Same journey, possible new directions

Psalm 9:1-2 (NIV)

I will give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart;
   I will tell of all your wonderful deeds.
I will be glad and rejoice in you;
   I will sing the praises of your name, O Most High.

Nine years ago today, I became a father.

And one year ago today, I started this writing project. I didn’t quite know what I was doing when I started, and I’m fairly certain I’ve made slight changes in course over the last 52 weeks, for better and for worse. The initial goal was to write at least three times a week for at least a year, but so far I’ve not missed a day. On just a few occasions I’ve written something in response to or based on another person’s writing, but most of this is original thought.

I felt called to commit to a year of writing and perhaps nothing more. Of late I’ve felt a desire to keep going, but I also think now is a good time for some more significant changes in terms of what I write, if not how, and perhaps in regards to frequency. The daily discipline has done a lot to help me feel comfortable with my voice and reaffirm my identity as a writer. Sure, I write my newspaper column once a week and three editorials, plus the odd side project, but the daily devotion is a much different beast.

Devotion is a key word, because by undertaking this effort I’ve been far more structured in regards to prayer and connection with scripture and than at any other point in my life. I’m not certain if that’s impacted my writing in any way, but I do feel there have been benefits personally and as a parent. While originally this started as an offshoot of a study in evangelism, it’s certainly a semi-intended consequence that it’s enriched my own faith.

So there’s a lot to be said for keeping on down the same path. But I also need to keep things fresh so it becomes a tool and a challenge more so than a drag or a chore. I’m still sorting out what or how things might evolve, and for the time being I’ll probably keep things fairly consistent because I don’t know any other way to approach the effort. Honestly my mind has been wrapped up so much in what actually was a very modest celebration for Jack’s birthday that the writing took a back seat. Which is as it should be, of course. If I’m focusing more on writing about parenting than the actual parenting, then I’ve let my priorities get out of whack.

I tend to write between 800 and 1,000 words a night. I use a reading from the lectionary each day, trying very much to not use the same passage repeatedly, and compose an original prayer (I cheated tonight and borrowed the prayer I used on the first day). I also have quirkily not referred to this as a blog, or to each entry as a post. I’m not sure why. I am interested in exploring the possibility of publishing some of what I’ve written here, or perhaps using the voice developed in the creation of a new, offline work. But I have a full-time job, a part-time job, church commitments and, most importantly, a wife and young children. This is not, will not and cannot be my primary gig.

Going forward, one thing I must do is focus more on broader issues and less on specific family details. Writing is a form of self-therapy, and there is comfort in sharing experiences and being reminded we are not alone, or simple encouragement from loved ones. But my family’s life need not be an open book, either. There is a way to talk about the challenges of raising three boys without putting on the permanent record the delicate details of kids too young to have their own say in the matter. I want my children to respect me, and that will only come if I fully respect them.

That said, I do want to share an email Jack’s new teacher sent at the end of the school day. I didn’t see it until after he, Kristie and I returned home from the restaurant, after we stuck nine candles in the cupcake and sang, after Pops and K went home (it was pretty busy around here for a school night!) and before I finally forced Max to get ready for bed. I’d already felt we had a pretty special day with our oldest boy, and this was absolutely icing on the cake:

“I just wanted to let you know that Jack had an incredible day today. He was visibly calm all day. He worked hard and handled everything very well. I tried to talk to him about it at the end of the day and he said that he wasn’t sure what helped him but that he was in a good mood today. He seemed to be excited that it was his birthday. I hope you guys enjoy your evening and dinner…”

It was so much fun to sit across the table from him tonight. The buffet didn’t have the one dish he loved from his last time there, and while he was initially upset he almost instantly turned it around and the three of us just had a nice time. We had real conversations. We shared stories about when Jack and his brothers were born, I watched him move around the restaurant in a way, just so, that let me know how much he’s growing up. It’s hard to quantify or explain, but it was wonderful in its simplicity.

He likes to feel special, but he did not want to be singled out. He let us know he appreciated the attention without making the night an ego trip. He had delightful phone conversations with Kristie’s mom and my sister and smiled when he listened to the voice mail from Kristie’s sister. He was genuinely amused when Kristie mentioned how many likes she got on her Facebook status about his birthday. He smiled, he laughed and I just couldn’t keep from thinking about how glad I am it was he who arrived in my life nine years ago, making me the father I longed to become.

He continues to challenge, amuse, enrich and force me to evolve. He’s so like me in so many ways it’s almost frightening. But he’s a product of our loving home and extended family as well, and it makes my heart soar to think of how many people care so deeply about him. If nothing else about me survives, I hope he always knows how much I love him and how lucky I feel to be the one allowed to be his dad. He is an amazing blessing and will always own an enormous piece of my heart.

A prayer for April 24:

Lord, nine years ago today I became a father. Each day since has been its own blessing, and I thank you for trusting me with these three boys. I thank you also for using the experience of fatherhood to help me understand a faint hint of what your love is like for all creation.

I thank you for my family and ask you to watch over us. Help me, specifically, to be the kind of father you have called me to be, to not just raise my boys to be good people, but to be for them an example of your love in the world. I am grateful for the community of faith you have provided for us and overwhelmed by the undeserved blessings in our life.

Thank you also for leading me on this journey of writing and prayer. I am grateful for the opportunity. Amen.

• • •

'Perfect love drives out fear'

1 John 4:17-21

This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world we are like Jesus. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.

We love because he first loved us. Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen. And he has given us this command: Anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister.

When I started this project 51 weeks ago, I might have suspected my grandmother would not live to see my son’s ninth birthday next Wednesday. I was prepared to engage those feelings of loss when I encountered them in August. I was not, however, expecting to deal with a midnight movie theater shooting in Colorado in July, nor the December tragedy of slaughtered children and adults at an elementary school in Connecticut. And after those two horrible events, which make me question humanity and seek to love even more closely my own special humans, I was in no frame of mind to be confronted with the horrific scenes in the aftermath of Monday afternoon’s bomb explosion at the Boston Marathon.

It was the last day of our annual business trip to participate in the annual meeting of a trade association. This is my fifth consecutive year of attendance, and so no one needed to tell me the man staring at the television in the hotel lobby bar is a Boston resident. It was just as impossible to avoid overhearing his phone call back home, confirming everyone is OK and asking if he should fly back as soon as possible — as it was to get away from the reporters who kept repeating phrases like “two-year-old with a head injury” and “believed to be among the dead is an eight-year-old boy.”

I guess it says something about us as a society that we do not yet seem to be desensitized by these incidents. A columnist I admire pointed out late yesterday there were 38 reported explosions in Iraq on the same day. But whenever I read or heard any accounts — from a report of many people losing limbs to tales of runners leaving the race course and heading straight to a hospital to donate blood — I realized just how quickly my emotions could bubble to the surface.

Far too long ago I gave up the dream of being able to raise my children without having to one day explain to them some sort of tragedy on this scale, or perhaps even larger. And even though the youngest are too small to understand and the oldest unlikely to be willing to process, I’ve known too much senseless violence in my short life to presume they’ll avoid the same exposure. It’s inevitable, which is among the worst parts. They are innocent now, but not for long.

Now my primary hope is for such things to not happen where we live. I can’t imagine willing myself to return to the mall or theme park near our home if it were to be the site of some equally heinous act. Chicago has a particularly violent history, dating as far back as the Fort Dearborn massacre, ut I’ve always been able to go to my favorite places, such as ballparks or museums, without any association to death and loss.

I pray to keep my family safe and it ends up feeling selfish. Why should I be the lucky one to wake and sleep each day with my loved ones healthy and happy? Why do I get to take it for granted that when I leave for work each day I’ll simply return home before dinner? Why have I been blessed to put my son on the school bus each morning and have him bound through the front door each afternoon? Why can’t everyone have this? What is wrong with this world that so many people have had that simple sense of security and comfort torn asunder?

My parents’ next door neighbors are not too much younger than my late grandparents. I used to work in the town where these neighbors graduated high school, and I used to play baseball in the back yard when their grandsons would come visit in the summer. One of those kids, roughly the same age as my younger brother, finished in 10th place in the Boston Marathon Monday, about 12 minutes behind the leader. He was the third-fastest American in the race — a legitimate world-class athlete.

The grandfather next door came over in the morning to watch his grandson cross the finish line on my parents’ television. It probably was one of the proudest moments of his life. And just a few hours later, everything changed — again. I’m so sick of days when everything changes. I’m thrilled to see people respond. I’m encouraged by the first responders and the everyday people whose first thought is, “How do I help?” As a newspaper guy, I’m immensely proud of the reporters and photographers on the street who capture the images and words of these horrible scenes and to live in a society where freedom of the press guarantees we’ll all have access to the information.

But goodness, I’d gladly settle for none of those people, or those like them in cities around the world, to have to be pressed into such service ever again. The thing about all those stories of people overcoming tragedy and exhibiting courage under fire is they require tragedy and fire in the first place. I, for one, have had quite enough.

I am praying for the day when love will be made complete among us — all of us. God’s perfect love has driven from me fear of what will happen to my eternal soul, but there is a lot of fear of what might befall our physical bodies here on Earth. I do not fear death, but that makes me no less ready to weep for the people who suffer these kinds of losses. So many unanswered questions, so much pain. Why? Why? Why? No one will ever have a good enough answer.

But I have steeled my resolve. I will not be a part of this culture of fear and hate. I will love as God commanded, because God first loved me. I will try my best to love like Jesus, to be in God’s world a force of good and not evil. And while I know I’m far from alone in choosing that side, I must acknowledge there is no rest until there is only one side — God’s side — and each day provides me a new chance to stand up for the cause.

I have a lot of hope for my kids, including that they are on this planet far past the day when I am not. And I also hope that maybe if I do everything in my power to make the world a better place, perhaps it actually one day will be for their benefit. And that if they do the same, maybe it will be better again for their children. It’s a tall order, and there are all too many reminders of just how far we have to go before we reach that day.

But we can’t stop. We can’t ever stop. Because love drives out fear. God created us with a capacity to love each other. God sent his Son here to tell us, over and again, to love each other, and then to physically show us what that means to the full extent. And then God sent his Spirit here to live among us, to inspire and encourage and empower us to love each other. What will it take to get us back on track? Not fear. Love. Perfect love. Anything else is not good enough.

A prayer for April 16:

Lord, please bring your peace to us. Help us to set aside the things that make us angry, the hard feelings that cause us to act out and whatever instincts we might have to be in conflict with one another. Whatever it takes, God, remind us we’re all equal in your eyes, as your creation. Help us to see the things that bind us together, and not whatever differences might set us apart. And help me, God, to do whatever I can to bring love where it is needed, to use whatever gifts you’ve given me to share your gift of grace across all boundaries. And thank you for my family, without whom I would not fully appreciate or understand the blessing of simply being here. We are all so lucky. Amen.

'Above all, love each other deeply'

1 Peter 4:8-11 (NIV)

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen.

As the end of this year-long project draws near, it is tempting to try to look back to identify themes or big-picture lessons, to determine if there’s been any personal growth or if it’s been a lot of noise without much action. And then along comes a passage such as this, with the nice “Above all” introduction that reminds me anything I might have discovered in the last 12 months is not my own knowledge or wisdom but something merely revealed through study, reflection and prayer. That I felt called into this effort is a blessing in its own, since I continue to feel God invited me along this road as a means of changing some things in my outlook to point me in a new direction.

All throughout the year I’ve been thrilled to come upon these little snippets of Scripture that serve almost as scripts for things I want to tell my children, or lessons I need to learn myself — or both. Love deeply. Be kind without complaining. Use your talents to serve other people. Speak and act to reflect God’s greatness. Give praise and glory to God. That’s just from a few verses in 1 Peter. I would like to add them to my (still hypothetical) list of things to read and reflect on each morning before, but if I actually had that list I’d probably need to set the alarm ahead 30 minutes just to get through it all each day. And since my actual alarm is the two-year-old who lives across the hall, I think I’ll continue letting him get all the sleep he needs.

One thing that keeps popping up In my mind is the many different types of relationships I ought to be considering when encountering these commands. It is easy, it would seem, to love my wife and children deeply. Friends and neighbors, too, but defining deeply gets a bit more complex. Yet it’s far easier to offer hospitality without complaint to those I barely know — holding open an elevator door, allowing someone in front of me at the checkout line — than it is to stop what I’m doing to fill up another cup of water or open a bag of snacks for kids who haven’t quite mastered politeness.

To truly care about someone is to love them in ways that go far beyond hugs and happiness. For the kids this means being patient as they learn and grow, caring for them when they are sick or angry and setting firm limits when we can envision the long-term benefits of short-term disappointment. And it’s different altogether in a spousal relationship, but this is not and won’t be a dedicated exploration of those dynamics. Suffice it to say whenever I read the word love, four very special faces come to mind every time before anything else.

But we’re called to love everyone deeply, not just those with whom we share a roof or who are around the Thanksgiving dinner table. And focusing too acutely on the love inside a family might come at the expense of remembering how to love those on the outside, everyone else made by the same hand of those with our common DNA. I might have done a lot of thinking about how to be a better dad, but I can’t say for sure if it’s done anything for the eternal quest to be a better person.

Thinking about serving others, of being a faithful steward of God’s grace, speaking God’s word, serving with God’s strength is to consider a majestically tall order. As I stare at these words, it’s much easier to come up with examples of times I’ve failed on one or all of those counts than to cite success stories of living up to the standard. I tend to be optimistic about what the world offers me — I’m usually the first to say, “It’s not as bad as it seems” or, “On the bright side…” — but inwardly I can be an incredibly harsh critic. I don’t think I’m one to hold grudges against others, yet it’s pretty easy to run myself repeatedly into the ground for a failing long past possible correction.

Yet ultimately, it seems if I define myself first as a husband and father, that’s where my priority rests. And so long as I don’t make family life completely insular, if I’m working on those aspects first and foremost, my general “as the world sees me” profile ought to improve concurrently. Beyond that, since one of the things I want to teach my kids is how to be the kind of person God calls us to be, then setting a good example for them in the way I interact with others is just one more component of the parenting process.

In everything I think, say and do, I’m trying to consider how that affects me as a parent. Am I carrying myself in a manner I’d want my sons to emulate? Am I behaving as if I were holding one of them on my hip? Can my dealings while we’re apart be shared with them honestly when we’re together; or, from the converse view, am I doing anything I that would bring me shame? Am I showing them what it means to struggle and how to seek God’s help to overcome, or am I simply trying to convey an image of unflappable success and therefore shielding them from the truth that life is anything but easy?

Just as I could start each day with 30 minutes of affirmation and inspiration, I could spend the same half hour with pointed introspection, challenging myself in all my areas of weakness and forcing me into raw accountability for specific shortcomings. The best recipe is probably a combination form both pools, lest I build up too much unfounded confidence or wade too deeply into waters of regret and pain. Fortunately the wisdom comes from far outside my own mind, and this far it’s continued to lead me in a good direction.

These words of Peter are powerful, and I’m glad they came to my attention today in order that I might filter myself through them. And I hope I don’t leave them here as soon as I’m done writing. I intend to, as with so many other thoughts, carry them with me daily, enriching my spiritual wellness and maybe just making me see the world a little bit more clearly. And that’s where God comes in, to help me take words, turn them into thoughts and then set them permanently in my mind so it shapes my very being. I want very much for God to do these things with me and for me, and I’ve got to be involved in making that a reality.

A prayer for April 14:

Lord, help me to love deeply. Teach me to take the abundance of your love for me, let it wash over me and then be offered out for the benefit of all I encounter. It’s written that love covers a multitude of sins, but better still if loving as you instruct leads me to a place where sin is overcome. I very much want to be a faithful steward of your grace, and I open myself to any opportunities to speak as you would have me speak and to serve with your strength. To you alone be all glory and praise, now and forever. Amen.

'It's not magic, it's baseball'

Micah 7:7-8 (NIV)

But as for me, I watch in hope for the Lord,
   I wait for God my Savior;
   my God will hear me.
Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
   Though I have fallen, I will rise.
Though I sit in darkness,
   the Lord will be my light.

I’m a pretty big baseball fan, and I’ve recently started listening to the new ESPN “Baseball Tonight” podcast with host Buster Olney. Today’s episode featured an interview with a player I’d never heard of, rookie Atlanta Braves catcher Evan Gattis.

Gattis, 26, is a special story because, despite having a baseball body and a good deal of natural talent, he stopped playing the game entirely at age 19. He grew up in Texas and was headed to Texas A&M University on a baseball scholarship, but a crippling fear of failure sidelined his career. Instead of going to A&M, his mother took him to a drug rehab facility. He enrolled in a junior college, Seminole State College in Oklahoma, but an injury and further confidence issues led him to walk away from the sport he loved in 2006.

Olney asked him how his parents responded to his decision to quit. He was surprised when they offered acceptance and understanding.

“My mom was actually proud of me,” Gattis told Olney. “I was like, ‘Wow, I never saw that coming.’ For some reason I thought… who I thought I was a person was so wrapped up in baseball that I didn’t realize how much they loved me regardless of if I played or not.”

After leaving baseball and eventually school, he worked a remarkable series of entry-level jobs, including for a pizza parlor and golf course and as a valet and ski lift operator. He lived with his brother in Dallas and his sister in Colorado. He consulted with “spiritual advisers” and said he wanted to reach the goals they discussed, but never had a plan for achievement.

In 2009, he started to get the itch to play ball again. He started by getting together with his stepbrother and some of his older teammates. As he realized he could play the game and keep his life in balance, he was shocked to learn he still had remaining collegiate eligibility and signed on to play with the University of Texas Permian Basin. A far cry from College Station, but the fact he could do what he loved at a high level was a success all its own.

“I actually just wanted to do it, not even so much to get drafted and all this stuff, it was more the structure and I wanted to play again for fun. It was more like to go do something, at least kind of accomplish something. … I never really thought it would take off like it has.”

And take off it did. The Braves selected Gattis in the 23rd round of the 2010 draft, after which he played rookie ball that summer. Though he didn’t make a minor league roster to start the 2011 season, he was on the Braves’ low Class A team by May and won the South Atlantic League batting title. In 2012 he started at High A Lynchburg where he hit .385 in 21 games with nine home runs and 29 runs batted in, earning a promotion to the AA team in Pearl, Miss. There management tried him in left field because the Braves already had two talented catchers on the Major League roster.

He played winter ball in Venezuela in the 2012 offseason, hitting .303 with 16 home runs in 53 games, then hit .358 in spring training this year. With longtime Atlanta catcher Brian McCann starting the season on the disabled list, Gattis remarkably made the Braves’ opening day roster.

That’s the sports and human interest part. But here’s where it gets personal for me. I listened to the conclusion of Olney’s interview with Gattis tonight in Max’s bed. I’d read him a story (the first half of “Bad Kitty Meets the Baby”), then we prayed and I sat there waiting for him to start snoring. Once that began, I came downstairs to write — but not before catching up on social media. Which is when, as Paul Harvey might say, I learned the rest of the story.

It turns out tonight Gattis got his first Major League start. The opposing pitcher was the Phillies’ Roy Halladay, who despite recent struggles is not far removed from being one of the most dominant starters of the decade. In fact, Gattis struck out swinging to end the first inning. But when he came up to lead off the fourth, the Braves TV crew found Gattis’ family in the stands. The reporter was interviewing Gattis’ father when the young man turned on a 1-1 fastball, depositing his first big league hit just over the outstretched glove of left-fielder Dominic Brown and into the bleachers.

The ensuing images — Gattis’ beaming father clapping as his son rounded the bases, his gleeful teammates mobbing him upon his return to the dugout — left me thinking about the emotional roller coaster the family surely has been on for years and what it must have felt to experience this pinnacle tonight. Redemption, pride, relief, elation… it could take hours to compile an exhaustive list.

Braves rookie catcher Evan Gattis waves to cheering fans at the end of the game after hitting a homer in his debut game with the team. — Curtis Compton, Atlanta Journal-Constitution, April 3, 2013

“It’s not magic, it’s baseball,” Gattis told Olney hours before his big moment. “I’m sure I’ll be nervous, I’m sure there will be some emotions. But it’s a baseball game.”

And it really is — it’s just a game. Like when I wrote about Kerry Wood’s final strikeout in May, baseball is a job, not life itself. On that magical day for Wood, I identified with the athlete as father, leaving his playing career behind to go be a dad to three young children. But as I watched the Gattis homer over and again tonight, I kept focusing on his father, the chubby-cheeked guy in the green Braves hat with a smile so broad it might never leave his face.

I’ll bet a good deal of money the little boy upstairs in the bottom bunk (who snores like his great-grandfather) won’t ever hit a home run for a Major League ballclub. Odds are his finest moment, whatever that may be, won’t be televised. But I pray that he, and his brothers, one day find something they love to do, that whatever that pursuit turns out to be helps give their life meaning and that I get the chance to see them excel.

Like Evan Gattis’ parents, I will love my sons for who they are and not what they do. I will let them know they are defined by the way the live and love, not how far they hit a ball or how well they play an instrument. If they struggle, I will support them. Whether they decide to quit or go back, we’ll be in it together, talking and praying, seeking God’s will and trying our best to see what makes the most sense in the big picture, what we should be doing to make a real difference.

Evan Gattis was near the bottom. Tonight he’s indisputably on top. And there, in the bleachers and on TV, was his family, cheering him along and sharing in his big moment. I’m as happy for Gattis’ personal success as I am for his dad being able to be along for the journey. It probably says something about my age and lack of athletic skill that I identify more with the guy in the stands than the one on the field, but that’s a matter for another day. Right now, I simply share in the joy. What a wonderful moment for a dedicated family.

A prayer for April 3:

Lord, I don’t know what my children will choose to pursue when they get bigger. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to help them or if we can afford to support their dreams or even if they’ll want to involve me in the process. But no matter what, I want to be in their corner. I want to be able to give them guidance and advice, to keep life in perspective and to watch them thrive. Help me help them learn to discern their calling, and please bless our family with the ability to above all else be good to one another. I want to be the best parent I can be, the dad my children deserve, and I will always need your help to meet that goal. Amen.

Another happy birthday

1 Timothy 6:12-16 (NIV)

Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses. In the sight of God, who gives life to everything, and of Christ Jesus, who while testifying before Pontius Pilate made the good confession, I charge you to keep this command without spot or blame until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ, which God will bring about in his own time — God, the blessed and only Ruler, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see. To him be honor and might forever. Amen.

It’s not every day you get to celebrate someone’s 90th birthday, so it was pretty special to be at Kristie’s grandparents’ house for the annual Palm Sunday gathering today. And while the traditional egg hunt was forced into the basement on account of persistent snowfall, that disappointment was, for me, offset by the chance to honor Kristie’s grandfather, who turned 90 earlier this month.

The (90th!) birthday boy gets ready to blow out the candles.

Kristie’s aunt ordered a cake for the occasion, and the local bakery was able to screen print two old pictures onto the frosting. One was a baby picture, likely from his baptism. The other was him pictured proudly standing with his 1941 Chevrolet (bought used in 1942, I learned), the latter of which inspired at least two different nostalgic conversations this afternoon.

I’ve only known the guy since sometime after I met Kristie in 1998, so I’m not exactly in the best position to craft a lifetime tribute. But I have a great deal of respect for his service in World War II and I’ve always admired his devotion to his family. But my favorite thing about having Clarence Workman in my life (or, more accurately, me having the privilege of being in his life) has been listening to him pray at the start of family dinners.

The family is fairly structured. We get together every year on Palm Sunday, Father’s Day and Christmas dinner. Not everyone can make it to each event (we live the farthest away by a fair amount) and there have been other celebrations on and off the schedule throughout the years. But when we are there, I can always count on a great prayer from Grandpa.

My dad’s dad prayed before family meals, but it was always the exact same Catholic table grace, and it seemed he was always attempting to set a new North American record between “Bless” and “Amen.” It was special and touching in its own right. And to be fair, Kristie’s grandfather’s grace is more or less a textbook affair as well. Maybe it’s the predictability, the familiarity, that makes me feel so good.

For one thing, each prayer is heavy with use of “Thee,” “Thy” and “Thou” in reference to God. I’m sure there’s a linguistic term for using those pronouns, but I simply appreciate it because it reminds me of his age (specifically everything he’s lived through) and his reverence for God. I also like his go-to phrases: “Forgive us our sins, which are many” and “bless us that we might be a blessing to others.”

The former I appreciate because it’s raw truth not always included in prayers when families gather for happy occasions. But we need forgiveness from God every day, even on Christmas. Maybe especially on Christmas. And the latter I cherish because it speaks to one of the main reasons for us all being here in the first place — to live in gratitude for God’s love and set about making the world better for all of creation.

I can’t claim to know everything about a person I’ve known for about a dozen years. I don’t get a lot of stories about what he was like as a young man or a father of young children. Most of what I know is what I’ve heard from Kristie, and she only accounts for about a third of her grandfather’s life. But still, there are quite a few qualities I admire in the man, traits for me to emulate and habits I’d love to see my children inherit.

Of course, the same was true for my grandparents as well. And my aunts, uncles, dear friends, great teachers, church leaders — all throughout my life there have been role models around every corner. None of them were perfect. Most far from it. But how foolish would it be for me to refuse to take bits and pieces from each and weave them into myself? I’ll always be my own person, shaped by my own choices and experiences, but I certainly owe a significant part of my personality to the many positive influences of people I’ve been blessed to encounter over the years.

From some folks I take something specific — maybe a guiding quote or a certain priority. From others it can be a general attitude or approach to life. In many cases the “it” that became part of me happened long ago, before I knew what was happening. I’m honored when people can see in me traces of someone whom we both loved dearly. And I hope I’m doing the same for my kids, exhibiting some characteristic they either appreciate or will just assume naturally and that it helps one day make them the kind of adult I’m aiming to become.

I’ve been working on this project each day for 11 months now, so it shouldn’t come as much surprise that I find great comfort in thinking about family ties, the linking of generations and the simple pleasures of just being together. And since today was a day to more or less bask in those emotions, I’ll be going to sleep with a smile in my heart. And since we opted to stay with Kristie’s parents an extra night so we can get our van worked on Monday morning, I’ll also be going to sleep with a toddler in my arms. Which is pretty much exactly how a day like this should end. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A prayer for March 24:

Lord, tonight I am thankful for the wonderful examples set by so many special people I’ve been blessed to encounter. Please give me the strength to follow in their footsteps — steps walking along the path you set for all of us. Help me both a follower of you and a leader for my children. Bless all of those in our family, those we see often and those we rarely get to be with in person, that we may in turn be a blessing to those around us and a light of your love in this world. Forgive us our sins, which are many, and help us live fully in response to your grace. Amen.

Cause and effect

Deuteronomy 8:10-18 (NIV)

When you have eaten and are satisfied, praise the Lord your God for the good land he has given you. Be careful that you do not forget the Lord your God, failing to observe his commands, his laws and his decrees that I am giving you this day. Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. He led you through the vast and dreadful wilderness, that thirsty and waterless land, with its venomous snakes and scorpions. He brought you water out of hard rock. He gave you manna to eat in the wilderness, something your ancestors had never known, to humble and test you so that in the end it might go well with you. You may say to yourself, “My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.” But remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms his covenant, which he swore to your ancestors, as it is today.

In the last few days, Jack has had a crash course lesson in cause and effect. Not that we haven’t tried to impart such wisdom earlier, of course, but it really seemed to crystallize in the last 30 hours or so.

On Sunday, Jack got to go to my parents’ house after church. The rest of us came back down late in the afternoon for dinner. Near the end of the evening, Jack was getting dessert. I was walking through the house and noticed the light on in the office, which was empty, so I flipped it off. I thought nothing of it.

(Our children leave lights on and toilets unflushed wherever they go. If I charged them a quarter for every switch flipped and handle pushed I could outsource the job to someone who would do it for a dime and we’d both be able to retire early.)

Jack, on the other hand, thought a lot of it. Turns out he was headed back into the office with a bowl of ice cream. But instead of saying, “Dad, I’m going back in there!” or even “Hey!” he just grunted, put his ice cream down and stomped off into the basement. I turned the light back on for him and told him so, but it was no use. He pouted the rest of the time we were there, strongly resisted leaving, carried his sour attitude home and gave us a bunch of trouble about getting in the shower. En route to being forced to brush his teeth, he said a few choice words that cost him his screen time privileges for a week.

Yet through it all, Jack maintained the entire ordeal was my fault because I was the one who turned off the light. He refused to take ownership of anything — not a pattern of leaving lights on in vacant rooms all over the house, not refusing to explain his displeasure, not coming out of his funk in time to eat his dessert, not dragging his feet on the shower, not saying things he’d been warned not to say just a day before, nothing. By his logic, my one innocent mistake not only ruined his entire weekend but also gave him license to respond in the worst possible way.

I calmly explained to him, and later wrote out, how it was his decision to react poorly that led down the path of disappointment. I can admit making a mistake, but I’m not going to let him think another person’s error is a free ticket for him to carry on so rudely without repercussion. I’m sure my words fell on deaf ears and blind eyes, but I have got to keep trying to get through here. The world is going to forgive us all a fair amount of transgressions. But I’ve not met a successful adult who wasn’t willing to take at least a little blame when everyone can see where the fault lies.

His next lesson in cause and effect was a bit more practical. It came this afternoon at the dentist’s office, where he blatantly lied in answer to the “have you been brushing every day?” question. His response of “I missed a day or two” rang false the second the dentist saw the orange plaque on his lower teeth. As the dentist scraped away, Jack clenched his fists, tensed his legs and whined. Max, who had begged to come, said to me, under his breath, “is this really how Jack behaves at the dentist?” The dentist joined me in another calm explanation: If you really do brush your teeth every day, then you won’t be subject to all the scraping. Again, deaf ears I’m sure, but at least he didn’t have any cavities this time.

We had another kerfuffle right before bedtime tonight. Long story short, Jack was playing with a Charlie-sized toy. Charlie took exception and reacted the way two-year-olds do, and then Jack reacted the way two-year-olds do as well, which is not the desired outcome for someone who is almost nine. As all three kids got sent off to bed, Jack again tried to place the blame anywhere but on himself. He insisted he had a right to be angry.

You do have a right to be angry, I assured him, because he was right about that. He was playing with the toy first and, while he could have shared, he did not blatantly ask for Charlie to get mad at him. However, it is how he displayed that anger that led to the problem. Feel free to be angry, but don’t respond with immaturity and dangerous behavior. We keep reminding him if he doesn’t care for the punishments he should consider not causing the infractions in the first place. Yet his energy remains dedicated to explaining why he’s never at fault.

I’m in my early thirties and I’m sure I don’t always link cause and effect as well as I should. As good as I am in recognizing this (and other) shortcomings in my kids, I can be equally unable to identify them in myself. So while I will keep plugging away at trying to break through to Jack (some day he’ll understand it, or at least stop denying it, right?), I might also be well off to turn more of the focus inward to make sure I’m not overlooking my own giant stumbling blocks.

A prayer for February 18:

Lord, help me to pay more attention to the lessons I refuse to learn. It is wonderful to feel I might be growing and changing for the better, but I realize I’m probably overlooking certain mistakes I make so often I’ve almost assumed they’re part of the scenery. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Because of your power and your love, I have the ability to address all my challenges. You give me what I need to overcome. Be patient with me God, for I may be slow to adapt. But I want to make myself a better person, more worthy of you. Don’t ever give up on me. Amen.

Looking back, looking ahead

Jeremiah 9:23-24 (NIV)

This is what the Lord says:

“Let not the wise boast of their wisdom
   or the strong boast of their strength
   or the rich boast of their riches,
but let the one who boasts boast about this:
   that they have the understanding to know me,
that I am the Lord, who exercises kindness,
   justice and righteousness on earth,
   for in these I delight,”
declares the Lord.

On this, the 300th consecutive day I have tried to formulate thoughts about parenting and prayer and turn them into cogent writing, I was brought back to the very beginning. As I’ve noted several times, this project was inspired by two specific parts of my church life. The first was a congregation-wide evangelism study our small group tackled during Lent 2012. The second was a moment of inspiration at the end of that study in the midst of a sermon from one of our associate pastors.

Well, Lent began Wednesday, and there we all were today, our small group gathering in a Sunday school room after worship service to share lunch and begin our journey through another all-church Lenten study. Just minutes earlier I had been in the sanctuary, listening to that same associate pastor preach yet another moving sermon, her last for our congregation before she moves to California at the end of the month.

In some ways, I feel like I’ve grown a remarkable amount over the last 300 days through focusing on scripture, committing to praying daily and especially just taking stock of my emotions and actions with an eye toward living with intent and purpose instead of just reacting to whatever comes along. Yet in other ways, I feel I haven’t grown at all, that if anything I’m a bigger disappointment to myself because even after doing all that stuff I just said, I’m still making mistakes left and right and having many of the same struggles with the kids as we faced last April.

Of course, those warring internal perceptions might be considered healthy. I need to feel like I’m making some progress, otherwise I’d just become frustrated and quit. But if I ever feel like I “solved” something or had everything figured out, I’d be like a person mentioned in the passage form Jeremiah, boasting of wisdom or strength. My favorite part of the passage is the careful distinction that the one who boats should boast not of knowing God, but of having the understanding to know God. As I read that, it says “Don’t tell people you know God — you can’t fully know God. But what you can say is your heart and mind are open to God, and that you are guided by God’s capacity for kindness, justice and righteousness.”

One of my recurring themes is how a life of faith and regular prayer does not make me better than anyone else. I still consider myself broken, sinful and in need of God’s saving grace. I do feel my belief is a sustaining force, that it helps me live differently than I would if I did not know God. I understand plenty of people think their lives are entirely complete without any faith whatsoever. I’m just different. I feel my life is only complete because it is built on faith and everything I have that is worth anything is only enriched through God’s many blessings.

I frequently return to the big-picture question: “What kind of parent do I want to be?” And as I plod along searching for a big-picture answer, I find lots and lots of little answers, building blocks contributing to a larger assembly. Unlike a set of Legos, where the finished product is pictured on the box and step-by-step instructions come inside, I’m more of a constant work in progress, perpetually subject to change. Further unlike Legos, I’m not the one putting all the pieces in place. Rather I am the pieces, and I’m trusting God to continue to mold me into something resembling how I was designed in the first place.

Letting go of my instincts can be incredibly difficult. Even though I’ve been rewarded for doing so in the past, and burned when I resisted, the chance to assert my own control (or the perception thereof) usually is too great to ignore. If I do anything in the next 65 days of this effort, I hope it is to take time every day to catch myself in a moment, completely stop and pray for God to take over.

I keep trying to tap into things like God’s kindness, justice and righteousness. While I still think that’s the right aim, what I’m actually doing is attempting to claim those things as my own attributes rather than ask God to use me for those purposes. I have to continue to break down my self-built walls and allow myself to be reshaped in God’s image. I don’t want to struggle each day with choosing my way or God’s way, I want to just fully know what God’s way is and live accordingly.

These last 300 days have been meaningful. If nothing else I’ve gained a deeper appreciation for the blessings of fatherhood and the enormity of the attendant responsibility. I hope and pray to be the father my children deserve. Some days are better than others. I really feel I’m trying my best, yet I realize some days my best isn’t good enough. That’s why it can’t be “my” anything, it has to be God, working through me. If only I can let God in to make it happen.

A prayer for February 17:

Lord, I thank you today for perspective. For the reminders of how and why I started this project. For the windows into other parents’ lives and struggles. For the appreciation of why this hard work is important and the potential lasting benefits. Continue to guide me, God. Mold me and use me however you see fit. Do not let me take pride in my achievements, do not let me forget how I need you to accomplish anything of value. Make me a better person, God, that I might be able to teach my children how to live in your love. Amen.