Three is enough — maybe

Psalm 51:6 (NIV)

Yet you desired faithfulness even in the womb;
   you taught me wisdom in that secret place.

Tonight marks the 200th time I have sat down to compose my thoughts on parenting, prayer and looking to God for strength and inspiration. Early on I adopted as a parenting mission, from 1 Thessalonians 2:11-12, “Encourage. Comfort. Urge them to live lives worthy of God.” Those principles continue to guide me, which I presume will be true long past the time I channel my energies in this forum.

On the occasion of my 100th entry, I looked back at the day Kristie and I decided to be parents. We have been incredibly fortunate not just for the freedom to make the decision but in the ability to actually put those plans into action. In simple terms, when we want a child we have a child. That seems so very basic, yet we know so many people who long to be parents but experience incredible, heartbreaking challenges along the way. Some will never reach that day. As such, we do not take for granted the blessings of our children and the responsibilities of parenthood.

Kristie first got pregnant more than nine years ago. We’ve been busy with diapers almost continuously since the day Jack was born. There are toys in literally every room of our house — including the laundry room, where sits a bucket with bleach water filled with toys that were in the tub when Charlie did what babies sometimes do while taking a bath. We have little boy clothes in every size from newborn to 9 and 10, and there are so many coats in our front closet the chances of grabbing one that doesn’t fit any of the kids is far greater than pulling one we can actually use in the moment.

We cannot have an adult conversation between the hours of 7 a.m. and 10 p.m., unless you count typing chat messages to each other while I am at work and Kristie is at home not making another plate of food that will be half eaten and left on the table. There are crumbs of food everywhere we look (and step) and I can’t recall the last time we all sat at the table for dinner and ate a home-cooked meal when on one requested any substitutions or special accommodations. When we visit Kristie’s parents for a weekend, we can barely fit our family and our luggage in the minivan. We are almost never on time for anything, ever, because the simple act of getting dressed and out the door requires the kind of tactical maneuvering you would expect for properly aligning the Spanish Armada.

And yet this madness seems to suit us like nothing else. Amidst the hectic schedule, packing school lunches each morning and drawing bathwater every night, positioning microwave shells and cheese as a culinary upgrade compared to slices of bologna, making sure there is not too much blood in the caffeine stream, stepping on tiny pieces of sharp plastic and repressing the urge to utter obscenities, somewhere in and around all that is our comfort zone. We came together as wife and husband fully expecting to transition to mom and dad. We’re in it up to our eyeballs, but I absolutely cannot imagine my life any other way.

We always knew we wanted Jack to have a sibling. We also knew when he was a few months past his first birthday it was not the right time to change the family dynamic. After Max was born in traumatic fashion and then tested our parental patience daily for about eight months, it took Kristie a long time to decide she was open to going through the experience once more. I always knew she would grow to welcome the chance, but she had to get there on her own. And Charlie fit much more naturally into the mix on several levels. We had know way of knowing his labor, delivery and infancy would go so smoothly — we feared the exact opposite — but will be forever grateful we decided to grow from four to five.

Each of us grew up in families of five. I was an only child for nearly six years until twin siblings arrived. Kristie’s little sister was born when Kristie was almost five years old, but their brother did not come along for almost eight more years. Our children are spaced out conventionally by comparison. As such, well, let’s just say we have a closet full of bouncy seats and activity mats and footie pajamas we’re not quite ready to part with — just in case.

Sometimes, such as Wednesday night when I lovingly combed Charlie’s curls after his bath, I wonder what it might be like to add a little girl to this mix. She’d be treated like a princess by default at first, but surely she’d soon be just like Charlie is now — eager to mix it up with the older brothers, screaming just to get a sound in edgewise and wearing whatever hand-me-downs pass for gender neutral. Sometimes I think one more boy would be just right. There would be even numbers, we already have tons of clothes (though most are wearing quickly thin) and we just understand baby boys. I don’t exactly enjoy life with a newborn, but I also don’t know if I’m ready to close the door on that chapter. Having a young one on my hip has been the order of things for about a quarter of my life by now, and I’ve grown quite accustomed to defining myself by how much time I spend caring for my children.

This all is easy for me to say, as modern science still yields to nature and lets women gestate. I’m not revealing any deep family secrets here, either. It’s just that many people know when they are done having babies — after the first, after the second, after you get at least one of each gender — whenever the decision is made, people know. And we don’t know. I’m not giving odds or a deadline, just trying to be honest. We’re open to what God wants for our family, whatever that may be. There is no greater thing for us to consider, and we most certainly will discuss the issue with as much sincerity as we did on that Minnesota car ride so many years back.

We don’t know. God knows. There is immeasurable comfort in being able to put mutual trust in our creator. God knows. God loves. Amen.

A prayer for November 9:

Lord, thank you for my wife and my children. If I have nothing else in this world, I have them and that’s enough. For we know your love for us extends far beyond the limitations of this life. There are so many people who would be wonderful parents who don’t get the chance, which makes me even more thankful for the privilege and responsibility of the little ones you have placed in my care. As parents we are never alone, not so long as we have you to encourage, guide and comfort us through the many challenges of raising them the right way — your way. Guard us always, God, as we place our hope and trust in you. Amen.

Act justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly with God.

Micah 6:6-8 (NIV)

With what shall I come before the Lord
   and bow down before the exalted God?
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,
   with calves a year old?
Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,
   with ten thousand rivers of olive oil?
Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression,
   the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?
He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
   And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
   and to walk humbly with your God.

Through the course of my life as a mainline Protestant Christian, different Bible verses have claimed a chief role in informing my reigning philosophy. Sometimes I have come across them on my own, sometimes a Sunday school teacher or youth leader brought them to my attention, occasionally with the full intent they hold sway over my pliable young mind.

Without citing chapter and verse, there are a few key phrases that trigger my mind and surely the minds of others who have a similar background:

• “For God so love the world…”
• “In the beginning was the word…”
• “For I know the plans I have for you…”
• “I can do all things through Christ who…”
• “Put on the full armor of God…”
• “The Lord is my shepherd…”

That’s just a half dozen off the top of my head. Surely there are more, and already as I start this paragraph I can think of a few others I could easily have included. As long as the list might get, it would not have included this passage from Micah until the last year or so. Somehow in all my exposure to church and the Bible and the all-star team of quotable verses, I’d missed Micah 6:8. I’m sure I heard and read it, but it never registered with my like it did until I heard a sermon based on the passage. I’m certain it was within the last three years, and I am nearly positive it’s been since Charlie was born. Why it never stuck before isn’t clear, but the reason it hit me hard when it finally did is because I heard the Word that day with the ears of a father.

Like so many other passages that become entrenched in my thoughts, this one speaks directly to me. Others offer encouragement or comfort, and then there are those, like this one, that clearly tell me what God expects of me: Act justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly with God. If ever anything was beautiful in its simplicity, it is these directives. Yet when I heard the passage that Sunday, and the sermon that followed, something clicked in my brain that these messages from God weren’t meant just for me, they were meant also for me to pass on to my children. And not just to teach them, but to live them myself and therefore teach by example.

The beauty of this verse is the open-ended nature of the question: “What does the Lord require of you?” It’s not what does God want from me in my marriage, what does God want from me as a parent, how does God want me to vote, where does God want me to work. It’s none of that because it’s all of that. What does God require of me always — every day, every scenario?

A person could act justly, love mercy and walk with humility without God in their life. In fact, if someone who wasn’t a Christian told me that was their personal philosophy, I’d probably assume they had a good grasp on practical matters and might very well be leading a good, worthy life. Yet I feel it’s only through God, and specifically the life and sacrifice of Jesus, that we can truly understand justice, mercy and humility. And I’m not sure we can realize the complete understanding while bound by human life.

As mentioned several times before, I’m not a theologian or minister or anything fancy like that. This probably isn’t the arena in which to delve into a full explanation of the way we learn justice, mercy and humility through Jesus. Suffice it to say there are clear reasons why I want to raise my children as believers and not just good people. When I began to understand what God did for me, simply because God created me and loved me and not because of anything I said or did or could do or say, my appreciation for life deepened and my ability to value close relationships expanded exponentially.

And when I was blessed with children — children I wanted because I felt the most important thing I personally could do with my life is try to raise another generation to do good in the world — I gained a new awareness for the responsibilities we have as humans to take care of each other, to think and act selflessly and to remember God always as the giver of all good things. And while I will do what I can to pass these lessons to my children, I know they’ll only really embrace these truths if they come to them on their own terms. And maybe they won’t ever see the world the way I do.

The one thing I can promise is they’ll never wonder where my heart lies, because I won’t let them go through life guessing about their dad. They deserve, and God demands, my honesty. I don’t intend to let down either of them.

A prayer for October 26:

Lord, thank you for speaking to me in so many different ways. Thank you also for letting me know the most important thing I can give you is myself, turning my life over to you who gave it, and caring for people the way you care for them. You call me to act justly and love mercy, and then show me exactly how you define those ideals. Help me teach those lessons to my children even as I struggle to learn them myself. And do not let me rise above humility in your presence. I am nothing if not yours God, and I am so glad you keep me grounded in this truth. Amen.

The blessings of generational love

Psalm 145:3-7 (NIV)

Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise;
   his greatness no one can fathom.
One generation commends your works to another;
   they tell of your mighty acts.
They speak of the glorious splendor of your majesty —
   and I will meditate on your wonderful works.
They tell of the power of your awesome works —
   and I will proclaim your great deeds.
They celebrate your abundant goodness
   and joyfully sing of your righteousness.

As noted earlier, I dug through an awful lot of family photos in late summer trying to find good pictures of my grandmother for a memorial slideshow. I noticed a lot of common themes sorting through more than 40 years of snapshots, and one of my favorites is how many times both sets of my grandparents were at our house together.

My mom’s parents lived in Connecticut, and later Florida, my entire life. They’d come to Illinois once or twice a year and we’d go see them each Christmas, with a few exceptions. My dad’s folks lived a three-hour drive away in Western Illinois. And judging by my mom’s photo records, darn near every time her parents were in town, my dad’s parents made a day trip to visit.

My grandmothers at our dining room table, August 1993.

I don’t recall thinking much of this when I was a kid, other than I enjoyed all of my grandparents so I never minded seeing them all together. My dad’s parents especially could get along with just about anyone, including complete strangers, so it made sense they could become good friends with my mom’s parents, despite their many differences in terms of upbringing, career and familial mobility. But still, like many things I did not fully grasp until I was older, I realize now it must have been a significant blessing for each of my parents to have welcoming in-laws who also were genuinely friends with each other.

All of this came to mind Sunday night at our house. Kristie’s mom decided to drive out by herself to see us Sunday morning — a pretty major accomplishment for someone who is highly uncomfortable on the highways east of Rockford — and spend the night. My parents were free for dinner, so I invited them to come up. It was a bit more work than getting takeout on my mother-in-law’s nickel, but it’s always nice to have the feeling of a real family dinner. Thanks to wonderful weather I was able to fire up the grill and enjoy what probably is our last taste of summer.

My kids see my parents at least once a week during our Monday night bell choir rehearsal at church. We almost always run into Pops and K on Sunday morning after worship as well. Sometimes that’s it for a week, but it seems there’s always a few more occasions, everything from me bringing a boy or two to work if Kristie has an appointment during the day to something like Saturday, when we left them there for about seven hours so we could spend the afternoon in Chicago.

We see Kristie’s family several times a year. We tend to make most of our trips their direction during the summer and around holidays, but it’s nice to be close enough we never have to miss anything like graduations or milestone birthdays. As I’ve written about before, Jack and Max have started to spend some alone time out there, which is something I thoroughly enjoyed doing as a child with my dad’s parents, and it adds a unique dimension to that relationship, because they’re never really going to spend a week in the summer at my parents’ house.

All of that is more or less a setup to describe a special moment from Sunday night. Charlie was done with his bath and getting ready for me to take him up to bed. I brought him into the kitchen to say goodnight to How. Though he’d been a bit chilly when she first arrived, he spent much of the afternoon by her side and was fully warmed up by the evening, to the point where he was willing to give her hugs and his version of kisses before bed. Then my mom came over, and he more or less basked in their affection and would have done so for as long as I let him.

To be able to hold him as he exuded such pure joy — seemingly displaying an awareness of just how loved he truly is — was an absolute blessing. It was one of several signs over the weekend of how much he’s expanded his circle of trust beyond just his parents. At church Sunday morning I carried him down the steps into our Social Hall during coffee hour. As usual, the room was fairly crowded. As I approached the center (following Max toward the snack table), Charlie spied my parents in the corner, made his noise that passes for “Pops” and wiggled to get down. I set him down, mostly curious to see what would happen. He promptly walked right over (almost jogged, actually), oblivious to all the strange adults surrounding his path, and the next thing I knew he was up in K’s arms.

He also shared some wonderfully tender moments with How in our backyard Sunday. Kristie was out shopping, and Jack and Max were jumpingoff our playset into a pile of leaves. Charlie wanted in on the action, so How helped him up and down the Little Tikes slide. She also held him as he watched Max fling himself into the leaves with reckless abandon, giggling gleefully with every leap. To think how recently it was that neither grandmother could peel him away from a parent without a food-based bribe, it was amazing to see him spend virtually the entire weekend soaking up the grandparent love.

How and Charlie share a backyard laugh Sunday.

All along I told the grandmothers (and also myself) Charlie would come alone, would love them as deeply as the older two, and the first months would be but a bump in the road. We all instinctively knew it to be true, and even though we’ve seen these relationships develop with Jack and Max, it’s somehow still wonderful to witness it happen a third time. To paraphrase something a Facebook friend wrote earlier today about her children and their grandparents: The kids are so lucky to have them and I know they cherish every minute they get to spend with any of their grandchildren. Grandparents and grandchildren are the ultimate blessing.

Seeing these relationships blossom truly is a blessing. In part it makes me sad to no longer have any of my grandparents in my life, but it also helps me fully appreciate the wonderful relationships we did have in all our years together. To be able to have all my grandparents see me graduate high school — and to have a great-grandmother alive until I was 15 — was incredibly special. Not unique, but special to me nonetheless. The overlapping of generations stirs emotions in me I’ve never been able to fully define, and I hope one day to see the next generation come along and continue growing the circle. As we all band together, centered around God, we truly are blessed.

A prayer for October 22:

Lord, tonight I pray in happiness. I am looking past the challenges of daily life and choose instead to simply thank you for your goodness. You created the Earth for us to live in and care for, and you gave us families for companionship, protection, nurturing and love. We miss dearly those who have gone on before us, but rest in the knowledge we all will be together one day in the full presence of your glory. Your grace is the most amazing gift of all. Amen.

Reflections on a Saturday afternoon wedding

Psalm 103:1-5 (NIV)

Praise the Lord, my soul;
   all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
Praise the Lord, my soul,
   and forget not all his benefits.
who forgives all your sins
   and heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit
   and crowns you with love and compassion,
who satisfies your desires with good things
   so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

My little sister got married yesterday. Well, technically she’s not my little sister, she’s my best friend’s little sister. And my mom has known her dad since fifth grade, met her mom soon after and all four of our parents went to college together. They had six kids combined, all born within roughly six years of each other. We grew up going to the same church, had family dinners dozens of times a year and vacationed together almost every summer. If we’re not family by blood, we are by every other definition of the word.

My own siblings have not gotten married, so Saturday’s ceremony was as close as it gets for me to experiencing those emotions. Kristie and I went to a wedding of a work friend in April, and as close as she and I may be (she and her now husband came and stayed with Jack when Kristie went into labor with Max until my mom could arrive), I’ve only known her for five years now. Conversely, I was almost five years old when Emily was born. We go way back — all the way back as far as either of us can remember.

Of course I haven’t spent as much time with her as we both entered the adult world. Since her brother and I went to the same college (the family school, naturally), I was able to be plugged in with the family at home and abroad, but marriage and kids and her own college and grad school and everyone moving and changing jobs — it’s a big change seeing someone no less than once a week for 15 years to maybe half a dozen times each year. But when the roots go as deep as ours, whenever we’re all together it’s as if we still figure in everyone’s day-to-day business.

I realize now, after a wedding shower a few weeks ago, a quick, casual encounter at church last weekend and the ceremony itself, how little I actually spoke to the couple of late. I kind of existed in the same orbit, but mostly watching my kids, which is no small task. I was there, and it was important to be there to feel connected, but it was superficial at best. I don’t know what I might have said if I’d gotten the chance (or forced the issue) to have a sincere conversation. But I do know my choice to hang on the fringes was somewhat intentional. I’ll see these two soon enough at a low-key, families-only event. Better to let them, on their biggest of days, see all the loved ones who traveled from far and wide just to take part in the celebration.

Kristie and I spent pretty much the entire ceremony in outside the sanctuary with Charlie. I could look up front and see Emily and Chris. Behind Emily was her sister as maid of honor, and next in line was my sister. On the men’s side was Nick, who was my best man ten years ago and I his three years later. His wife, also a mutual college friend, was herself a bridesmaid. Watching their children walk the aisle as ring bearer and flower girl and, in that moment, seeing their special bond as siblings, brought a huge smile to my face. Jack and Max sat with my parents, along with Uncle Matt and Kim’s boyfriend, Micah, whose biggest fault is living in California which means we don’t get to spend nearly enough time together.

The happy couple exits the church. The smiles are my favorite.

For most of the ceremony I was in a perfectly happy place, just drinking in the moment. Kristie and I talked many times about how we expected the atmosphere of the day to reflect exactly how well-suited we feel Chris and Emily are for each other, and that’s exactly what we discovered. They planned a ceremony so reflective of their personalities and relationship it was if the smiles plastered on their faces radiated out and blanketed the entire room. There’s probably a better way to describe how that works, but I can’t find the words. When Nick and Alexis got married, I was probably too focused on my best man duties, as well as Kristie and Jack (then five months old), to fully give myself to the joy of the day. That was not the case Saturday.

When the wedding liturgy came to The Lord’s Prayer, it was no surprise the bride’s father rose to sing. I told Kristie I wanted to step inside the back door of the sanctuary to hear the song directly, instead of through the speakers. She reminded me she’d just heard him sing it recently. After a beat, it hit me. I had just heard him sing the same song — almost exactly two months earlier at my grandmother’s funeral.

As the notes poured beautifully through the sanctuary, I mentally juxtaposed Saturday’s joyous occasion with the sadness of the recent funeral. Tears welled in my eyes as I connected the dots in my head. There are happy days and sad days, and many others of much less intensity, but throughout them all, our truest friends are always there. Even when they can’t be physically present, they are never more than a thought away. I can’t speak for everyone, but there’s little doubt I would not make it through life without such people as part of my support system, ingrained in my very being, a walking, breathing testament to God’s love for all creation.

Later, at the reception, Kristie stood near Max as he sat, somewhere between awestruck and dumbfounded, watching the pageantry of the wedding party. She wasn’t far from the mother of the bride, and Kristie noted how easy it must have been for Chris’ mom to look at her son, fully adult, completely in love and stepping into forever, then glance over at a mother and son on the opposite end of the spectrum. How easy it must have been Saturday night for her to see Chris as the four-year-old, remembering all those days she did the things the mother of a young son must do. In 24 years will we have the chance to see Max on his wedding day, committed to the love of his life and surrounded by those dearest to him? Will we take advantage of the time between now and then to make sure he knows how important he is to his parents and family?

Milestone occasions like weddings and funerals will quickly bring such considerations to the forefront. But they’re always inside, not too far from the surface. One of the keys to a well-lived life, I think, is to tap into such sentiment on days we won’t circle on the calendar and commit to memory. When we make the most of the otherwise mundane, it’s like investing in our connection with others. And when we do arrive on those red-letter days, that investment pays off with a very real understanding of what it means to share yourself fully with other people, to love as God would have us love and to simply be there for someone else because that’s just the way it’s supposed to be.

To Emily and Chris, I wish all the happiness in the world. Even without children, they are now their own family, officially starting life together in every sense of the word. God only knows what lies in store, but I trust they understand what it means to be partners, to welcome challenges and blessings alike, to be accountable to one another and to God, to comfort and protect one another and simply to love — fully and deeply. I consider myself lucky every day to have found and kept the person who makes me whole, and I pray the same is true for them. May God bless their marriage today, tomorrow and forever.

A prayer for October 7:

Lord, you are the giver of all good things. You crown us with love and compassion, and yet the love we share with one another on Earth pales in comparison to the love you have for each of us. It is the love you showed by giving us life, by allowing us to delight in each other, and especially shown through the saving grace of Jesus’ sacrifice. God, may my life be a reflection of that love, that all may see in me a person who knows what it means to believe, trust and hope in you. Let no one doubt the source of my true joy and peace. Amen.

Are you ready for some football?

Psalm 139:17-18 (NIV)

How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
   How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
   they would outnumber the grains of sand —
   when I awake, I am still with you.

Today is the first Sunday of the National Football League’s regular season. Judging by my social media connections, it might as well be a national holiday. (At least two churches in the country encouraged people to wear gear representing their favorite team to Sunday morning worship.) I’m by no means a football fanatic — I much prefer baseball — but I’m enough of a general sports fan and a Chicago sports media consumer to have football on my radar. Not to mention my three fantasy football leagues.

Fear not, this isn’t going to be all about football. Rather, it’s about tradition. Since we moved back closer to my parents, and especially as Jack has gotten older, I’ve thought on and off how nice it would be to have a men of the family tradition of going over to my parents’ house after church to watch the Bears game. And while I do still think it might be fun, it’s been far too easy for me to come up with reasons not to pursue the idea. Specifically:

• We’re often busy with other stuff on Sundays, or at least could be doing something more productive. Same for my parents.
• We don’t exactly have a generational devotion to the Bears or any pro team in any sport. My dad’s dad grew up poor in Western Illinois in the 1920s and 1930s. Most “family” fandom starts with my dad, and he grew up a Milwaukee Braves fan.
• Along those lines, I don’t really care if the Bears win or lose. If there were meaningful Cubs games on a September Sunday (don’t laugh, it’s happened in my lifetime) I would be fighting tooth and nail to be plopped in front of a screen. But when the Bears lost the Super Bowl in 2007, I wasn’t emotionally crushed. I more or less walked away from the TV and started to clean up the kitchen.
• Jack has expressed very little interest in watching any sports on TV. (By the time I was his age, I was far more into all types of sports.)
• Thanks to TV schedules, the days of the Bears reliably playing nearly every Sunday at noon are long gone.
• Our kids watch enough TV as it is, so I’m not inclined to push for more.
• During the school year (of which football season is only a subset) our family schedule fills up quickly and I hesitate to add anything else, especially for such an insubstantial reason.
• It’s not like Pops is sitting home alone just wishing his son and grandsons would drive down to enjoy the game. Live sports on TV was a part of our house when I was a child — not dominating, but much more prominent than it’s been around here since my kids were born — but we never really had any rituals or routines associated with games.

I’m not jealous of other families who have similar traditions to the ones I envision. Neither do I judge them for how they spend their Sundays. Interest in sports is something I share with my dad and brother. If any of my boys grow into enjoying sports, playing or watching, I’ll be happy to facilitate. Yet as much as I loved playing Little League baseball from the end of first grade into summers home from college (I really should have stopped sooner because I was never very good) I’ve never had much interest in pushing Jack into team sports.

After we moved here, Jack did about a year of gymnastics. He played one season of soccer in the spring of 2011, and he did two years of youth bowling, which we stopped this fall in favor of Cub Scouts. We also tried tae kwon do, a horrible experience which I am trying to forget in its entirety. Maybe some day another activity will grab his interest. Max probably is old enough, and for several reasons better suited than Jack, to try something like T-ball. What eventually grabs Charlie’s attention is anyone’s guess.

Perhaps my angst about becoming pushy dad, and forcing my child into something they hate, has caused an overreaction to the point where I don’t encourage the kids to try anything. I never felt my parents pushed me into anything, though they were good about making sure I kept commitments (I was not allowed to quite piano lessons in the middle of a school year, for example). We’re unlikely, as parents, to have our first real moment of sincere concern in this arena until the end of fourth grade, when students here select instruments for participation in school band.

I’ve been perfectly fine not being a Little League dad or even tossing a ball in the yard. But If Jack shows little or no interest in any instrument, his band geek parents are going to have to swallow hard. I don’t really want to buy a drum set, and there’s nowhere good to fit a marimba in this house. But if he resists joining the school band, it’s going to be difficult for us to accept his choice and not try to force the matter. It was much easier to promise to be cool about that when he was Charlie’s age.

None of this is a particularly spiritual matter, but in quiet moments when my mind wanders, sometimes this is a direction it heads. I can’t help but think about the future, how the kids will change and how I might change as a result. I think it comes with the territory of fatherhood. Thankfully prayer can help settle my mind and direct my focus elsewhere — always.

A prayer for September 9:

Lord, thank you for the peace you provide a wandering mind. Even when I am not in physical danger, your presence calms my heart. I am grateful you reach out to me even when I don’t make the first move. Your love guides my way, your light is upon my path that I might follow where you lead. Please always keep me close, as I will try to keep my focus firmly where it belongs. Amen.

'Grace will lead me home'

John 9:18-27 (NIV)

They still did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they sent for the man’s parents. “Is this your son?” they asked. “Is this the one you say was born blind? How is it that now he can see?”

“We know he is our son,” the parents answered, “and we know he was born blind. But how he can see now, or who opened his eyes, we don’t know. Ask him. He is of age; he will speak for himself.” His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jewish leaders, who already had decided that anyone who acknowledged that Jesus was the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. That was why his parents said, “He is of age; ask him.”

A second time they summoned the man who had been blind. “Give glory to God by telling the truth,” they said. “We know this man is a sinner.”

He replied, “Whether he is a sinner or not, I don’t know. One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!”

Then they asked him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?”

He answered, “I have told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples too?”

My deep love for classic hymns is well noted. So when the lectionary brought my attention to one of the scriptural allusions for arguably the best-known hymn in the English language, the pull to write about the song was irresistible.

The story of Jesus restoring the blind man’s sight in John is actually much longer and more intricate than I recalled (the lectionary has broken it up over several days), and the story of the person who wrote the words to “Amazing Grace” doesn’t involve actual physical blindness. Likewise, it’s easy to draw a connection from the “I once was lost, but now am found” metaphor to some of Jesus’ parables, notably the story of the prodigal son. That said, when you are reading a gospel story and get to the words, “I was blind, but now I see,” the connection to the hymn is unmistakable.

An 1847 publication of Southern Harmony, showing the
title "New Britain" and shape note music. (Thanks Wikipedia!)

This is neither the time nor the place for a full breakdown of the poet John Newton and his conversion story (overly simplified version: slave trader to clergyman). Such a popular hymn — some estimates say it is performed 10 million times annually — written by a man of faith with a compelling life story understandably inspired a great deal of research and academic writing. To try to condense all that here would be unfair to everyone who has put so much effort into studying the poem, the song and its influence.

One of my fondest memories of church as a child is watching my mother sing hymns. Many longtime choir members know the words to the most popular tunes, as do several folks in any traditional congregation. But my mom didn’t just know the first verse, she knew every line. And not just the melody, but also the alto and tenor harmonies (she’s been a tenor in the church choir for decades). And not just the well-known hymns, but even many of the semi-obscure ones — at least it seemed that way to me at the time. It was like the ability to sing hymns from memory was one of my mom’s many superpowers.

So when the bulletin calls for us to sing a hymn I happen to know from memory — even a verse or two — I feel a certain sense of pride in being able to close my hymnal, hold it to my side and sing out strongly. Maybe pride isn’t the right word, because it’s not as if I feel I’m showing off for those around me. But I feel like maybe my mom is proud of me in those moments, because those few wonderful seconds certainly make me proud to be her son.

“Amazing Grace,” naturally, is one of the first hymns I was able to memorize. Everyone knows the first verse or two, but when we roll around to verse four or five and other folks are thumbing through their hymnal, I’m standing up straight and cranking with “When we’ve been there ten-thousand years…” Of course, this being that well known of a song, my recall ability probably is not all that special. I should get more excited knowing the last lines of “Immortal, Invisible” or something similar. Still, I love me some “Amazing Grace.”

I love it so much, in fact, it’s one of those songs I can no longer sing all the way through. In my short life I have attached so much emotional and spiritual significance to the song, whether from singing it at a certain funeral or hearing it played during a particularly moving presentation or simply the weight it carries when deeply reflecting on the lyrics, it does not take too long into the hymn for me to be overcome by all the sentiment and I more or less stand there trying to keep my composure. I cannot possibly state how much I love this sensation, and I wish I could simply invite someone else to feel the same way. Logically I understand it’s a place I came to organically, and so it must be for anyone. I’m sure other folks arrive at that emotional epicenter through vastly different experiences. To me the point is being there, and how you get there is of little consequence because you can only get to such a place with God.

Who knows what that roadmap will look like for my children? I couldn’t begin to guess; I can only pray some day they’ll find a path, any path, that leads them to a place where they feel similarly close to God. I can’t imagine living without that connection, and I hope my sons are never absent a similar bond.

For the record, here is Newton’s original poem from 1779:

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev’d;
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believ’d!

Thro’ many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come;
‘Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promis’d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call’d me here below,
Will be forever mine.

Grace will lead me home. It really is amazing.

A prayer for September 7:

Lord, I thank you for the gift of music. I sometimes feel as if you place a certain song in my life at a precise moment just to speak directly to me, and the joy I feel at those times is indescribable. God, your grace truly is amazing. I am so undeserving, and yet you are so loving. You keep me close, no matter how strongly I might push away. I can’t quite fathom how you don’t give up on me, but I am forever grateful to know I am always welcome at your feet. Thank you for this life of boundless joy and incomprehensible peace. Amen.

'When do we get to come back?'

Psalm 73:23-26 (NIV)

Yet I am always with you;
   you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
   and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
   And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
   but God is the strength of my heart
   and my portion forever.

We left Fulton tonight, about two hours after the initial plan because we can never seem to leave How’s house on time. Nothing summed up the visit better than Max who, as we backed down the driveway and were still waving goodbye, said, “Mom, when do we get to come to How’s house again?”

Charlie had so much fun on this trip he was the hardest one to get in the van. In fact, I joked with Kristie we’re about three months away from rolling into the driveway, freeing the kids from carseats and then not seeing them again for the rest of the weekend as they disappear into the basement or Uncle Kyle’s room or the computer room or the pantry… each one of them has several “musts” now at How’s house. Toys to play with, foods to eat, games to play — they’ve got an itinerary. The only problem with Charlie getting more comfortable with the house and his grandparents is they’re already stretched thin enough at it is trying to keep the older two entertained.

We spent Sunday afternoon with some of How’s family members on a sandbar in the Mississippi River north of Savanna, Ill., which required the first boat rides for Max and Charlie. It was a fulfilling outing for Kristie, and not just for her own personal enjoyment, which she specifically mentioned several times the rest of the weekend. I could tell she found great joy in watching our kids play in exactly the same place and exactly the same manner as she had so many times in her own childhood. Although her grandparents weren’t there, certainly she felt their presence and pondered what they might have said or thought to see our boys splashing and playing in the sand.

Jack and Max take a dip in the Mighty Mississippi, Sept. 2, 2012.

I had a taste of that feeling the many times we got to take Jack to the farmhouse in Elizabeth when he was still very young. I regret he won’t have any memories of those trips, and that Max and Charlie will never have the same opportunity, but at least there’s a little bit to savor. We’ll never spend a Christmas in Florida at my mom’s parents’ old condo. In fact, I never got to share that with Kristie, either. Photographs and memories will have to suffice.

On some level, such experiences are what make the sibling relationship so special. As more and more of my life before Kristie moves deeper and deeper into the past, I know I still have my brother and sister to keep me firmly grounded to my lifelong biography. Fortunately there are aunts and uncles and cousins as well, but the siblings especially share a unique and interesting bond that’s impossible to replicate. When I watch Jack and Max play at Kristie’s parents’ house, I wonder if some day they’ll sound like Kristie and her sister, who still have an awful lot of conversations that involve the phrase, “Remember at Grandma’s how we used to…”

We don’t take big vacations with the kids, unless you count a weekend in Cedar Rapids for college homecoming or an overnight at the indoor water park 10 minutes from our house because we scored a good deal through Groupon. We have plenty of big visions, of course (the clubhouse leader is renting a super fancy RV to visit Kim and Micah in San Francisco by way of Kevin and Carole in Montana) but most of the memories we’re building with the boys, at least in their youngest years, are simple experiences — a day trip to a new museum, recurring zoo visits or just making the most of a Sunday afternoon cookout with my parents. If I tended toward pessimism, I might gnash my teeth when I see all my friends’ fabulous vacation photos posted to Facebook. But I generally lean to the bright side, and try my best to soak up the ordinary, because there’s an awful lot to enjoy if I simply appreciate my surroundings.

Simply put, I love to watch by boys smile, and I really enjoy seeing how they put smiles on the faces of loved ones around them. They all have their own way of commanding attention, inspiring pride or admiration or laughter and essentially being a joy to be around. Sometimes I still can’t quite fathom the enormity of the father-son relationship and understand how wonderful it is to be given these special people and the responsibility for their care and nurture. I can’t quite explain how or why, but every so often the very notion of being a dad simply slaps me in the face — in a good way — and all I can do is thank God for the opportunity.

Tonight that happened in the midst of a 30 second conversation with Jack about loading the van. Neither one of us said anything memorable or even remotely noteworthy. But I felt overcome with a sensation of him being my son, an actual person I helped make. It’s akin to what I felt in the delivery room when Charlie was born, and yet I can still experience the same general emotion with an eight-year-old in my mother-in-law’s driveway while holding a basket full of dirty laundry. I’m not sure what triggers these brief spells, but I hope they never stop.

A prayer for September 3:

Lord, thank you for being my constant companion. When I pause and listen for your voice, I can hear you speaking everywhere. You reveal yourself and your love to me in so many ways I am overcome by your goodness. Guide me through the coming week as I commit myself to a life worthy of you. Keep me ever mindful of the needs of my family and the ways I might be able to provide support, comfort and encouragement. With you, and you alone, I know I can offer them my best. Amen.