March 24, 2012 in
COUNSELING, MISCELLANY with
Kyra, Anna, almost-sister Erin Webster
[This is the true story of the darkest few months of my life. I hope and believe others can learn from it. It revolves around my daughter Anna, and Anna has reviewed and given her consent for me to post each of the parts in this series. It is her desire for others to learn from her experience. She has blogged on this experience from her perspective this week as well.]
Christy, who until this time had been tense but fairly stoic, began to cry as we walked — stunned, through the sterile halls at White Pines. Things like this don’t happen in good, supportive, loving families. Do they? Her tears turned to sobs which turned to gasps and by the time we were outside she couldn’t go on. Literally. She doubled over there on the sidewalk, and for a time, could neither move nor be moved. She had taken charge and gotten our family through this terrible time on the homefront, and now was a time for grieving. I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, numbly and dumbly, holding her hand. Decades of counseling experience, teaching, pastoring, critical incident work, and a lot of degrees on my wall added up to less than nothing as I stood paralyzed and silent. I had been insufficient for my daughter and I was insufficient for my wife. I couldn’t see signs of Anna’s depression, or prevent her attempt, and now there was nothing I could say to console my wife. I couldn’t hug Brittany and Kyra tightly enough to shield them from what they would have to walk through. I had never, and have never, felt so powerless, so ineffectual. Continue Reading…
October 6, 2010 in
REFLECTIONS with
Me with my girls, who are not thrilled that I used this somewhat old picture
Dear girls,
I haven’t sat down and written you a letter in a while, so I’d thought I’d take a minute to tell you how deeply you are loved. And I’m putting it on my blog for the world to see. I’m so proud of the people you are, and that you’re continuing to become.
Watching our old home movies has really gotten me thinking this past weekend. I didn’t even want kids! You girls all know that. But from the minute Brittany was born, I was hooked on what it feels like and what it means to be the daddy of a little girl, and I was blown away to realize that Kyra coming along didn’t mean I had to love Brittany less. My capacity for love just increased. Then it increased again when Anna was born. Then it stopped increasing because – well, because mom and I made darn sure of it. [Read on, girls. No more yuckies.]
So what does being a little girl’s daddy mean? It means that no matter how bad you screw up, you’re still someone’s hero. It means that even when you’ve acted shamefully, forgiveness is there before you even ask. It means kisses and cuddles that come without strings, without condition, without limit, and without asking – they’re just there. Always. It means people who are heartbroken when I leave town, who sleep a little less and a little lighter, who ask mom a hundred times a day when I’m coming home. (She reassures them, despite the fact that she’s sleeping less and lighter too). It means still hearing those voices when I return – voices that have changed but that are still music to my ears. “Daddy’s home!”
It means having a chance to set the standard for who you will one day fall in love with and marry, showing you what it means to be cherished and treasured. It means loving you enough to not give you everything you want. It means going to sleep at night knowing that no matter how bad my day has been, all is right with the world, because three little bodies are safe in their beds. It means seeing you emerge from your room in the morning, hair every which way, a rosy blush on your cheeks, and taking a mental snapshot, hoping I will be able to replay it every day after you’re gone, and already knowing it’s one of the things I am going to miss the most. It means sitting next to you at night talking about your day and hearing what’s up in your worlds. It means being the one you come to when your heart gets broken, and the one who reassures you a thousand times a day that you are (empirically, in point of fact) beautiful. It means looking at your mom and being astonished at what she and I have accomplished together, knowing we’ve tried hard to be good parents but let’s face it – we weren’t good enough to account for any of you.
Continue Reading…
June 19, 2010 in
REFLECTIONS with
photo by fayebatka
Recently a friend of mine posted on Facebook about missing that feeling we had when we were kids of flying every time we would run or jump. I hadn’t thought about that for a long time, and I realized I miss that too. But then it quickly occurred to me that I would never trade the pleasures of adulthood for the pleasures of childhood. Here, to me, are the best things about being a grown-up.
1. Sex. What else could possibly go in the number 1 spot? After this one, all the rest are just icing on the cake, but I’ll list them for you anyway.
2. A great cup of coffee
3. Discovering you have the house to yourself
4. Watching your kids become who they are, and taking a little bit of the credit
5. Going to bed whenever you want to – every single night
6. Saturday morning breakfast and dinners out with the one you love
7. Going to work and using your talents to become all you were meant to be
8. Investing your life into the lives of others
9. Old friends. Friendships get sweeter as the years go by. Children don’t have old friends. Or old anything.
10. Making your mark on the world
11. Being able to appreciate simple things, like bumping into an old friend at the grocery store, or some of the stuff on this list.
12. Not needing constant stimulation (radio, TV, texting, friends over, etc.) in order to get through the day
13. No homework. We read what we want, when we want, even IF we want.
14. Building a house, making a home, having a family
15. Being able to appreciate what it felt like to be a child in ways you never did when you were a child
November 22, 2009 in
GODSTUFF with
Today I was not the person I want to be. Come to think of it, I wasn’t that person yesterday either. I’m tired. I haven’t been feeling well. Every time I try to sleep, some noise in the house wakes me up, and God forbid that the maker of the noise should be someone in my family, or she is sure to find herself on the receiving end of something she almost certainly does not deserve. I have been downright insufferable, like a two year old who gets so tired he cannot sleep, cannot be kind, cannot relax, cannot take directions, and cannot accept the love of those who just want him to be well. Lately I dread the thought of moving, or trying to accomplish anything. I simply cannot stand myself. At least my family can go in the other room and close the door. I have tried that, but no matter where I go there I am, and I continue to strongly dislike the company.
I cannot accept what I need most. I get in these funks and I push people away. I’ll bet I’m not the only one. Most of us are blessed to be surrounded by people who care about us and just want us well, and most of us get into these dark spaces where instead of receiving that love, we reject it. We prefer, for some sick reason, our tension and anger and darkness. God help me that I am such a person, that I have times where I willfully retreat into darkness and illusion instead of allowing those I love to keep me grounded in the truth. The truth is simply that I am loved. I am loved more than my wife and children can express to me, and I mean more to them than I even understand. I am the recipient of the most abundant grace and yet, in the times when I need it most, I cower in shadows, refusing to be loved, even going out of my way to be unlovable.
This is my deepest problem. It is the deepest problem of nearly all human beings. We are in various forms of rebellion and refusal to accept our true identity as the ones who are dearly loved of God.
Continue Reading…
