Dad Revelations – Jared Throneberry

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.

Dad Revelations

Walking in Their Footsteps

Today I attended the funeral of my uncle; the second uncle I’ve lost in six months. Both of them were such good men. Strong, kind, God-fearing, family men. Small-town, friendly, hard-working, firm handshake men. Good men.

That word “good” kept coming up with every conversation about him. There wasn’t a better word to come to mind. Regardless of my limited vocabulary, it sums up his life really well.

They both had served in the military earlier in life. And as such, were treated with military honors at the funeral. (Can I just say how much I love that this happens, is required by law, and how they do it so respectfully). It is a beautiful site to see that flag draped over the coffin. There’s a sense of pride knowing they were willing to sacrifice their lives 60 years ago. But thankfully, they had 60 more years of a free life to enjoy. 60 more years of growing a family and doing good in the world.

Good. There’s that word again. They were good. They did good.

The family asked me to be a pallbearer. My hand was last to push the casket into the hearse. Standing there staring at the blue field of white stars, I had an empty feeling. Not so much that I was sad, but that there’s a hole in the world with him gone. “We lost a good one,” my aunt said about him. A good one.

Two soldiers from around the greatest generation. And not to compare, but I feel a bit unworthy. Here I am, the same age my dad was when I first went to a funeral. I’m a grown-up. I don’t remember becoming a grown-up, but I suppose I am one. I’m certainly old enough.

Whatever the vague line is that I had to cross to be a man, I suppose I did that, too. So, here I am standing in the shadows of two greats, buried in a pile of my 1st-world-problems, with the realization that my cousins and I are the one to fill their shoes.

Maybe there’s a better analogy… like walking in their footsteps. No one can fill their shoes or do what they did, especially in their times and circumstances. And it’s not a competition. To do what? Build bigger buildings? Drive faster cars? Fight worse battles?

Every generation wants the ones coming up behind to have it a little easier. And maybe in some ways it is, but in others it’s not. Humans tend to make a mess of things one way or another. There’s nothing new under the sun.

If I can do anything to honor their legacy, it would be to do good. To be good. What else would they ask for? What more could I do? To live my life so that in the end, I have a room full of people saying, “we lost a good one.” And maybe that’s enough to leave the next generation wondering if they’re also doing enough.

Today, someone brought my mom a 100-year-old picture of my great-grandfather driving a train out of a phosphate mine he worked in. They said the mine was enough work for the whole town to support their families. They started a church there. Doing good goes back generations upon generations.

Here we are. The grown-ups. The next generation. The ones with the baton in our hands and a stadium of future generations anxious to see how fast we’ll run.

Well, take a deep breath, because the time has come. Go forth and do good.

Dad Revelations, Foster Care, Life Lessons, Parenting

Food and Music Therapy

Currently, our foster kids are 13 and 11 years old. For an extended weekend, my wife volunteered to watch their half-siblings, both toddlers, to give their grandmother a break. My wife may whine a little in the midst of it all, but she has the biggest heart of anyone I know. See, for the rest of us, our selfishness hushes our heart before we get too attached. Her heart beats the living daylight out of any selfishness before she realizes that we’re now watching six kids for five days.

We suddenly realize that we may have an opportunity to let all four kids see their mom (whom we absolutely love) for the first time since last Spring. So we make plans on Saturday for her to take them and I will stay with our two kids.

I decide to do something different for lunch, since it’s now only three of us, and go to a new Japanese restaurant. Before getting settled in, my wife calls and tells me that the place “didn’t have the records”, didn’t really care to try, and left them no option but to leave disappointed. So now my wife’s just pleaded and balled her eyes out in front of strangers, the older kids are upset and confused, the younger ones are tired and hungry.

“Come meet me at this restaurant,” I say.

I get the waitress to get us a big table: 2 adults, 3 big kids, 2 little kids, 1 baby. I order a variety of plates and one sampling of sushi, just for the fun of it. Everything is being served just as they walk in. The restaurant is mostly empty, dimly lit, and quiet.

I can see the distress on their faces turn slowly to relief with every dish of rice, chicken, and soup. We divide everything up. “Can I try that!?” “Can I have more?”

Then comes the sushi. Almost everyone tries the California Roll. Three of us eat the raw fish.

It was weird, and yummy, and fun.

As if that wasn’t enough for a weekend, the next day I had to drive the little siblings back to their family. The four of them have been like Velcro on each other for five days, and now it was time to separate the pieces. We meet in a parking lot and transfer bags and car seats. They’re about to leave and I try to get the older boy to come out and give hugs when I realize he isn’t because he’s trying to hold back his tears.

The first few minutes of the drive back he was sobbing into his hands. The girl is stronger than all of us put together; she’ll hold it all in and put on a good face for her younger brother.

I put on a CD of what is probably our favorite album from our favorite band, “Indian Summer” by Carbon Leaf. Track after track of good, catchy, poetic songs. No one was talking so I turn it up loud and let the music fill the lonely, empty air. I can sense them starting to get in to it a little. Heads bobbing. Humming. Drumming.

Some of their songs have a melancholy tone. The sentimentality doesn’t allow you to listen without thinking. Then comes the best one with the repeated line “When all of your tears dry, let your troubles roll by…” Over and over and over again. Not like a nagging voice, but like a mother rubbing your back to calm you down. I’ve heard that song a thousand times and never cried. But I hear him sniffle. Then I hear her sniffle. Then I sniffle.

And by the time we make it home, the tight chest-pain of sadness had been released with a deep breath.

Life is busy and noisy. Too busy to sit at a table without distractions. Too noisy to let an entire album play and soak it in. Too often we forget how to recenter and refocus. I, for one, am thankful that in a weekend of really heavy events, which is just a snapshot of a really heavy year, we were able to come out on the other side. Heads up, eyes dry, arms around each other.

If the world could use anything right now, I think it should be:

meals around a big table with the ones you love

and good music

Dad Revelations, Life Lessons

Sing Me a Hateful Lullaby

Here we are in another political voting season. Against my better judgment, I decided to watch a debate online. For the most part it lived up to my expectations, but the thing that struck me was I didn’t personally like the candidate I’ll probably vote for. I wonder which candidate portrayed their authentic self? Should I vote on personality or solely on policy? Between the staged debates and endless back-and-forth commercials, I don’t know what’s real.

We’re in such an awful political climate right now, and have been for some time. Whether it ended up being Clinton or Trump, I said before the election that we’re all going to get what we deserve. The hateful rhetoric from both sides is disgusting. And both sides feel justified in their tone because they feel so strongly about the issues. YES, it’s from both sides.

John Adams is famous for predicting this problem by saying “There is nothing which I dread so much as a division of the republic into two great parties, each arranged under its leader, and concerting measures in opposition to each other. This, in my humble apprehension, is to be dreaded as the greatest political evil under our Constitution.” But Jefferson argued that it’s the nature of man to be divided in opposition to each other. And that makes sense. We tend to be binary in most topics. Think back to arguments on the playground – how kids would congregate to one side or the other. Most questions and situations are responded to by Yes/No, Left/Right, Up/Down, Right/Wrong.

So to a large degree, opposition is natural and expected. It’s healthy, especially in government. The last thing we’d want is a single platform to rule unchallenged, without anyone questioning the logic, responsibility, or cost.

But rather than have open-minded conversations, we pick a side and sit on it. Like choosing teams for kickball – you’re either for us or against us. The President in charge gets the full support from his side and only opposition from the other. Trump actually seems to have had some exceptions to this where his party isn’t always in lock and step with him. But where his party falls short, his supporters make up in being even more solidified, blind defenders.

It’s like we enjoy the game. But how can so many people be so riled up all the time? Is it worth all the angst?

This article made me sad:

The tl;dr version is “Ten months after Inauguration Day, the trend is holding: For late-night hosts, being sharply critical of President Trump is a winning strategy.”

The author surmises that The Tonight Show ratings are shrinking because it focuses more on fun and games rather than harsh jokes. Other shows seem to be moving from monologues into lectures about the President, and from classic jokes into sarcasm and low-brow low-blows.

I’m not sad for Jimmy Fallon; I’m sure he’ll be just fine. And truth be told, if we happen to stay up and watch any late night show, it will most likely be The Tonight Show, but for the same reason this article says his ratings are going down. If I’m going to be up till 11pm (CST), I want something fairly mindless and entertaining to get me by until I decided it’s worth the effort to make it to the bed. Yes, only 11pm. Not 11:30 or later. There are only about two bands that I will stay up and risk a less-than-7-hour sleep to watch live.

What I don’t want, as I prepare for sleep, is a bedtime story about how ridiculously stupid, crazy, psycho our president is. (I could leave the name of the President out, and this blog will be relevant for years to come).

My wife insists for our kids go to sleep at night calm and happy. If at all possible, we try to avoid problems or arguments and let the kids go to sleep at peace. Marital advice commonly repeated is to never go to bed angry. One tip on how to get a better night’s sleep says not to check email late in the day in case there’s something to upset you.

We’ve all lost sleep being too upset at something. I’ve stayed awake making up fake conversations that will never happen. Why in the world then are late night shows getting ratings by people hungry for angry criticism? Is this really how people want to spend their last few minutes of consciousness for the day? Please, rock me to sleep with a snarky, hateful lullaby.

Gone are the days where politics were confined to the water cooler, barber shops, parking lots, and newspapers. Now we have Facebook algorithms creating echo chambers, and with every like and click Pavlov’s dog is asking for more. The last and first thing we see everyday is more of the same infighting.

I would like to do a better job at this myself, setting aside the first and last few minutes of the day as sacred.

To wake up like I would wake up a toddler “Good morning, sweetie. It’s time to get up. We’re going to have a great day.”

To go to sleep the same, “Did you have a good day? It’s time to lay down. Have sweet dreams.”

We should treat ourselves in the same manner. Tomorrow has enough trouble of its own. There’s no point in worrying about it the night before, or waking up full of tension. Days are full of homework, drama, politics, noise, news, disappointnents and excitements. Surely, we could reserve the bookend minutes for things more fitting.

Save the dawn for “good mornings”, hugs, slippers, peace, hot showers, and coffee.

Save the dusk for “good nights”, snuggles, music, pajamas, peace, and warm beverages.

Maybe if we all did that, our political conversations would naturally morph into ones where we cared more about the people we are talking to than the points made. Maybe I’d have a clearer mind and know who to vote for. Maybe I’d see the stark contrast between the extreme scenarios and crave more meaningful moments.

Our country could use more peace. People could use more sacred moments.

Dad Revelations, Foster Care, Life Lessons, Motivation, Parenting

Dad Revalations: Whatcha doin?

Last fall, I was working on putting up a fence around the back patio steps where there’s a significant drop-off around the perimeter. The social worker conducting our home study left no room for misinterpretation by saying, “um, so we’ll need to do something about this.” Point taken. By using anything I could gather from around the house, and only the necessary items from Lowes (like the fence part because my wife said the chicken wire from the garden wouldn’t suffice), I managed to get something up that resembled a fence.

The last piece wouldn’t sit level so I used the closest thing within reach which happened to be the kids’ yellow duck-head-handled garden tools. As I was scraping around the edge of the patio where my 2-year-old son loves digging in the dirt, he noticed I was doing one of his favorite activities. I could hear the tap-tap-tap of his little shoes running up behind me, a pattern that only occurs when he’s excited, like for bath time or we’re getting a piece of cheese.

“Daddy, whatcha doin’?!” and laid his little hand on my shoulder. If he’s asked me that question directly before, I don’t remember it. This may be the first time I’ve noticed it because I was doing something “manly” around the house (with a yellow duck-head-handle rake) and my son wants to know what I’m doing. This calls for one of those “Well, son….” type of responses. And now I totally sound like my dad.

My kid watches me. When he copies me doing something nice, it’s cute. When he copies me doing something less than admirable, I become hyper-sensitive to everything that I do.

Lately, I’ve been noticing how he picks up on what other people do. He’ll sing the songs his sister sings. Something about a robot from a Pinkalicious show. Maybe I spelled that wrong; I’m purposefully trying to not show interest in a show called Pinkalicious.

He also has picked up the habits of our foster kids right now and their favorite word, “No.” Supposedly, as a parent you’re supposed to ignore “junk behavior.” Maaaan, that’s hard to do when a toddler straight-face tells you NO, like a boss.

It’s the bandwagon tendency in all of us – to do what we see, what’s around us, what others are doing. Sometimes completely mindless, as in the clothes we buy from the store because it’s what they’re offering this season. Sometimes it’s a little intentional, like fixing our hair just a little different or the shows we watch. Sometimes we hear the singing of the Sirens and we float through the air following the scent of the next best thing.

When I was a teenager there was this trendy saying that was used often, maybe you remember “what would Jesus do?” It was typically used as a litmus test for the various situations teens got themselves in. “Would Jesus pick this girlfriend or that girlfriend?” “Would he cheat on his midterms or would he…. not cheat on his midterms?”

As popular of a phrase as it was, I’m sure it was very helpful to many people. But I think there’s a better question to be asked. Not what Jesus would do in the situation we put ourselves in, but what would He be doing? How would he be spending his time?

If we want to know what it is He would be doing, we need to look at what he did:

He cared about people on a very personal, individual level
He spent time resting and in prayer
He was forgiving of those who knew they had failed, and critical of those who proudly said they had it all together
The woman at the well who, even with a past, was the catalyst for a whole community after having a conversation with Him
You have the woman caught in adultery and he protected her from attackers and showed her mercy saying “Go and sin no more”
The poor widow with the two coins he said was the greatest of givers
He challenged people to be better and have a stronger faith
He cared for the sick and hurting
He cried with His friends
He willingly gave His life and His life’s work
He prayed for others
and countless more examples…

We do what the apostles did, like when they said, “”Lord, teach us to pray.” We ask questions like,
“What should I be doing instead?”
“What am I capable of that I’m not currently taking advantage of?”
“Who needs me?”
“How can I help?”

Instead of navel-gazing, waiting for someone to fix us, we can have a broader perspective. We can look at life with a wide-frame lens from a higher vantage point and wonder what’s possible. We can take a moment to look around at the good things already happening and ask “God, what are you doing over there? I can tell something’s going on. I see You’re up to something. What is it? I want to be a part of that?”

Hopefully, it will be like the many times my kids’ shoes will tap-tap-taps up to me, lay their hands on my shoulder and say, “Daddy, whatcha doin’?!” I hope they find me doing great things. I hope they want to do those things, too.

Dad Revelations, Parenting

Joseph, what was it like?

If you were able to take a trip in my stream of consciousness, it would be quite an adventure. Especially the times when I drift off during sermons. It’s usually because the preacher says something that triggers a thought, and I just go with it. One of the things I ponder quite frequently, is about the people who are mentioned briefly in the Bible and what happened in the rest of their story. The woman at the well, the leper, the Ethiopian eunuch. Their appearance lasts less than a day and only a couple paragraphs. The rich young ruler: he “left sad” but did he actually make a change or not? What happens next?!

But one story in particular sticks out, almost like this gaping hole in the storyline of the Bible — What happened to Joseph the father of Jesus?

We know a few things about Joseph. Of course he is in the story of the birth of Christ, and again at the temple when Jesus is 12. We know he and Mary had many other children. He had a reputation; when Jesus began his ministry, people said “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son?”

But as a father myself, especially as a foster parent; what was it like to be given the responsibility of a child who wasn’t yours? And, oh yeah, He’ll also be the Messiah. What was it like to be chosen as the earthly father for the son of God? What pressure did he feel?

There’s the song “Mary, Did You Know? I want to ask “Joseph, What Was It Like?”

Jesus came as a baby. Someone had to teach him to walk, eat, talk. Say “please.” Say “thank you.” We have three toddlers in the house right now. It’s hard for me to imagine a toddler that doesn’t occasionally cry about eating vegetables. So one could assume Jesus as a 2-year-old would do the same and Joseph had to deal with negotiating how many more bites were necessary before Jesus could go play.

But Jesus, of course, was special. He was asking questions and talking with scholars in the temple at age 12. But it says when He left there, He was obedient to His parents. He grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man. Joseph had a hand in guiding this growth. How did he conduct himself? How did he parent? Did he maintain composure at all times? As Joseph, do you give Jesus rules to follow? Maybe instead he uses a more subtle and traditional approach and talks to Jesus in stories, or parables. How much Joseph-like mannerisms did Jesus learn and apply to His style of teaching?

How protective was Joseph? Was he paranoid that someone might want harm his kid? Especially after Herod’s slaughter. Did that feeling ever go away or did he have unfailing faith?

Joseph as the father would have been the one to lead the family in the annual Passover meal. As he broke the bread and passed the cup, did he grasp the full implication and symbolism of the moment? Did he grasp the magnitude of it all and, as a result, feel pride or weight?

What if God had chosen one of us? What if we had the responsibility to take His message, Emmanuel – God with us, and care for it? What kind of example would we be living? How would we present ourselves on a daily basis? Would we feel like we had this inconceivable treasure in our possession?

Would we celebrate more? Would we worry less?

What if we had been given the gift of the Son of God?

Well, that’s exactly what happened.

The gift is yours.

Congratulations! For today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

Dad Revelations

Dad Revelations: Comfort

There is nothing sweeter than the weight of a sleeping baby on your chest. This little soul has enough faith in you to hold and protect them during their most vulnerable, unconscious position. Of course, they don’t quite give it that much thought. But in reality, if a baby doesn’t know you or like you, chances are you’re not getting a nap out of them easily.

Almost every night I take my toddler boy through the bedtime routine. The same daily routine we’ve done for the past two years. I’m not bending over backwards by taking on this baby-duty, because (shhh!) it’s really one of the better jobs. Tickle time while we put on pajamas, relax in a rocking chair while he drinks milk, then snuggle (and burp) for a few minutes before he lays down. During that last stage, he knows exactly where he likes his head on my chest. Not to the left, but to the right. Just below the collar bone. His hands are either wrapped around me, mimicking my pats and rubs, or, when he’s really tired, tucked underneath him.

He is completely and totally at peace in the arms of his father whom he knows and trusts with every aspect of his life.

The other day my daughter fell off her scooter and took a nasty slide on the pavement. She came hobbling to me and when I saw her face, I knew something was wrong. There’s a difference (sometimes only parents can detect) between a fake-sad face and real-sad face. This was real. And boy was it. A bloody mess from chin to knees. And she came to… me. Of course, there weren’t too many options at the time. But if we were at the church playground with hundreds of people she loves, she would still call out for her dad. And I would sympathetically take care of every last scratch and bruise. I give her a drink of water to interrupt the constant cries. I hold her and breathe with her until she’s relaxed. Maybe even a silly joke to crack a smile.

She is completely and totally at peace in the arms of her father whom she knows and trusts with every aspect of her life.

We were talking not long ago about how sometimes poor people can be financially stuck in their situation. Without a safety net of relatives to help, and not necessarily the skills to get a job worth the time away. I have a hard time relating to that situation. I was given enough tools growing up that my job prospects are pretty strong. And I can walk from stage to stage in life knowing that at the very worst of situations, if it all came crashing down, I have my dad who will be there for me. He’s not the type to bail me out of a hole I dig myself. He doesn’t shy away from telling me what I should or should not do. But in most cases, I know that he has a room for me to stay in or a check to cover the cost. I know they would take care of my kids for a short or long term. I can live my life in full confidence that I’ll eventually be fine if the worst should happen.

I am completely and totally at peace in the arms of my father whom I know and trust with every aspect of my life.

Many of us who have strong families probably take for granted having a father in our lives. If asked, we would give a hearty reply about how much we appreciate him, but most days we float on the success that was being built before we were born. Maybe we should thank him from time to time.

Even more so, we take for granted the advantages of a Heavenly Father. It would be good practice to be in constant communication with Him to thank Him and remind ourselves of the great things we have been graciously given.

But there’s an opportunity for an even deeper communication. We could be thankful to Him like we would be a King who grants favor to His subjects. But more than just a king, there’s a relationship available. One that He longs for. In the same way that I have full confidence in my dad to cover my mistakes, I want to live without regret. In the same way that my daughter comes to me when she hurts, I want Him to be the first place I turn. In the same way my son knows just where to lay his head so he’s as comfortable as with any pillow, I want to feel that at ease.

Relationship requires time, and conversation, and living life together. It’s not simply a decision. Trust is built and becomes stronger. It begins when we recognize what’s He’s already done. We look back on our lives and see how He’s brought us to this point. We learn to trust in Him in the good and bad times.

In the toughest of situations, we are able to let out a sigh of relief knowing that we’re covered. When we need to rest, we search out our Father to help us relax. We live our lives in full confidence that He’s got this.

We are completely and totally at peace in the arms of our Father whom we know and trust with every aspect of our lives.

Dad Revelations

Dad Revelations: Identity

Our toddler is talking now and I thought it would be sweet to teach him to say something to make Mommy feel good. So I say, “Mommy is….?” and he says “the Best!” and pumps his fist in the air. It’s adorable. So we came up with words for each of us. Daddy is… awesome, his sister is pretty, and he is cute.

My children are gorgeous but something in me regrets the adjectives I chose for this game. I intend to mean it as a compliment. We tell our daughter she’s beautiful all the time and always have. And at the same time, she’s never been obsessed with looks. “Dressing up” to her is piecing together a hodgepodge of all the different things that a 9-year-old might think is pretty. This means wearing her “cool” boots, neon leggings, leopard print skirt, pink shirt, frilly scarf and all the necklaces.

Even though she’s undoubtedly pretty, she still has doubts. Like a phase of not wanting to wear her glasses, and would make up excuses to get out of wearing them. This is a girl thing, right? Guys have similar phases of questioning their looks, except we keep those feelings submerged where girls are more likely to scream it out loud and throw things at the mirror.

We try to emphasize the cliched “it’s not what’s on the outside, but what’s on the inside that matters.” Then top it off with a “you are beautiful in both ways.” She shrugs it off, we pray it resonates in her mind.

This is what experts say, parents’ words become a child’s inner dialog. The thoughts you have about yourself as you grow up are a reaction to the things you heard your parents say about you. Or what they didn’t say. Or what you perceived them saying. Words are flying at us from all directions and all people. A parent’s struggle to break through with words of truth is difficult.

If you only say it once, it may not stick. It needs reinforcing.
What you say may be contrary to what they’ve heard elsewhere. They need to believe you.
They’re likely to believe negative comments easier than positive ones.
They say something negative about themselves, and you do not disagree, they may assume it’s true or that you agree.
They hear snarky or sarcastic comments said out of frustration. “Well, I guess you just don’t care about homework.” They think “OK, right. I don’t care.”

We all have negative perceptions about ourselves and, at the same time, agree everyone else should believe positive things about themselves. It comes down to identity – who we are. More than what we do or how we act. Much of what we do is a reaction to either how we want to be perceived or to counter-act who we think we are. A few church secretaries I’ve met have been some of the grouchiest people. That’s not who they are; that’s who they have become by being in a position of gate-keeper for years – bombarded with requests, demands, questions, arguments, gossip. They’ve forgotten their identity.

This is the root of Christian hypocrisy. We act like jerks in traffic. Snap at the cashier and waitress. Scream about politics. Scoff at beggars.

We expect service and forget we are to serve.

We demand our voices be heard and forget to be slow to speak.

We work hard for our stuff and forget none of it’s ours to begin with.

We forget that we all share the same identity. We were all created in the image of God.

At a parenting workshop recently, the leader suggested we find our kids’ talent. Saying “we all need something we feel we are good at.” I agree but added to it. More than “you can do…” guesses, use more “you ARE…” statements. What if you’ve always believed you can play baseball, then don’t make the college team. Or you can dance ballet but break your leg. What hopes and dreams come crashing down if my good isn’t good enough. We need a stronger identity to rely on.

So we intentionally pepper in words of Godly identity to our daughter. Catch her in the act of doing good. Tell her, “You’re kind. I saw it on the playground when you helped the boy.” Notice the difference in attaching the identity to her, not just the action. We do this when we tell people they’re funny, not that they just said something funny. “I heard you compliment the girl’s glasses. You’re a great encourager.”

This is intentional, daily, creative parenting. But it’s worth it to have children grow up to know they are loved by God and are called to love and good works.

Dad Revelations

Dad Revelations: Sing Anyway

At work, I was asked to do a voice-over for an instructional video, so I had been using a recorder app on my phone to practice and playback. On the ride home, I was singing along to something on Country radio. Now, when the mood is right, and the weather is right, and the song is just right, there’s nothing better than singing along on a car ride. It was one of those songs that just felt good to sing. Out of pure curiosity, I wondered if it sounded as pleasant recorded on my phone. So I quickly tapped the record icon and let it go.

I should’ve let it go when I had the idea to record. I crossed the point of no return, when you can’t un-hear something you’ve heard. Listening to the playback, I certainly didn’t decide to turn around and head to Music Row. Let’s just say, it wasn’t good.

It was a bit of a hit to my ego. In general, I know I sing fine. I was in chorus, I lead singing at church, I know a bit of music theory. I’m like 3rd-place-karaoke-contest kind of good. Maybe it was just the phone’s poor sound quality… yeah, that’s it.

But I love to sing, especially the ones that feel like they’re just right in your zone. Like it physically feels good to sing it loud. In college, on the 3-hour ride back to school after a weekend away, I would wear my voice out and be hoarse the next day. “OOOOOHHH We’re half way there, OOOOHHHH OHH, LIVIN ON A PRAYER!”‘

So what? So the recording sounded bad? What’s the big deal? It wasn’t FOR anyone else. I most definitely didn’t post it to the public. It doesn’t change the fact that I enjoy singing.

My daughter, as wonderful as she is, didn’t inherit a natural gift of music like I thought she would, having two fairly musical parents. We taught her how to clap on beat (which she’s got now) and get her to keep climbing up to the note when she’s not quite hitting it. But she loves to sing. And she’s so honest and sincere when she does. It’s the sweetest thing to watch and hear.

My toddler has picked up on music. He finishes the lines to “Wheels on the Bus” and “Jesus Loves Me.” He dances when it feels right. He claps along. He sings to himself when no one’s bothering him, completely incoherent words. It’s the sweetest thing to watch and hear.

Surely God looks at us the same way and appreciates sincere hearts. Time after time He acknowledges people with an honest and clear conscience, e.g. the giving widow, the Centurian; and in some cases punished those who did not, i.e. Ananias and Sapphira. More often than not, quality isn’t the top priority. In parables like the Good Samaritan, He purposefully takes the unexpected, to prove that He’s more concerned with the heart of the matter.

It’s the same reason why you will sit through your child’s elementary school concert, with a dumb smile slapped on your face, trying to get a clear shot with a camera, but never in a million years would you want to go to a different, random school to watch their concert. If you see your kid get a base hit in little league, you will lose your ever-lovin’ mind, and scream and cheer – a bigger reaction than any other game you watch this year. Why? Because it’s your child. Their success, happiness, or achievement means more than any of your own. Their acts of kindness or selflessness gives you a sense pride you wouldn’t feel about yourself or anyone else.

God loves us the same. And when we sing, the quality is secondary to the heart. I believe the heart will cause us to want to improve the quality as well; they’re not mutually exclusive. When we give a drink of water to someone thirsty, your Father is in the audience with a camera. When we swallow spiteful remark and choose to be gracious, your Dad is in the stands with a smile and a puffed up chest. When we love others they way God has loved us, He says “well done, good and faithful servant.”

Be less concerned about the tone of your voice, or if someone is watching or listening or judging. Sing anyway.