Christianity – Jared Throneberry

Dad Revelations, Foster Care, Motivation, Parenting

On Being a Friend

We had friends visiting from out of town. This family happens to be a foster home, too. They have a pre-teen girl who has been with them for a couple months. They let us know they were coming to church and we made plans to go out to eat afterward.

I had been running around a little bit that morning so my first moment to say hi and meet her was in the hallways in the time between worship service and Bible classes. I could tell she was anxious about going to class with other kids. It’s hard being a kid in a new place where you’re just supposed to jump right in and act like this is normal. Then add on top of that the layer of foster care, and how you already feel out of place and insecure.

Her foster dad, in a comforting way, was encouraging her to give it shot. But she was scared. She was trying to say something to him, but I couldn’t understand it. It was so muffled that I thought she had a speech impediment. Then a tear went down her cheek. I knew at that moment there was not much he could say that would have changed her mind.

That’s when I realized one of my foster kids was about her age and she could go to class with her. Now, this particular foster kid of ours has not always been the most enthusiastic about church events anyway. During worship service, she’ll slouch, and sigh, and roll her eyes when it goes too long. Often looking for excuses to get out of it. But I took a chance. I stuck my head in and called her out. “Our friends have a girl your age, she’s a foster kid, too. And she’s really nervous about going into class. Can you be her friend? Sit with her, show her what to do. Make her feel comfortable.”

“Sure!” she said. She jumped at it and took over like a professional. Another mom noticed the same scenario unfolding and ask her daughter to do the same. They grabbed our friend’s kid by the hand and said “Do you like hot chocolate? We’ve got a hot chocolate bar so you can make it how you like?” And the three of them walked away from us like we never existed.

After class I walked in to see them goofing off in the lobby. She had become comfortable and talkative. (She does not, in fact, have a speech impediment). Everything suddenly felt comfortable and casual.

We went out to eat and they wanted to ride with each other. They sat together at the restaurant. Talked and laughed and teased. I overheard her and our two foster girls sharing stories about being in foster care; where their family is and how long they expect to be here. We said our goodbyes and gave hugs like we had spent the whole weekend together.

Later that day, I went back to both of our girls to compliment them on being a friend, thinking it may have not even registered the impact they had. I said “What you did for her today was amazing. It’s what all of this church stuff is really about. We go to class to hopefully learn about Jesus and how to be more like Him. We go to worship to praise and thank God for who He is and what He’s done. But this! This is what we’re here for. You took a girl who was scared and alone and made her feel special. You gave her a space to talk about her feelings. She felt welcome and wanted. I’m sure God appreciates that we show up to church and hearing a song from us, but I know He loves to see you be loving to other people.”

At this point I realized I was talking too much and losing their attention. “So, good job today!”

This is it. To love God and love others as ourselves. Hebrews 10:23-25 “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” In context, “not giving up meeting together” has nothing to do with meeting for the sake of meeting, but to encourage each other to see those who need a friend, a place to belong, or help along the way. If not for things like this, what are we even doing?

Dad Revelations, Parenting

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!”

Foster Care, Marriage

Hold On Tight

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXdm988uwm4

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, Parenting

Parenting is Hard

“Adulting is hard.”

No. Shut up. Parenting is hard. Adulting is nothing. Nothing, I say!

I’ve been an adult without kids AND without money, or any prospects. Still, it was nothing compared to this madhouse. I’ll concede adulting without kids can have it’s tense moments. We were living in Florida by the beach during most of that time – (it’s already sounding better). Did you have a bad day? Things not going great? Someone yelled at you at work? You can just…. leave. Just like that. “I need to get out. Let’s go to the beach.” And you go. Gone. Like a boss.

But now we’re parents. During our last vacation, we stayed at a VRBO house a few blocks from the shoreline. I had visions of using the bicycles provided and cruising down to the water whenever we felt like it. But where does the baby ride? Can one backpack hold all the sunscreen, snacks, diapers, hats, toys, towels? What if our daughter freaks out at the big street and refuses to cross? We managed to get in one short bike ride to a park by one of us driving there and the other riding a bike. Then swapping on the way back. Basically the same thing, right?

In our first years back in Nashville, there would be a random Tuesday night where my wife would say something like, “I’ve been wanting to go to the mall for a jacket.” Or whatever. And we’d go. Across town! With a strong probability that we’ll spend all this time and walk away with nothing besides a coffee. And it’s totally cool.

But now we’re parents. Last night at 7pm we debated whether we could make it to Walmart and back for a few school supplies, but quick enough for bedtime. And without losing our minds. It’s literally the closest store to our house, only a few minutes away. And we really don’t know if this is going to work out or not. (Especially challenging since we have two foster kids with us now. They’re not any worse, it’s just all the issues of one child – times four.) We go.

Obstacle 1: Sharing. We decide not to use the new handheld scanners because that’s asking for an argument on who gets to hold it. Result: success.

Obstacle 2: Right inside the door – Halloween costumes are out. I say, “If we have time, we’ll take a stroll through on our way out.” The children seem pleased with this compromise. Result: deferred.

Obstacle 3: Opinions on school supplies. It’s just a sticky notepad. We don’t need tears cause you wanted purple. So I take the older kids to walk around while she takes the baby and gets the list. Result: success (point deducted for baby whining when we all walked away).

Obstacle 4: Potty. OK. We’re all going. I don’t care if you don’t need to. Girls together. I take the boy. The stalls are occupied. And will be. No one’s moving. Like a standoff. There’s another restroom in the back of the store. Result: deferred.

Obstacle 5: Walking through the entire store. My plan is speed. If I walk fast enough (and they follow) we can avoid all the eye candy. Everything is eye candy. Everything is touchable. And we’re off! Weaving in and out of aisles and racks. Going off course to avoid having to stop at all. I can hear “Look at this!” sounds in the distance, but I will not be deterred. Result: success.

Obstacle 6: The family restroom lock doesn’t work. I choose to guard the door while sending the girls within eye-sight to the electronics section. Things like cameras and tablets are usually locked down, so we should be safe. Result: success (point deducted for not washing hands).

Obstacle 7: Confidence. This was probably my fault. We’ve been here for 20 minutes without a meltdown or argument, so our walk back to the front was much slower. I get back to the wife, and I’ve lost a kid. Eye candy! He got stuck in the toy aisle. Not far away and he already looked scared like he was in trouble. I’ll take it. Result: success (point deducted for losing a child).

Obstacle 8: Clear instructions. So as I promised, I’ll let them browse the costumes. I sent them ahead to kill time. But I didn’t clarify what the word “browse” does and doesn’t mean. We finish the school supplies and stroll back. By the time we make it, the boy has found a knight costume and he’s in full regalia, battle ax in hand. Result: fail.

We checkout and everyone gets a bag to carry. We make it to the car and home in a reasonable amount of time. All in all I’d give us a B+.

If it really was just parenting, that would be fine. You do homework, you play, you snack, you go to bed. But it’s doing homework while the baby is throwing his food he refuses to eat. Food he loved last week. It’s snack time, but they all want a different snack and I’m trying to sort through bills and remember to email the teacher. It’s playtime, but having to be referee and negotiator when “I called it first!” while prepping dinner. Or it’s bedtime and the baby is not sleepy and the other needs a drink of water, and has to use the bathroom, and didn’t get a hug, and had a bad dream. You haven’t been in there long enough to have a dream!

See, it’s not the parenting part alone, it’s household management. This should be a degree in college. Get an MHM Degree. Masters in Household Management. If this was actually a class, I might be interested. I admire the ones who seem to have this mastered.

BUT – and it’s a big BUT (a line they would laugh at) – the fact they would laugh makes it all worth it. It’s the giggles and sweet moments. The thank you’s that surprise you. The fact that parents remember being frustrated at the playground, but all the kids remember is it had a pirate ship and so they play pirates for the next three days.

Most parents needs validation from time to time that what you’re doing is hard. I catch myself trying to talk about my hard day to someone and it all sounds superficial and petty. “Really? You had to make cookies and do bath time after Wednesday night church? Wow. That must be so hard.” But it is! Stress is stress, whether you’re meeting a deadline at work or it’s the second dish to be broken this week.

My advice to myself: Take a breath. Keep perspective. Don’t make the little things into big things. Soak up the good times. Put everyone to bed happy, including yourself, and give yourself grace if tonight it didn’t happen. Remember your principles. Take time for yourself. Be thankful in all things.

It’s worth it. Parenting is hard. And you’re doing great.

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.

Life Lessons, Mentoring, Motivation

Mentoring Matters

After moving to Nashville, I kept trying to fill the void of knowing there’s something more I should be doing. I was restless with religion and church. We tried finding a church that fit us and switching a couple times over the years. I also jumped into the neighborhood association, donated blood on a regular basis, and we began foster care, among various other things. Of them all, foster care was the standout in what seemed to make a significant life-changing difference in someone’s life. Well, I suppose receiving blood when you have none could be pretty life-changing, too.

Around 2010-2012, there were a number of news stories about youth violence. This was about the time I stopped discussing politics on social media. Online arguing typically doesn’t make a positive difference in anyone’s life. I can’t learn empathy and awareness by simply holding on to my preconceived notions. Simply wishing these youth made better choices is about as effective as 13-year-old me wishing for a girlfriend to fall from the sky. Smugly saying that people deserve what they get and consequences are fair, certainly doesn’t help the innocent victims.

After seeing the stories, reading the stats, and hearing the cyclical nonsense of political mouths, I felt compelled to do something, specifically for male teens. But foster care wouldn’t do it since we agreed the kids would only be younger than our daughter who was then about 5.

At work, I had attended on two occasions a lunch-and-learn about Big Brothers Big Sisters (BBBS), pretty much for the free lunch (read: only for the free lunch.) I loved the concept but knew I didn’t have the time. On top of standard life events, I had a second job delivering pizzas. It was wise to only use my limited free time with my family. But I liked the concept so much, I even organized an event for the speaker to give the same presentation for our neighborhood.

In our Bible class, my wife was saying she felt worried and helpless when it came to terrorism. A friend of ours was reflecting on a Mother Theresa quote “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” Then said to take the biggest problem you can think of, what’s the smallest thing you can do about it. That concept has been a constant encouragement ever since.

About the same time, the non-profit my wife works at started counseling new fathers and I really wanted to do that, too. But besides the fact that my regular work schedule wouldn’t allow me, I don’t think I fit the mold for being either young-and-hip enough or old-and-wise enough. So one day we’re chatting online about it:

me: “that’s awesome, i wanna help with fatherhood stuff. just don’t know how”
her: “I’d say signing up for big brothers big sisters is a start. we have 2 male counselors that are available to us, but we haven’t used them for a while, lately. I want you to tell me about BB/BS later.”
“what about?”
“just ask you about it.”
“what about it? Is it serious? Do I need to ask HR about something?
“what? just talk. bc you’re my husband. and we talk.”
“I thought you had a question like where to deliver a baby.”
“huh? no. not Blue Cross Blue Shield… BBBS. Not insurance, big brothers.”
“ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! my bad. I had HR on speed-dial. Thought we were having a baby.”

My wife then had that conversation with me and it kicked me in the butt, which is about the only time I do something out of my comfort zone. The second job had come to a close. I had a friend who had already signed up as a mentor and suggested I do it as well. So, I sent the initial email and got the ball rolling.

I was impressed with the process and how thorough BBBS was. They do not take this lightly. A couple meetings, a lengthy interview, then paperwork and references (ones they really do call), and a background check. They care about making this successful. Many of the kids they’re matching have undergone some kind of loss. Most are in single parent homes or living with relatives. They don’t want to get the kid’s hopes up and be let down again.

They asked what kind of kid I thought I would fit well with. My first hesitation. I feared I’d get a kid that wanted to do nothing but play rough sports. I don’t mind a game or two, but please don’t make me run more than I have to. So I said maybe a shy kid, one that likes computers and movies. After being approved, it took a couple months to find the right Little for me, and I think they made a great choice. We’ve now been matched for 3 years.

He’s a great kid with a caring mom. We’ve done a little bit of everything: movies, YMCA, cooking, disc golf, museums, work on cars, shopping, watch games on TV, go out to eat, we’ve seen just about every sports team in Nashville, he helped us move… oh yeah. There was moving….

BBBS asked in the interview process if you’re planning any big events in the next year with the concern that a major life event will distract you from being able to get together. Foster care was the only thing I had thought about, and we talked at length about that. Little did I know that I would end up with foster kids (twice), competing in multiple speech contests which ended with me traveling to Malaysia for the Semi-Finals, running and campaigning for a city council position, my wife getting pregnant, and moving houses, neighborhoods, and churches. All within the first year of me and my Little getting matched. And I remember my petty excuse for not getting involved earlier: not having enough time.

But it’s like we say with having foster kids, they just become part of your routine. Part of your family life. It’s another entry on your calendar. BBBS asks for 4-12 hours a month. My Little and I average a few hours every couple weeks. Honestly, if you have time for TV, you have time for this. Even if you don’t have a lot of “TV time”, you just incorporate them into your life. I see him on lunch breaks, late at night, on the way from here to there. It all works out.

I wish I had a miraculous, life-transformational story about being a mentor, but I don’t. He was a good kid before I came along. I just hope to be another good influence. Someone to help him experience new and different things. Maybe throw in a life-lesson once in a while. Something as simple as last night’s trip to the indoor trampoline park, where we spent most of our time playing dodgeball. It was obvious most kids were either skipping line to play or not leaving when they got out. Not a big deal, it’s just a silly game. But it was an opportunity to talk about honesty.

Maybe something like that sticks. Maybe there will be a big moment where I get a call from him to help make a big decision. Maybe we’ll just be friends. But that’s one kid who I won’t let slip through the cracks. If I ever see him on the news, it’ll be for a good reason. This is the small thing I can do with great love.

If we all did this one small thing, it would certainly be a great thing.

Date Night, Marriage

Date Nights: April

DATE NIGHT 1:

For Christmas, my in-laws got us a creative present: Date Nights for the entire year. They recently moved close to us to be near the grandkids. My wife and I are getting to the age where a new shirt for Christmas is a bit cliche, and date nights are hard to come by. So this was perfect. The present came with a few instructions:

2 Dates a month and Grandma/Grandpa will watch the kids
You must go someplace that interests both
It must not be a movie, but someplace where you can talk
Talk to/about each other. Not Kids or Work.
Plan and talk about future dreams and plans
Talk about any “elephants in the room”; irritations
Enjoy this time together. Begin and End in prayer.

Initially, I thought this was the best gift we could’ve been given. Then after looking over the list, we were both a little miffed at some of the rules. We talk all the time. I’m not the quietest person, to begin with, and my wife has no qualms about being talkative. We discuss plans and dreams often. And going to a movie sounds fantastic! We don’t go to movies mostly because of cost. $Movie + $Babysitter + $Dinner/Popcorn, you’re looking at 100 bucks!

Work and kids happen to consume our lives, so I get that one. This is probably a healthy rule, but difficult to tackle. And my wife was not happy about the idea of me bringing a binder of categorized irritations to the table. <– Her words.

The week of Date Night #1 started off poorly. I was busy and distracted trying to tackle the too-many volunteer responsibilities, while she was trying to narrow down the list of restaurants we hadn’t tried. It ended up being a good practice of working through a problem. She was holding in a gripe of me working too long and I was ignoring her. That worked itself out. She told me her frustrations, I told her everything I was trying to accomplish so she wouldn’t think I was simply not caring, and we took the time to listen and work out our plans. Yay, compromise! Kicked the Elephant out before the date even began.

We decided on a nice restaurant about an hour away, plenty of driving/talking time. Totally talked about kids and work. Oh well. We talked about the fact that we already talk about dreams and plans. Felt like grown-ups again. Not just faking it grown-ups. I mean, we’re mid-30s now; do all grown-ups feel like they’re faking it?

The food was fantastic. But I still don’t see how people can spend that much on food on a regular basis. One observation I had might be good advice for guys, so ladies skip this part:

Guys: We get seated at our table, the waitress walks up and apparently without any shame is completely busting out of her low cut top. I’m not one make a big deal out of other people’s appearances, but this was a bit obvious. A wrong move here could ruin a date night for some guys. But my wife’s not like that, and neither am I. Jealousy should not be felt or perceived. So I kept my eyes on the menu, then when she left I talked about the new elephant that just walked into the room.
“Is it just me, or is that not appropriate for this restaurant?”
She replied with a snarky, “Oh, you know it’s for the tips! Pretty expensive restaurant, guys with too much money bring their wives and get a little extra eye-candy.”
I replied, “I just don’t know how someone could be comfortable like that.”
“It’s totally on purpose.”
And that was that.

I wholeheartedly believe that you can be satisfied completely with your wife as long as you are focused only on her. Make sure that she knows that you only have eyes for her. And in doing that, satisfied becomes fulfilled. Make sure she knows that you think she is beautiful, don’t just assume. Fulfilled becomes overflowing.

I failed to take the time to pray. I feel bad about that. We talked about church and religion at points. But my guess is experience and wisdom encouraged my in-laws to include prayer as a rule. Next time…

DATE NIGHT 2

Talk about high expectations; Date Night 2 was on our 15th Anniversary. For our 5th anniversary, we went to San Francisco (Heather was about 4 months pregnant). Our 10th was on a Carribean cruise. How do you follow that? By using a gift card you got for Christmas and getting a steak dinner.

It was also the week before the biggest night of the year for her work, a fundraising event that she plans. Fortunately, nothing too crazy was going on so there were no pain-points distracting us from having an enjoyable evening.

We had not been to this local restaurant before (because we’re both quite frugal when it comes to eating). So this felt like a splurge, even though it’s a fairly common establishment for many. Appetizer good, salad good, steaks delicious. Friends of ours happened to be seated right next to us. In this case, that was fun. With going to restaurants with others, there are three camps: people you know you don’t want to be seated next to, people who you don’t mind, people you would go out with. This, fortunately, happened to be the latter.

Now that we totally topped that lame cruise with a steak dinner, how do we make it even better? With a trip to Target, of course! We needed diapers. My parents sent us a little cash as a present, so we bought nice bedsheets, too. Sigh….. #adulting

The thing is, being an adult when you are an adult, isn’t so bad. Are there experiences that are more exciting and entertaining? Of course. But in the same way your dad says, “I don’t need anything for my birthday, just want to have my kids around,” the exciting events will come and go, having an enjoyable night with my wife is really all I need.

We ended in prayer where I told God I was eternally grateful for giving me a friend to spend my life with and wouldn’t want to imagine it any other way.

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.