but the feeling I had when she shrugged off my finger and grasped my hand is seared into my brain. It was the first time I had the generic thought “my baby’s growing up so fast!.” But it was more than that. It was a fearful thought of “I’m never going to get that experience again.”

When you’re raising kids, there is always going to be the last peek-a-boo, the last bathtime, the last tickle fight, the last piggy-back ride. Most all things are going to have a one last time. The problem is you may never know which time will be the last. I was able to pick up on the hand-holding incident, but the rest? The rest I couldn’t tell you which was the last time. She’s 13 now and most of those “lasts” are gone forever.

But I’m not sad about it. We always had a different philosophy with her. It started with my wife and I not wanting to give up on our footloose-and-fancy-free lifestyle. (Not that we were anywhere close to being crazy all-nighters.) But we insisted on keeping things the same as much as we could. If we wanted to go shopping, we all went shopping. If we wanted to hang out with people, everyone including the baby went out. It went so well (and she was such a good kid) that more than a few times other couples told us that she was their inspiration for having children.

We also assumed she would be our only natural born child. Knowing that, I think we intentionally soaked up every moment. She was always with us and simply adored by both of us. (Not spoiled; bed time means bed time, now get back in there. Mommy and Daddy want to watch something that’s not a cartoon.) But no other kid could possibly get more snuggles and hugs and kisses than this one.

Every new accomplishment or stage of growing up was joyful! We celebrated and embraced it all. Eating new foods, riding her bike without training wheels, talking to other grownups on her own, brushing her own hair, deciding to play percussion in band. It was all wonderful. We never needed to mourn the stuff that passed, because we were there for it and loved it in the moment. It’s like having a good vacation somewhere and checking it off your list. We did Atlanta. It was good. No need to go back there again. No offense, Atlanta, but the traffic alone…!

Of course I miss some of the sweet parts of babies and toddlers, but don’t forget about the rest of the stuff. The late nights, the diapers, the struggles with food, the tantrums, having to do everything for them, the diapers. People ask us about having teenager foster kids, and “aren’t they so much harder? Don’t they have more problems?” Not necessarily, plus they dress, go to the bathroom, clean, and feed themselves. It’s heavenly!

Each age and each stage is full of new and wonderful things. I loved watching her do soccer for the first time, then ballet. I loved watching her find friends on her own and see where she fits in. I loved seeing her through the awkward stages of middle school (not that she had it as bad as I did), and being able to see into the future of the beautiful, intelligent, confident person she will grow into. I just hug her through the hard parts now with an empathetic broken heart, but also with a wise, all-knowing smile when she’s not looking.

We ended up deciding to have a boy 7 years after her. We are soaking him up just as much as we did with her. I think of the fading stages more often with him. Probably because I’m aware of what’s going to happen this time around, and knowing he’s for sure he’s the last kid. He just rode his bike without training wheels for the first time. He’s trying to learn to swim. He’s wicked smart and is going to be just as capable as his sister. But his skin still has that touch of baby softness to it. I can still lift him on my shoulders. Peek-a-boo may be over but tickle fights aren’t. He says “Daddy! Let’s git each other!” And how can you say “no” to that?

And my daughter is about to go into high school. Some day soon I’ll convince her to put in her contacts. She’s wearing makeup and some time ago decided on her own to get her ears pierced, long after most girls already had. She’s growing up and I’m perfectly fine with that. I love this stage as much as I have all the others. It doesn’t mean I won’t be a weeping puddle of patheticness at her wedding, but that’s just me in general. For now my kids are who they are meant to be at this moment. She still calls me “Daddy” instead of “Dad” sometimes. And she holds my hand just the same way she did all those years ago when she grasped on for the first time. Maybe this, and hugs, and I-love-you’s, and music, and laughs are things we can keep doing without a “last time” for many more years.

Life Lessons, Marriage

Do You Let Her Check Your Phone?

My wife and I share about our days with each other, sometimes to the most minute of details. (This has been less interesting since we’ve been spending 24 hours together in Corona-land). Nothing is hidden, nothing obscured or even left unsaid. Sometimes it’s exhausting with a house full of kids and making room to include their desire to talk, too. We may call for TV time just so we can sneak away for uninterrupted conversation.

The only other time this open communication becomes a hindrance is during Christmas shopping season. We’ll go our separate ways to shop for each other. But inevitably, something interesting happens that’s worth telling the other about. So early on in our marriage, one of us came up with the idea of referencing the store as the “Pink Sweater” store, knowing that neither of us would get the other a pink sweater. (I think one time I sorta did, just in spite of it all). A story might sound like this: “So, I was at the Pink Sweater store. And I had to call on the manager because the sweater I found was too…. uh, fuzzy. And the one I heard about was half-off. So they had to go to the back and grab four different pink sweaters and let me choose between those.” But really this was all about a toaster.

Also, I hope I never actually bought her a toaster for Christmas.

Our open conversation style has always been a natural aspect of our relationship. We started out as friends, then best friends, so conversation was completely natural. I’ve never thought about trying to hide things. Why would I? To have a companion and confidant through life is the highest of blessings I could think of. Someone that knows me better than I know myself. (Really though. She told me what my enneagram number was cause I was never decisive enough to take a quality survey.) I crave for her to know everything about me. I need her to know it all. It makes everything in life better and easier, especially the decision-making.

Recently, another high-profile mega-church pastor was released from his position for “undisclosed reasons.” Of course, those reasons will always find the light, which I found in an article interviewing the part-time girlfriend he kept hidden. Their occasional rendezvous was all over when his wife “saw the text messages.” The entire ruse was based on secrecy. He was able to do what he did because there were texts, calls, meetings, events, and plans that he kept from his wife. There were presumably days where he came home at night, and at the typical opportunity to talk about their respective days, he had to purposely leave out giant, gaping holes of information. He had to intentionally cover over things that, if found out, would blow his cover.

Sitting on the outside of this glass house, I shake my head and tell myself I can not imagine doing this to my wife. How is the “thrill” of meeting someone else worth the stress of hiding it from my wife? How is it worth the obvious pain it would cause her? But still, this is a common storyline that has happened countless times. Whether the root cause is the stress in the marriage, or distance, or disagreements – something eventually caused the open line of communication to fail.

I was dumbfounded when one of our kids got a C grade on an open-book test. They had not only the week of learning and homework, but all their notes, a study guide, powerpoint slides, and it was open-book! How is that not a 100%? The same works for relationships. When you’re an open book, you have all the information and answers there for you. If you’re an open book, at least your spouse doesn’t have the excuse that she didn’t know.

You may at some point need to say something like “I feel annoyed when you tell me multiple times to do the same thing.” How saying something like that comes across to her will vary drastically based on current moods, past problems, and tone, but at least she knows and can use that information next time. Or what if you need to say, “I’m going to have a lunch meeting with a woman from the bank.” It could be a completely innocent, business-only gathering, but a in a relationship that’s strained and lacking communication, hiding that “innocent” piece of information could be the beginning of a path you vowed you wouldn’t walk down.

In the book “His Needs Her Needs”, one of the emotional needs that a person has is “Honesty and Openness.” I thought it wise he includes both words. You can be honest and not open. You can be open and not honest. The two work in tandem for a healthy relationship. Whether she chooses to utilize it or not, my wife knows the password or how to access all of my electronic devices. To tell her factual statements, but not allow access to my phone, would be honest but not open. To let her see my phone, but have everything hidden, deleted, or password protected, would be open but not honest.

If you were to hear your phone go off in the other room, and you don’t have the capacity to be able to say “Honey, could you check that for me?” because you’re afraid of what it might be, then you truly have a root issue that needs addressed immediately. How comforting would it be to her to hear “I want you to know that you can check or ask to check my phone or laptop at any time. I don’t have anything to hide, and I want to keep it that way.” Maybe at first it even sounds suspicious because it’s unorthodox, but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t. And if you’re really serious, especially if you’ve had trouble with inappropriate internet activity, set up a content management software and let her set the password.

Trust is not something that can be lost and gained back easily. The best, easiest, and guilt-free method is to be completely trustworthy from the beginning. You’ll be protecting your marriage and preventing yourself from making stupid choices. The weight of lies is too heavy a burden to carry. The opposite is dramatically different: to be open AND honest is like floating on a cloud.

Trust me.

About Me, Life Lessons, Public Speaking

That Time I Ran for Political Office

2014 was a big year for me. While being on the neighborhood association, I was asked to join the Chamber of Commerce. I won the Toastmasters District speech contest, which meant practicing the rest of the summer and flying to Malaysia to compete in the World Championship of Public Speaking semi-finals. I signed up for Big Brothers Big Sisters. We had two sets of foster kids (at different times). A major work project came to fruition. I flipped my truck coming off the interstate. And in September learned we’d be expecting a new baby. In the middle of all that, the church we had been a part of fell apart, so we were religious nomads for a while.

So then, what’s the most logical thing for a person to do in the middle of all that? Why, of course, you’ve already thought of it. That’s right. Run for political office!

That setup is a bit misleading as I decided to run early in that year, and everything else happened throughout. But still. It makes me realize why the only significant thing I did in 2019 was install hardwood floors in the house. Inside. Alone. With earbuds.

So here’s the story of me running for political office.

We moved to the cute, historic neighborhood of Old Hickory Village in 2005. It had a lot of character but was short of perfection. (Crime being one thing) Missing a neighborhood restaurant, store, coffee shop, etc. It was so easy to meet and connect with people there. Over the years, I added well over 100 friends to Facebook from there.

My first attempt at community activism was going to a council meeting to support the approval of a house being renovated into a Bed and Breakfast. It failed. Now in the age of Vrbo and Air-bnb, isn’t it cute that a single house wanted to do this back then?

Out of curiosity, I began to go to the neighborhood association meetings. (Not homeowners association, there’s a difference). I think I attended just enough meetings, and lived there just long enough to meet the bare-minimum requirements to join the association as a director. A warm body and minimum requirements is all you need to get by in this world.

It wasn’t long before I was running committees. I revamped the website (which is still exactly as I left it), created this new “group” feature on Facebook for the area, and ran many of the events. Surely enough, people began to resign and I was the only one left to become President. Then a few years later, the Chamber of Commerce heard about me, and while salivating and tapping their fingers, they asked me to join. A few years later, people resigned, and they told me I needed to be President. I joined a Toastmasters club, yada yada yada,… President.

I suppose United States President is next. But most of the time you need to start from the bottom and work your way up, so that’s why in 2014 I ran for Metro Nashville City Council. But the actual events were a little more haphazard than that.

In times past I was much more vocal on Facebook about politics. My friends were keenly aware that this was a topic I was interested in. Our State Representative was running for reelection again and was running unopposed. A friend of mine, who shared my political values, felt like he needed someone else to vote for. So on the first day of early voting, he posted a picture on my Facebook wall of him writing in my name as candidate for State Representative. This was hilarious and funny and fun, but it actually took off. People started posting Vote for Jared for State Representative on their pages. I played it up and started making regular (ridiculous and exaggerated) posts about how and why you should vote for me.

So election day came and I heard from a few of my friends (even some from other states) that they had voted for me. Then at the end of the night, I got a call from a neighbor who was a poll worker. She said “you must be up to something. At the end of the night we have to tally all the votes, and your name is keeps coming up.” She actually gave me a printout of the entire tally from that Precinct. Of course, the guy who actually ran for office had 3,000 votes. But then under his name was Jared Throneberry. Jared Throneberry. Jared Thornberry. Donald Duck. Jared. Jared. Mickey Mouse. Jared. Jared… I see a pattern here. Then one guy who wrote his own name in for every position on the ballot.

So without even trying, I technically came in second place for State Representative. And as fun and silly as it was, I think it actually planted a seed. Because a few years later, our city councilman became state representative himself and vacated his Council seat and they were going to hold a special election to fill it. The only person I knew at the time running was a guy who ran before. My perception of him was that he was more interested in politics than he was people. And me, being someone involved in the neighborhood as much as I was, I cared about my neighbors and I wanted someone who would work for the them. So I decided to run.

About the same time, I heard of another person who put their name in the hat who I had never heard of before. And again, being someone really involved, I don’t know if I could trust someone I’ve never even heard of before. Funny thing is, I guess I wasn’t a “local” long enough to have known. Apparently, he was a successful lawyer with a practice downtown, his dad had been on the city council years before, and his family has a street and neighborhood bearing their name. Maybe if I knew all that, I wouldn’t have tried.

Still, this was very exciting. I got a website, business cards, flyers, and yard signs. I went to all the events, door knocking every weekend and after work, crafting clever social media posts. But day by day I began to realize how ignorant I was about the mess I had gotten myself into. Politics is just as ugly as you might think. City Council in Nashville does not run on a political party. (Side note: judges do run on a party platform, so go figure that one out.) But most people know who’s on which side anyway, and the party organizations will assist in some ways. I went to some of the party events anyway. And it was the most cliquish, herd-mentality group I have ever seen. I felt like a spy, because these people didn’t really know me, and I felt like I was gathering intel by being there. At one breakfast, there was a lady who dared to have a different opinion on one issue and she got nailed to the wall for saying so. Funny thing was I actually agreed with her, but I kept my mouth shut!

There was always chatter and gossip to be had. Everyone running wanted to make affiliations and quid-pro-quo endorsements. And I can tell you that it’s the same on both sides. At open invitation meet-and-greets, people running for other offices would assume which side I would be on and give me insider information and bad mouth certain other candidates. It was a hoot. And gross.

I remember getting invited to be interviewed by the Fraternal Order of Police. I was very supportive of the Police, had a number of friends serving, and worked with many of them through our neighborhood watch. But on the list of interview questions they provided, I noticed almost all of them had to do with increasing money, salaries, or benefits. And being fiscally conservative, I knew I couldn’t make all of the promises they wanted me to make. So I didn’t get interviewed. And obviously, didn’t get endorsed either.

I didn’t get any major endorsements. Not that I couldn’t have, but probably because I didn’t ask. I’m not a salesman. I’m good with relationships, not good at cold-calling or hard sales. All I ever asked of anyone was for their vote. This also explains why the majority of money I raised, came from two unprompted donations. (Technically, I don’t think I even raised enough to be required to report. But I did!) Enneagram wasn’t a thing back then, but my 9-Peacemaker doesn’t like to stir up drama either. So there was little calling attention to myself, and certainly no attack ads.

I had the hardest time swallowing my pride and asking for volunteers for anything. I did almost all the door-knocking myself, except for when my parents helped. Most of the yard signs were for people I was really close to or asked for one on their own. Toward the end, I finally asked for a couple people to write me an endorsement letter. It’s not that you have to be cut-throat to do this, but there are people who lack a decision-making filter and just go for it (my filter could stop the corona virus). They could still be just as nice and honest as I try to be, but they’re also able to say “hey, would you put a sign in your yard?” without hesitation.

I will give myself credit for one thing: door-knocking. I always hated the moment before I got started. I felt like I was back in my first door-to-door sales job after college. It was the worst. I sucked so bad I got fired from a commission-only position. Door knocking felt like that. Bothering people who don’t want to be bothered. But I really liked the flyers I had made to pass out. They were door-hangers where the bottom tore off into a business card. So I would go against my will and every time I ended up having a great conversation with someone.

I have a dozen stories of great encounters with people. Those that offered me water and snacks. People inviting me into their homes to sit and chat. Connecting with people and never knowing their political vantage point (most of the time). One guy asked “You a Republican or Democrat?” I’d reply “Well, the council doesn’t technically run on a party platform. There’s three of us in the race…” He interjected, “Cut the crap and just tell me which one.” So I said “In most aspects I would lean conservative.” That made him happy and he shut the door.

Another house I went to had every possible political sign in her yard, all from the left-leaning side of the fence. She and her grown daughter were outside, so we struck up a conversation, mostly about Nashville city-wide hot topics of the day. It was a great back and forth talk, but I never indicated my party. By the end she was happy with me and said I was welcome to put my sign in her yard if I wanted.

But of course, anytime you stick your neck out, you risk the chance of getting hurt. There were a handful of negative events. One being an email that went out to a large group associated with a new park. In it they lauded the candidate they liked, quoted out-of-context the candidate they didn’t like, and acted as if I was a nobody that no one had heard of. (Except for all the people on the email list that forwarded it over to me). They even misspelled my name. So I took the lack of using BCC as an opportunity to respond and let everyone know all that I had done for park, whether the sender knew it or not. I suppose my fault in all that hoopla was my inability to shake my tail feathers enough so that people knew who I was.

The worst and most entertaining bad thing that happened was a disgruntled neighbor. I was an admin on the Facebook groups, having founded them and being on the association. Things would get intense from time to time on the Neighborhood Watch group. One guy in particular hated having his inappropriate threads deleted. Other people did too, of course. One called me a Cat Nazi for removing a irrelevant post about a pet. In response, I jokingly changed my profile picture to Hitler with a Cat head. I swear it was only up there for a few hours. But long enough for this disgruntled neighbor to see it and save it. (Who does that?) Then much later there’s a candidate forum. He shows up, wearing a custom made T-shirt with the cat-hitler picture, and text like “Jared’s FB Profile Pic!” (Who does that?). Apparently he stood in the back the entire time, I suppose to intimidate me. Fortunately for me, I never saw him.

One of the hardest parts was the weight that existed the entire election season. You couldn’t drive in the area without seeing a yard sign for one of the candidates. And seeing any of them brought up all the emotions going on that week. All the pressure, the things to do, the choices and decisions to make. By the end, I just wanted it to be over. As my cousin said to my dad, “if he wins he’ll be happy; if he loses he’ll be better off.”

I think it was apparent to most people that with the number of yard signs and organization endorsements who the expected winner was (hint: not me). My wife’s fear at the beginning was that I would actually win. I think that feeling slowly faded and she, too, just wanted it over. Voting day came and I had a fantastic time seeing people out and watching posts and comments online. I even had a couple volunteers hold signs up and wave at voting stations. That night I invited a handful of friends to gather at a Mexican restaurant for a results party. The news was on, but no one paid much attention to it and we all had a good time. Slowly people said their goodbyes and left. I’m not sure what percentage of the vote was being reported when I looked at the numbers, but whatever it was, it was enough to know that it was over and I could finally exhale.

I wasn’t really disappointed. I feel good about all the lessons I learned and being able to give 20% of the people in my town someone they could honestly vote for besides Mickey Mouse. Three delightfully ironic pieces came from it. First is that both of the candidates from either side told me that if they weren’t running they would have voted for me. Second is that the guy who won is doing a fantastic job. We’ve gotten along really well. I help him out from time to time, and he does things for me, too. Best part is that not only does he mostly vote the way I’d want him to, but I don’t have to be the one taking all the angry phone calls from the public. Lastly, we decided to get a bigger house (for foster care), and ended up moving out of the district less than a year later.

What could I have done differently to have performed better? First, obviously, be more forthcoming about asking for help and support. I relied on the “if you build it, they will come” mentality. I should’ve been more aware of who I was running against. I was too ignorant about my name-recognition outside the neighborhood and into the rest of the district. I was young and admittedly out of my league when it came some of the things the council takes on. But hey, that certainly hasn’t stopped plenty of other people!

So the election came and went. Then the Speech Competition came and went, (which I also lost but loved doing). Work normalized for a while. We stopped foster care temporarily. Becoming reinvested in a church was slow-going. All that was left was expecting a baby. My wife was extremely sick the majority of the time. So the next year was a lot of one-on-one time with my 7-year-old daughter. Those days were some of my favorite times with her. She would be changing churches, neighborhoods, and schools that year, in addition to welcoming a new baby into the home. My guess is she really needed a dad to just be there for her. And I couldn’t have been more thankful I was able to.

I’ve stayed moderately busy over the few years after the election. I became more involved in the chamber and at church. I was able to mentor a teen for five years. I put a decent effort into doing more public speaking two years ago. But I’m struggling with a foundational dilemma: who do I speak to and about what?

Seeing goals I set for myself come and go, I decided to live a life with purpose instead of benchmarks. But not landing on a particular thing has left me feeling adrift. So I’m left with asking “What now?” I’ve made great relationships with politically important people, and if I hadn’t moved I could’ve run again in the future, and might have done well. But getting off of being a Facebook admin has been a big sigh of relief and I can’t imagine getting all mixed up in that again.

The moral of the story: I haven’t figured that out yet. Can an honest, good-intentioned, optimistic person who just wants to help people and doesn’t have back-room deals and side-conversations actually make it in politics? Maybe? There are too many people who all want something from you to be able to keep your nose that clean. I’m sure it can be done, it would be really hard. I could’ve had my Mr. Smith Goes to Washington moment, but even he would’ve gotten settled into the position over time.

My wife loves to compare politics to a pendulum. It has consistently swung from one side and back to the other, ever-correcting the mistakes of the past, and making new ones along the way. We the People are the ones to make that happen. Stay engaged in both real life and political life, and try to make the next right move. Maybe one day in the distant future, the political pendulum will swing back my way. Right now I’m just doing the best I can with what I’ve been given.

Foster Care, Marriage

Hold On Tight

Someone from our Foster Care agency posted this video. It’s from 2017, so I’m surprised it hadn’t come across my newsfeed till now. If you can’t watch it, the voiceover says:

We’ve done well in life. With help from our adviser, we made it through many market swings.

Retirement age couple, straightening up the house. They sit at a table when the doorbell rings.

Sure we could travel, take it easy. But we’ve never been the type to just sit back. Not when we have so much more to give.

The scene is obviously a situation of a social worker dropping off a new foster child to their home. Then their title of “Empty Nesters” is crossed out and replaced by “Foster Parents”.

So yeah. Here I am crying at work.

But interestingly enough, it wasn’t so much the twist at the end that got me. I’m actually a little too realistic (cynical?) to think that a foster child would so quickly give a hug with this look of comfort and appreciation. Real life drop-offs don’t always work that smoothly.

Most of ours have not been dramatic, just strangely casual. Like we’re having friends over for a playdate, and no one’s really talking about the elephant in the room. The first night has never been all that emotional.

The part that really got me was the shot at the table.

Here they sit in anticipation. They pour a cup of coffee because what else is there to do? Everything else at this point seems so trivial. You’ve cleaned the house and prepared as much as you could since the call probably came only hours before. But to watch TV is irritating and senseless. You can’t go anywhere. So here we sit like waiting for the doctor to come out of surgery with an update.

They share a glance of mutual understanding that says “We both agreed to do this. Get ready, cause it’s about to happen.” Then they chuckle, knowing that they may very well be in over their heads, which is entirely possible.

Because then the foster child comes. And you get the privilege and burden of not only the experience, but also knowing all the gruesome details that would cause a child to be in this situation to start with. It’s the difference between knowing and understanding. Between head-knowledge or heart-knowledge. We could all guess pretty accurately what abuse or neglect happens to families in the system. But when you hear the reports over the phone while you’re looking at the child this happened to – it becomes real. When you become closer to the birth family and hear the cycles of trauma that have been around for generations, the grief becomes insurmountable.

That’s when you realize that nothing in this world is perfect, and the best you can do is to do something. Simply take an action with heart full of hope that maybe it will make a difference at some point.

So they look at each other and smile, with the head-knowledge that their hearts are about to be challenged. But we’ve never been the type to just sit back anyway.

Then they hold hands.

Holding hands when you’re dating is only sensational. You do it just to see if she’s as willing to hold your hand as you are. But when you’ve been married for a couple decades, holding hands is a way to rededicate the vows you gave years ago without having to say a word. When things around us get tough, she will grab my hand and say “hold on tight.”

Too many times we’ve been at that same coffee table, after a really long day with the foster kids or after getting disappointing news, and we hold hands and say “hold on tight.”

Whenever we hear of couples getting a divorce, “hold on tight.” When we hear of infidelity or a spouse passing away, “hold on tight.” When we hear of children who grow up and fall away from their faith or give up on trying, “hold on tight.”

Because if you were to ask me in the best and brightest of days, I would rather be thanking God for this woman in my life than anything else. So in the darkest of challenges, we have to remind ourselves that even though this moment is difficult, this is better than anything else. Fighting for this is worth it. This. We can’t lose this. We can’t let this go.

Because it seems as though the people around us are all facing the worst of circumstances. It’s like they are being dragged away from the fairy-tale life we all dreamed of, the life we seemed to all be living just a few years before. And now attacks are coming from every angle and it’s enough emotional weight to make you physically cringe inside.

Hold on tight. Say it again and again as often as you need to. Take the ones you love the most and fight through the sleepless nights and longest days to make it work. Better to have this than live any other life.

So we go back to the table from time to time. Reset. Pour a cup of coffee. Turn off the irritating and senseless TV. Share a glance of mutual understanding. Acknowledge that we may not know what to do next. But take my hand. Hold on tight. Release a nervous laugh. God’s got this. Our task is to simply be willing, faithful, and ready to go,

because the doorbell is about to ring.

Life Lessons, Social media

We Still Need “Thoughts and Prayers”

In this digital age, whenever sad news is posted or a tragedy happens, we all feel compelled to comment. Typically, we have good intentions to show sympathy or give comfort by letting the person or group know they have an online community with them. But these sad events seem to happen too often, and too often our words of comfort come up short on originality.

This is even more challenging for famous people or politicians – those with a blue checkmark next to their Twitter handle. Not only are they expected to say something, their response must be to the liking of any potential reader. If not, prepare for an onslaught of them getting ripped to shreds for not saying enough, or doing enough, or saying too much, or missing the point, or having the audacity to misspell a word when death is on the line!

So the safest route for a while was to simply play it safe and offer a generic phrase to acknowledge the event and show concern but not risk saying the wrong thing. Thus the phrase “thoughts and prayers” was born. And then it was used by others and repeated and copied/pasted.

Unfortunately, too many tragedies happened. And what do you say this time that’s different than last time but still emphasizes your intent?

My thoughts and prayers are with those affected.

“Oh!? You said that last time and what good did it do???”

Nowadays, “thoughts and prayers” are the low-hanging fruit of a go-to comeback for any critic. (Nevermind how unoriginal it is to repeat overused one-liners to really stick it to that guy you despise on Facebook.)

Personally, I’ve had enough with debates online so I tend to just not say anything unless it’s a funny gif. I’d rather not type a single word for fear of saying the wrong thing from someone else’s perspective. But what’s the alternative for someone who is actually sad? For someone who is actually thinking about the people involved, and might actually be saying a prayer for them? Should the burden be on them to word it in such a way to not trigger the cynic? Or can we all lower our keyboard weapons and let people have their harmless, albeit generic comment?

The logic behind “thoughts and prayers” criticism is reasonable from one vantage point: there are problems in this world that may be fixed if certain action was taken, and by their perspective, simply saying “thoughts and prayers” is equivalent to no action at all. I could make the same argument for ANY digital comment made, including their critique. No comment is considered action unless someone acts on it. So the criticism is really invalid.

Let’s give the benefit of doubt to the the one making the comment and assume they might actually be taking the time to stop and think about the situation, as well as lifting up a prayer for those involved.

What good does it do? I have a few suggestions.

– Sympathy

Of all the people who know me personally, even those who never stepped in a Sunday morning church service, they have always shown appreciation if I pray for them. Whether you believe or not, there is an element of appreciation for someone to be willing to pray on your behalf. Take, for example, you’re in need of a job, and I say, “well, I know the head of a company who’s hiring. I’ll put in a good word.” You’d be delighted. Prayer is the same. I consider it an honor, privilege, and obligation to take the things that concern me and put them at the feet of a higher power.

There are millions of things not on my radar. I don’t care about them, and as a result, I don’t pray about them. If I actually took the time to comment “thoughts and prayers” on a post, I care about it. I really do! If a story has made it’s way through the noise of the rubbish out there to the point someone sees it, thinks about it, and makes a sympathetic comment, they shouldn’t be ridiculed for it.

“Hate is not the opposite of love; apathy is”
Rollo May

I suppose we should at least appreciate that there is someone who cares, AND another one who cares enough to criticize. There are probably millions of others who simply do not care enough to do one or the other.

But when you’re the one who’s hurt, a little bit a sympathy goes a long way.

– Motivation

Have you ever had that little voice in your head nagging you to do something? Have you had a passing thought but you keep letting it pass by? Have you had this disturbance in your gut that has nothing to do with food and you can’t shake it?

I had it for a while with broken down cars on the side of the road. I told myself “next time I won’t be in such a rush and will stop and help.” Time flew by and I probably passed by dozens over weeks, always too busy to stop. Finally, the day came where I was on my way home, with no particular plans, and saw a car stuck in the turning lane. I turned my hazard lights on, and as I walked over, a guy from church comes to help, walking from the other side. We laughed about the coincidence and pushed the car out of the way.

I wasn’t super proud of myself for stopping. More than that I wondered if this is an every day task for the other guy. If his heart was just that generous in general and didn’t need months of convincing to do it.

We’re not all the same. Motivation to do good can take time. It took years before I ran out of excuses to volunteer for a youth mentoring program, but I’m glad I finally did. Maybe people who comment on unfortunate news often enough are one by one motivating themselves into future action.

– Power

Kierkegaard said “The function of prayer is not to influence God, but rather to change the nature of the one who prays.” I’m not sure of his context, but I would change it: “prayer is to influence God AND change our nature.” For the one who prays sincerely, they believe there is power in the act of prayer for changes to occur. There are stories upon stories that would seemingly prove the power of prayer, but I suppose all of them could be disregarded as coincidence. There are even statistics I could present to show the effectiveness of prayer with medical patients. But the intent of a prayer is not necessarily to convince the world of it’s effectiveness, but to lift up to God the prayer itself.

Even though movies might represent prayer as a last resort action, many of the strongest people of faith go to prayer as their initial reaction. They’ve had a life full of answered prayers and the best thing they could possibly do for you, is to pray. The best thing I would ask them to do for me, is to pray.

I’ll be the first to preach one of my favorite verses “If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?” But in the same letter he says “pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.”

If I could do one thing, and only one thing, I would offer up a prayer. If I truly believe what it is I confess to believe, then I believe God has the power to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine, far outweighing anything I could do on my own. And offering “thoughts and prayers”, might be overwhelmingly more than you would ever think is possible.

Foster Care

I Forget I Have Foster Kids

Sometimes when I get home from work, it’s quiet. That means my wife is busy or resting and the kids are all upstairs or across the street playing. Other nights I get home and one kid screams “DADDY!”, one gives me a big hug, one gives me a long hug, and one tells me a story.

Then later on I tell one kid to pick up toys, one to clean dishes, one to put up dishes, and one to take out trash.

When school is in, one needs to go to bed on time, one has paper homework, one has computer homework, and one has a project.

All of them are stubborn in their own ways. All of them are helpful, smart, and innocent.

When they have a bad moment, one can be bossy, one tends to hide the truth, one thinks the world is ending, and the other throws a fit.

At their best, one is charming, one is helpful, one is sweet, and one is kind.

Unless you know each of them really well, it’s probably hard to tell which two are our biological kids and which two are our foster kids. Most days I get lost in the crazy schedules, things to do, and things to remember that I forget I have foster kids. They are all children in my house. I’m responsible for them. I also have to feed them, discipline them, and make sure they bathe and sleep from time to time. And in doing all those mundane things, I neglect to remember their circumstance.

Sometimes I intentionally “forget”, when someone comments on how close in age they all are, I respond with a definitive “Yep.” to avoid the awkward and unnecessary conversation. Sometimes I forget when they do something important like a band performance, or someone compliments me on how great they are. I puff out my chest as if I’m responsible for the majority of their life where they were raised to be great kids before I came into the picture.

Late at night is typically when they miss their mom the most. And not just their mom, but their former lifestyle. They miss all the things that we would consider less than appealing, but they wish to go back because it was theirs. It’s all representative of the last time their family was together. The life they’re in now is our life. We’ve grafted them into how we do things. We’re conscious of their preferences and traditions, but day-to-day life happens and those tend to slip away.

Today they both got braces. That’s a big deal! A really big deal they might remember forever. And the memory will be associated with having done it in their foster home. That’s neither good nor bad. But it’s in these moments I wonder if they think about their family and if they’re wanting to show off their smile to them.

They have moments where they miss their mom more than usual, and it’s neither good nor bad that they do. They forget to think about their old life, and that’s neither good nor bad. They absolutely love some of the things they get to do by living with us, and that’s neither good nor bad.

When they get injured, I wonder if I’m handling the way they’re used to (probably not – I’m more interested in how they got injured to start with.) When they wake up in the middle of the night, are they a little disappointed it’s me that came to check on them? When they come home with a good or bad grade, did I react to an appropriate amount?

But in forgetting that they are foster kids, it’s not that I feel like I’m purposefully taking ownership of them. I still know they have a mom who loves them. We advocate for reunification and make it our mission. It’s just not at the forefront of my mind. Then occasionally we have a rough day, and like waking up to a bucket of ice water, I remember “oh yeah, this is all really hard for them.”

I suppose it’s just like getting over a breakup or a loved one passing away, where time takes over and the moments of sadness and heartbreak happen less often than they used to. Right after the event happens your heart races so much you can feel it pulsing through your veins; you can audibly hear the beats pounding. But give it time and it levels back out to a new normal.

So it’s not that we would actually be doing anything different. But simply knowing and remembering creates an empathy to care for others.

It’s driving for miles not acknowledging a single road sign, but suddenly a “Proceed with Caution” catches your attention. Remember someone’s situation, know that this moment might be difficult, and intentionally put love first. In hard times, that’s all any of us need: to be known, loved, heard, and remembered.

Marriage

You Don’t Even Know

You don’t even know how beautiful she is. Sure she puts effort into looking good, but she doesn’t need to. She could dress up or not; makeup or not; hair up or down. She’s most beautiful when she’s happy. It pierces my eyes and tattoos my memories.

You don’t even know how much she needs the sun. Not loves, likes, or enjoys the sun. Needs it. She’s like a plant whose flower naturally gazes at the sun in the morning and instinctively follows it all the way across the sky. Her heart rate, blood pressure, and endorphins all change at the first hint of warmth from the light. The ocean has the same effect on her. Giving her both annually is how she survives the winter.

You don’t even know how she’s honest to the core. She wouldn’t take a penny that wasn’t hers, skip a line, or even accept something for free. It makes me blush for every little thing I’ve ever tried to get away with. To be loved by someone so genuine makes you feel pure and comfortable.

You don’t even know how hard she works. If it’s hers to do, it will be done. Mostly with ease, sometimes with tears, but you’ll never want anyone else to do next time.

You don’t know how determined she can be. Not necessarily stubborn, not selfish. She’s determined because she knows the answer already. You might as well give up. She’s too smart, honest, and willing to do what needs done, so there’s nothing that can stand in her way.

You don’t know how smart she is. She hasn’t filled up on endless encyclopedias of useless knowledge just to know it, but she could. She hated math growing up, but has mastered it for a job. She “gets it.” She’s not naive or ignorant; she’s quick and thoughtful. She will challenge you, and eventually you’ll realize she was right.

You don’t even know how funny she is. It won’t come out as a pun or a joke, but to laugh with her is like the satisfaction of a good meal and the relief after a workout.

You don’t even know her restraint. She could cut you with words and you’d have a scar for life. But she doesn’t. She wouldn’t. It’s not in her to do that to someone else. In fact, she’ll do the opposite, and in kindness heap coals of fire on your head.

You don’t even know her heart. You may have seen it or felt it, but you don’t know how sincere it is. For the vulnerable and abused, the forgotten and lonely, her heart beats for them. She would make a million dollars to have something to give away. She would build the biggest house to give them a place to live. She would hire chefs to feed them all (because she’s not cooking).

She’s a great mother and friend. She sees God in creation and music. She loves mornings and food. You may know her likes and dislikes. You may know her preferences and opinions. You may know her quirks and tendencies.

You don’t even know her like I do. In a way I wish everyone understood her fully, because she’s that amazing and you would love it. But I also know this knowledge is safe with me. I’ll protect it and defend its integrity. It will be my pleasure to spend the rest of my life getting to know her more.

Life Lessons, Marriage, Parenting

Absolutely No Reason

This morning I actually got out of the house a little early to make it to work on time. I thought if I could get an hour’s worth of work in before our standup meeting, then I could basically do the grown-up version of finishing my homework the morning before school. I headed to the interstate since it looked like “normal” traffic.

Then I broke rule #1 of Nashville Traffic: don’t veer off the path you’re on. I know I should always take either the Interstate or the Highway; never try and mix it up to avoid a wreck because so does everyone else.

I head down a side road all confident (like a fool) where I’m met by a train which has come to a complete stop right across the street. People are standing around, looking at it like someone just hit a cow and they don’t know what to do about it. So now I spend another 30 minutes just meandering around side streets like Pac-Man in Nashville. I arrive… defeated.

Why do I tell you that story?

Absolutely No Reason.

After having had a rough morning already, I decided to treat myself to a coffee. It’s warm outside, the rain hasn’t started yet, and I’m walking with a little excitement in my step. (This is the grownup version of going to the candy store). I head over to The Well Coffeehouse. It’s been a while and they donate to provide clean water in impoverished countries. So extra kudos for me.

What I should’ve said was “One decaf latte, please.” I’m not supposed to have caffeine; trying not to do sugar. Instead my eyes went blurry over the menu and I picked the first thing that didn’t appear sweetened: “a Cortado!” It’s a double espresso drink with an ounce of milk. Comes in a little dixie cup. Not quite my jam but lately I’ve been headed in the direction of black coffee. A far cry from my days of only being able to handle coffee-flavored melted ice cream a decade ago.

It starts to rain. I head out the door to make it back dry, but stumble a little. Coffee sloshes out and smears over my hand. Probably lost a dollar of good espresso right there. And now my heart is racing cause I forgot all about this stupid decaf thing.

Why do I tell you that story?

Absolutely No Reason.

All I can think about now is getting home. The past couple years the best thing I get to do is see my toddler scream “DADDY!” and run to me when he hears the door open. I grab him tight and tackle him to the floor and we wrestle and hug. Sometimes he asks questions like “Did you go to work!?” and “Do you still have a beard?” For a moment I forget whatever else was bothering me an hour before.

Then my pre-teen daughter finally realizes I’m here. She’s also excited but takes her longer to notice these days. “Oh! Hi Dad! You have GOT to hear what we did in class today…” I eventually weave my way to the kitchen where my wife and I hug. It’s a simultaneous emotional flush of all the bad and a recharge of all the good. We attempt to recap everything that happen since last we were together, but usually get interrupted by something.

Why do I tell you that story?

Absolutely No Reason…

Except to say this.

Life is full of these little moments. Some good, some bad. Some worth telling about later, some not. I’m busy. I’m distracted by all the things.

Distracted from what? – From the thing I’m supposed to be doing.

What am I supposed to be doing? – I guess all the things!

And around and around we go till we all fall down.

If I’m not careful, this becomes the story of my life. It’s not the worst life to have. But in the end, my eulogy states “He loved a good coffee on his way to work in the morning and was pretty nice to his family.”

I feel in my gut I should have more purpose in my days. Even in my moments. Taking care of my family is one of those. So instead of just wrestling my boy for fun, I do it knowing I’m creating a strong bond between us. And when I listen to my daughter, I give her undivided attention so she feels important and becomes confident. I hug my wife knowing she needs it as much as I do, and if through the chaos we can at least make that moment happen every day, we’ll be alright.

But all the little moments shouldn’t be distractions from what you’d rather do, they should be a part of your daily purpose: to love and good works. You can turn moments of traffic into opportunities to appreciate music and scenery. And getting coffee into opportunities to show genuine interest in people. But more importantly, you can and should insert effort and time in your life dedicated to a higher calling. So when the day is done, you have a good story worth telling.

We can live our whole lives busy and full of activity and have nothing to show for it. So busy that we never even realized there was something to be missed.

Don’t live your life for Absolutely No Reason.

Foster Care, Life Lessons

Awaken in Prayer

This past month a few people organized an event where churches all around the area would pray for every person in Nashville. To participate you got a packet with instructions, pamphlets for guidance, and a list of 15 first-names and their address. The instructions were to pray for each name everyday and send them a note to simply let them know they had been prayed for. I don’t know the official numbers, but if I’m just estimating that there are possibly 750,000 names and 15 names per person, that could be almost 50,000 people praying…

for every person
by name
every day
for 30 days.

That’s amazing to me. Tens of thousands actively praying in a positive way for strangers not knowing their demographics, circumstances, or backgrounds. Faceless people.

Using some pretty basic googling skills, I could have a picture of every person on my list within a few minutes. (Welcome to the digital age!) I chose not to, but it wasn’t hard to assume the race and class of the people on my list judging by the sound of the first name and knowing the zip code. My list had addresses from a more affluent side of town. But even then, my first thought was all these people could be in any number of circumstances at the moment. They could be undergoing loss, or health problems, or stress, or hopelessness. Or… not.

I didn’t realize there was a booklet in the packet that provided you with a daily prayer example, ironically I did a very similar thing. I came up with something to ask for that would fit anyone. In many cases, what I would want someone to have prayed for me that day. A few examples:
Soften their hearts
Give them guidance
Give them a Stronger faith
Bring someone in their life to bless them
Health
Them to see God at work in their life
Stay pure in heart
Give them peace
To forgive and be forgiven
Give them daily bread
Find their Purpose
Bring them joy
Lay their burdens down

It wasn’t weird to me at all to pray for people I didn’t know. I would take the paper and stare at each name, one by one. I felt like I was getting to know them. Often I would get an image in my head of what circumstance they might be in, and that maybe this prayer was something they really needed. Who knows if any of it would’ve been accurate, but it just proved to me more and more why doing this was so important.

Our church hosted a time of prayer on Wednesday nights during this period. Just a dimly lit room with soft music, papers with guided prayers or lists of more names were available, and some blank cards to write letters to people in our congregation. This was something I didn’t know I needed. It was so refreshing and relaxing to have a period of dedicated time to simply sit with my thoughts. I prayed for some people in my life and wrote a card.

When it was almost time for it to end, our minister walked over to me and my wife and prayed over us. He spoke words of encouragement, validated our efforts as parents and foster parents, and asked for God to be close to us during these stressful days. Whether he knew it or not, this past month has been excruciatingly stressful, having had an uncle pass away, losing many of my co-workers to outsourcing, having to work extra hard and extra long days, on top of the normal busyness of a life with kids and foster kids. All of this boiled up and overflowed in the form of moisture in my eyes.

Now, I’ll cry at a movie or sometimes when telling a really personal story, but not simply by someone talking to me. Like a facade falling off a building, the false sense of strength and composure I had been presenting to the world came crumbling down. I was exposed and thankful. For a moment I could breathe again. I realized in all of these days of praying for other people, I neglected to pray for myself. You would think that’s a good thing, but that’s not what we’re called to do. We’re called to love others AS ourselves, not instead of ourselves.

I really appreciated being prayed for. Maybe the people on my list did too. My guess is the creators of the project knew the double-meaning of Awaken when choosing the name. The initial thought being that we would Awaken the people of Nashville to a life with Christ. But just as important, that we, the Church, Awaken to become Christians who desire to pray for others. Christians who want the best for our unknown neighbors. People willing to take time to bring a name before the God we believe has the power to make a difference.

If we believe in an all-powerful God, and that He has called us to love and good works, then we should be inspired to pray. Those prayers will then compel us into action to treat each stranger we encounter as if they may be the person we just spent 30 days praying for.