Ethan knows right from wrong. It has been an interesting few days watching the battle of good vs. evil wage within the mind of this two year old boy. I’ve tried to stay on the sidelines and not interfere too much with his sorting process, but let’s face it… I’ve got a vested interest in seeing this thing turn out the right way. So, I nudge and prod and influence as I can. Enough to guide him, but not so much that he doesn’t feel like the conclusions he is drawing are his own. Manipulation? No way! I like to think of it as actively facilitating the learning process (Okay, I did play the Santa card one time, but it isn’t like you think).
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My kids love chocolate milk. Love it. Life expectancy for a bottle of Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup in our house doesn’t even register in minutes (it was Nestle Quick powder for me when I was a kid). I was watching the other day as Kendra performed the chocolate milk ballet, set to the sounds of Ethan blindly grasping for spoons in a drawer he can open but with contents he cannot see – refrigerator door open, lift milk, step-turn-spin-kick, door swings shut, step, dodge-running-child, hop-toy-raise-milk, catch falling glass (pause – whew!), step, turn, spin, rest. Then the pouring. Then comes the spoon, and the rhythmic, whirring, clicking process that pulls all that chocolate off the bottom and off the sides and makes one great treat from two good things that would otherwise exist separately. Read more…
There was a time when I could go to the store, get what I need, and get back in the same amount of time it takes us to corral all the kids and get them in the car today. Everything was hassle free – errands, dinners out, movies, travel – I had more time in the day than I knew how to fill. I hate that time. I don’t miss a second of it. But it will be back… shortly…and it looms hauntingly in the back of my mind. Read more…
A few weeks ago a buddy and I went out for a bike ride in the hills south of our homes. It was a fairly technical six mile loop through cactus and rock, over sandy riverbeds, and up some gravely inclines. I began the ride with visions of pedalling victoriously up to the peak and gazing out across the valley with a sense of accomplishment and pride. I used to go on rides like this all the time when I was younger… surely it would all come back to me quickly.
A few minutes of burning thighs and several mouthfuls of dust into the ride quickly lowered my expectation to that of merely surviving the trip. It had been years since I had attempted anything as physical as this ride, and every crank of the pedal drove home how young I no longer am. By the time we were midway up the second major incline my arms and legs were burning, I was out of breath and I was doubled over my handlebars desperate for some type of boost or second wind. I looked around at the desert wilderness that enveloped us: cholla cactus, saguaro, wild grass concealing desert rodents and insects, loose rocks and drop-offs, and the silence of the hills was only penetrated by the exaggerated pounding of my heart as I struggled to catch my breath. We pushed forward… every so often we would stop and try to regroup and curse our path. We came to what we thought would be the halfway point as we encountered more downhill path than up. We began to laugh at how ridiculously we had been behaving about the previous obstacles and congratulated ourselves on making it through. We proclaimed our manliness and vowed to conquer the trail with ease the next time out… and then we came to the big hill.
This section of the trail was not so much an incline as it was an instrument of torture designed to crush a rider’s sense of accomplishment and capability. We somehow managed to push ourselves over the first couple of summits, but each time we would come to the top of a section, the trail would hairpin and climb again, or it would drop down into a sandy riverbed and then climb sharply to a point and gradually wind further upward. Each time we thought we had arrived at our stopping point or pinnacle, the trail moved onward and upward. We were physically and mentally spent. We had put ourselves down this path and we could not continue on the way we planned. From where we stood, we could see the parking area off in the distance. The terrain prevented us from giving up and setting off in that direction, and we had come too far to merely turn around. Besides that, the road back did not seem any easier than what we hoped would be the short distance ahead. I could not pedal forward; I had no strength. I could not rest on the trail because it was barely wide enough for us to ride through and it was beset by cactus. I leaned against my bike for support. I quickly started drawing parallels between that hopeless place on the trail and times in my life when I put myself in situations that I needn’t have. It seems I never have trouble riding myself off into some desperate situation and end up crying out for some intervention. As I straddled my bike and waddled myself the rest of the way up the hill, I began to recall 2 Corinthians 12:9 – “My Grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” I pondered on this verse as I approached what was ultimately the crest of longest incline. I had definitely been in a place of personal and spiritual weakness and He was taking this opportunity to show me He was there waiting and ready to help me.
The path widened, and it would be mainly downhill from this point. A few other riders passed through casually and waved as did a woman on horseback. Families hiked down below. We had not traversed some impassible stretch of trail. Our lives were not in peril. But, there was wisdom on that trail that afternoon. There are so many times in life that I want to shine or be the focal point… and I have to try to be mindful that His light through me shines brightest. He is my strength, and with that nothing is impossible or hopeless. His Grace is sufficient… and as I continue to relearn to rely on that and lean on His unwavering strength I will know not to doubt or worry.
This is a difficult lesson to embrace as a father… I want to appear strong and in control as a parent so I struggle with this at times. I have to keep in mind what I am modeling for my sons so they can gain comfort in leaning on His strength as they grow into men… not only when times are difficult but in all things at all times.
Thanks for coming along for the ride… Kiss your kids!
The other night (or morning, depending on your perspective) Dillon comes bounding into our bedroom looking to crash for the evening. He informed Kendra she could take Ethan with her and sleep in his bottom bunk. He was looking for some time with just dad. I lay there for a few minutes trying to manage my reaction to this… I certainly was not excited about being startled awake, but I had to take a moment to really grasp what was happening. With all the activities and chaos that consume my daily schedule, I had scarcely had time to devote individual attention to my children. From moving halfway across the country and then moving again from the rental to this house to having a new addition to the family, our kids have had to manage a ton of change. We contintue to be impressed by how well they seem to be adjusting, but this particular evening gave me a glimpse at what was truly beneath Dillon’s patient exterior: he just desperately needed some quiet time.
All three boys have been fantastic big brothers; they are constantly concerned with making sure Ethan is comfortable or has what he needs. They often stop what they are doing if he cries to try to lend a hand. They always ask to hold him and help out with tummy time. There has been no indication of jealousy or resentment. I think that we have been so relieved with how things have transitioned that we have given our remaining attention to the details of maintaining the house and keeping all the plates spinning at work. Dillon helped me to realize that we still have three other boys we need to dote on and have special time with. This is a humbling lesson that I had not thought I would have to learn, but as I honestly reflect on the last several weeks it has been quite convenient for me to lump the boys together in some activity and use the time with all of them as my “family time”. This is a cop out. I refuse to continue down this path. My four-year-old should not have to wake himself up in the middle of the night in order to spend some quality time with his father.
Dillon and I took a trip to grab breakfast for the family… it was a simple trip and it took all of about 25 minutes, but it allowed me to connect with him in a way that we had not been able to in a long while. My committment to him and to Jaden and to Logan (Ethan tends to find ways to get alone time) is to continue to find little ways to spend bigger and bigger slices of time together that are individually significant. This time slips by so quickly, and we only get one chance to try to parent these guys. I want to make the most of the time I have in front of them while my opinion still matters and while they still see hanging out with me as a “cool” thing to do. The sands in the hour glass don’t pause… family has to remain the higher priority over the distractions of life… hopefully I can stay on track and we can find enough time in the day for our dedicated time, and we can all go back to sleeping peacefully at night.
Thanks for coming along for the ride… Kiss your kids!
