Discovering Fatherhood

Category: fathers

  • Piercing Through

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    Have you ever had one of those days when you find you are sulking in your sadness? Maybe work isn’t going well, or family life is a little nuts. Whatever the case may be you feel down, sad, maybe even depressed. These emotions are very powerful. For some they are crippling.

    I had a friend in college that was from Iraq and he would tell me about growing up there during the Desert Storm conflict. This was pretty depressing stuff. There was one thing he said in passing that stuck with me and it wasn’t until now that I recognize its truth and power. This friend recalled the explanation his father gave him in regards to how he kept hope during these difficult times. Although war and conflict surrounded my friend’s life, his father would find peace and comfort in the laughter of children. My friend’s father explained to him that even during something as terrible as war children would play and they would laugh.

    Their laughter pierced through war.

    Fighting, chaos and death surrounded their lives but laughter; particularly children’s laughter could cut through all of it. This father found the strength to hope not via the government, money, and power but through something as fragile and ungraspable as a child’s laugh.

    My first world problems are nothing compared to this friends experience, but the antidote to my moments of sadness is the same–laughter. I can be in the worst of moods and hearing my daughters laugh as she runs throughout the house pierces right through it. Whenever she cracks up and does her full belly laugh I am instantly transported into an experience of joy that is indescribable. Claire’s laughter is brighter and sharper than any darkness, or sadness I can experience.

    Laughter, especially that of a child is dripping with joy.

    Joy is so necessary in times of sadness and misery. Happiness is an emotion that primarily dependent on a persons mood. I have steak and I am happy. I listen to good music and I am happy. Happiness can be stripped away in seconds because it’s driven by emotions that are affected by our biology (hormones, etc). Joy is different. Joy is something that the soul experiences. A man can be surrounded by war and see destruction (not happy) and still experience joy. A woman’s body can be ripped open as a child is being born (not happy) and yet experience joy. A man can be nailed to a cross (not happy) and experience joy because of what that cross will mean. Joy goes beyond our circumstances. It pierces through them and reveals that although we may not feel happy we have something more powerful at play—joy.

    My daughter’s laugh brings me joy even when I am sad, depressed or just blah. It is an incredible gift from someone so small. I think this is why we see such popularity amongst these YouTube videos of children laughing. If you find yourself watching them, the sadness melts away. The pain we may be experiencing isn’t taken away, but joy is given the opportunity to pierce through and that is a beautiful thing.

  • Her Words

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    Language is pretty amazing. The fact that we can create an alphabet that connects strings of letters into words; that when spoken create sounds; that create meaning; that convey thought and emotion is pretty astounding.

    My daughter has so much to say these days. The world is new and filled with exciting things and she wants to tell us all about it. I can’t help but laugh every time Claire goes off on a rant about the neighbor’s dog barking, or about the cat jumping off the couch. Claire is speaking in her own baby language and I cant help but wonder what is going through that little head of hers. It really is amazing to see how vocal she is.

    I don’t know about your kids but mine says things with certain pitches, tones and slurs. Each word comes out in this unique and ridiculously cute way. When she was 4 months old she made some noises that were awesome to hear. Claire couldn’t quite blow kisses; instead she did this clicking noise with her mouth. As Claire gets older her noises, voice and words change. My wife and I were amazed to hear that Claire’s voice had changed a few months ago. She woke up and sounded like someone else’s kid. It was sad in a sense, losing the old baby voice. Yet the new toddler voice is great. I’ve recorded some of Claire’s sounds and I’m really glad I did. I watch the videos every now and then and it reminds me of the change and growth.

    I know soon enough she will be speaking plainly but right now there is something so neat about her babble. We are enjoying it and at the same time excited for when it all makes sense. My friend Scott jokingly says that when kids are young we are excited for them to walk and talk, and then for the rest of their lives we’re telling them to sit down and shut up. I’m sure there is much truth in that.

    The miracle of the human person unfolds before me everyday through my daughter. Today I am noticing her words. Maybe tomorrow it will be the change in her fingers and toes, or facial features and hair. Everyday I am blown away by the awesomeness (in the literal sense of the word) that God has bestowed on human beings. Who knew that discovering fatherhood would have me discover more than what being a father means. Discovering the complexities of language, sounds and words—things we never really pay attention to reveals how mysterious and amazing the world I live in is.

    All this brought to my life through a 1-½ year old.

    * The above image is a word cloud made up of the many words found in this blog.

  • Why Prince Charming is a lie, but real men aren’t!

     

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    I am sharing this post from an article I recently read on the website: The Chastity Project. It is written by a young woman named Esther Rich. I think she touches on something very true that sometimes men (at least this man) we feel like we are not the “Prince Charming” that we are supposed to be. Esther’s word are worth sharing. Enjoy.

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    I LOVE the song ‘Lead Me’ by Sanctus Real, but I can’t listen to it without getting emotional. My friend and I cried to each other over the phone when we first heard it.

    Why?

    Because it hits a sore spot. It hits that wound in all of our hearts that bleeds the phrase “how come there are no real men anymore?!” Most of us have heard it asked. Nearly as many of us have asked it ourselves. But the reason we don’t see them isn’t that they don’t exist, it’s that we tell them they can’t.

    God created us for union and communion with each other. His unmatchable creativity is such that he designed us to fit together. Our lives are the most fruitful and we feel the most fulfilled when we’re exercising that complementarity. We need men in our lives—not just husbands, but fathers, brothers, friends—and they need us. We unlock an extra level of potential in each other.

    Sometimes as women we put far too much pressure on men to become the ideal we think we need. We’re often guilty of underestimating just how difficult a job they have! Supporting us and leading us takes an immense amount of strength. But that strength comes from God alone, and must be continually renewed through prayer and abandonment to Him.

    Disney has taught us to expect perfection and settle for nothing less. But Prince Charming is a lie. No wonder the divorce rate is rising so rapidly: we’re in for a serious shock if we marry with the false belief that the men who swept us off our feet and carried us to the altar in their strong arms will retain that guise of perfection for long.

    No man is flawless (neither are we!), and expecting them to solve all our problems will only end in more heartache. Christ called us to love one another as He loves us. That means that the most fruitful relationships will be built on grace and mercy rather than pressure and judgement. We’re called to love each other including our flaws, because without that merciful love no relationship can survive.

    Disney’s version of “Mr Right” may be far-fetched and idealistic, but deep down we do have a natural longing to be supported and guided by a strong man—spiritually, physically and emotionally… and that’s no coincidence! What we long for is actually the root of what men were intended to be, we just don’t realise it. We want them to be strong and gentle and decisive and loving all at the same time… and they can be! But to benefit from that, we have to allow them to develop those strengths. To have a “real man,” we have to allow him to be a real man.

    Culture insists on mourning the loss of ‘real men’, but perhaps it’s simply the definition used that needs challenging. A real man isn’t one who works out twice a day, earns a six figure salary and buys extravagant presents with money he won’t miss.

    A “real man” is one who will lead you with strong hands even when that means humbly admitting his mistakes.

    One who will discerningly make sacrifices for the greater good of your family.

    One who seeks guidance from his heavenly Father instead of relying on his own strength.

    One who’d rather walk you to Heaven than drive you around in his Porsche.

    One who looks at your heart before your physique.

    One who prays for you, not just pays for you.

    One who strives to protect your purity not conquer it.

    One who loves you as Christ loves His Church.

    … and these REAL MEN EXIST!

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    Esther Rich has a bachelor degree in Psychology from Oxford University, UK, and is currently completing the Sion Community Foundation Year, working on their youth ministry team. She loves Theology of the Body, Papa Francesco and a good worship band. She is passionate about empowering women to be who they were created to be, and blogs at “For Such A Time As This.”

  • Metamorphosis

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    I am changing.

    I am not the same person I use to be.

    There is a change. It is gradual, but noticeable.

    When my wife and I first got married sometimes we would have different days off. My normal response was to rent a new video game and play it for an ungodly amount of time, or watch movies, or binge on TV shows. It was ok. I enjoy video games, movies and TV shows.

    Every now and then I get a day where my wife and daughter will be away from the house. Sometimes I spend time watching TV or a movie, but most of the time I am thinking about things like house projects: staining the fence, painting the rooms I never got around to, dry walling the basement we had to gut, etc. More often than not it’s smaller things like taking the trash out or going grocery shopping or cleaning the house.

    A few weeks ago I notice that I had a four hour window of time to myself and my immediate reaction was to do something for my family. It was strange in a sense. I think most of the time in a situation like this I would want to do my own thing, relax and let it be a easy day. Yet, there is stuff that needs to get done for our family. I recognize that my wife and daughter probably would say, “chill out and enjoy those four hours.”

    However, there is this change in me that desires to serve.

    “People that know about these type of things” say that most modern men don’t really mature now a days until they are in their mid to late twenties. Maybe I am maturing. Maybe this desire to serve is proof that this man has reached full manhood status. My response: about freaking time! I am 32.

    In discovering fatherhood I am discovering who I am called to be – a servant. Not someone that aims to please himself, because although it is okay to use four hours for R-and-R I much rather use them to make my wife and daughters life better. I don’t know if I would have said the same thing a year ago or six months ago.

    But today there is this change in me. It is gradual, but noticeable.

  • The Pacifier

     

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    If you have had a child for more than a few days you will know about the awesome power of the pacifier. Whether you call it a paci, binkie or dummy (the British apparently call it that) it rocks. It is a simple thing, really. A piece of plastic that goes into the mouth of a child. Yet to parents this piece of plastic is essential, dare I say one cannot fully parent without it. We’ll…maybe I can’t. The paci calms the frightened child, it soothes the tired, it makes parents relax and praise God for this most wonderful creation.

    The history of the paci is one that isn’t very clear. Some say there is evidence for pacifiers going back to ancient Egypt. Some say that farmers would give the tips of corn husks to their children as a way to calm them. Personally, I believe God almighty brought it down on a golden plate to parents with a host of angels surrounding it while the Halo soundtrack played in the background. “Here is my gift to you my child. Use it wisely.”

    There are not many things that cause me to be upset. However, when I have a screaming child in the backseat and I have 20 minutes to go before I get home due to traffic; not having packed the paci is an epic fail that leaves me…let’s just say upset. Needless to say I always check the bag for the paci. I’m ok with not having an extra change of clothes, or missing dippers, but the paci is a must.

    Honestly, I don’t get why my daughter can be calmed almost instantly by a paci, but I don’t need to. As long as it works it is all good! There is comfort in knowing the such a awesome tool exists in the arsenal of desperate dads everywhere.

    As I was showing my wife this post prior to publishing she brought it to my attention that our daughter will have to be weened off the paci soon. I started to freak out and get upset. The wife put a paci in my mouth…all is good now.

    Praise God for the gift of the  paci!

  • It’s My Fault

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    I have been wanting to write a post like this in the last few weeks and then I read this post from a fellow blogger named Matthew Warner. He says it way better than I could. Enjoy! Here is a link to his awesome blog: The Radical Life.

    Being a father is a radical responsibility. One that’s been neutered of its uniqueness and weight and reduced to a mere luxury of the human economy. Well, we may have produced an economy of hard working men (and women), but we’ve also enabled a generation of slacker dads. Even the “good dads” are slackers. And I’m intent on not being one of them.

    If my family is not praying enough or doesn’t know how to pray together, it’s my fault.

    If my family lacks direction and inspiration and vision, it’s my fault.

    If my children don’t know what generosity and selflessness look like, it’s my fault.

    If my children do not know God, it’s my fault.

    If my children don’t know what a hard working, faithful, loving, disciplined, kind, holy, gentle, patient, strong man looks like, it’s my fault.

    If my children don’t feel secure about who they are, it’s my fault.

    If my son doesn’t know how to be a real man, it’s my fault.

    If my daughter doesn’t know how she’s supposed to be treated, it’s my fault.

    If my children don’t know what it feels like to be loved and what real, sacrificial love looks like, it’s my fault.

    If my children don’t know what forgiveness and mercy look like, it’s my fault.

    If my children don’t know how to respect authority, it’s my fault.

    If my children don’t know that the hard stuff in life is the stuff most worth doing, it’s my fault.

    If my children don’t know to pursue truth over comfort and faithfulness over success, it’s my fault.

    If my children don’t know what humility and honesty look like, it’s my fault.

    If my house does not serve the Lord, it’s my fault.

    If I, as their father, don’t do these things, who will? Who will? If it’s not my responsibility, whose is it? My wife has unique responsibilities of her own and many of these others we fulfill together. But ultimately, in my family, if these things don’t happen, it’s my fault.

  • The Cardboard Box Phenomenon

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    A few friends that have kids have shared the following experience with me and are just as perplexed as I am.

    It seems that after hundreds of dollars were spent on toys for their children’s Christmas the kids don’t really care much for them. Sure it lights up and speaks French, English and Spanish but it isn’t that exciting. After a few minutes of playing with said toy these kids say, “au revoir” and move on. The interesting thing—hence why we are so perplexed—is what they are moving on to.

    The cardboard box.

    The cardboard box that the really cool rocking horse with flames on its side came from, or the cardboard box that the scooter that speaks, French, English and Spanish came from.

    It’s a cardboard box…

    My own daughter has done this several times. We have a box that is big enough for her to climb into and that’s exactly what she does. Claire plays in this box, laughs, falls out of it and I’m sure she uses it as her own personal bathroom.

    I remember playing with my little brother when we were kids in our own boxes. We were astronauts, racecar drivers, and a million other things. I remember coloring with crayons on the outside to personalize them. I’ve seen that some folks are starting to capitalize on this box phenomenon by providing kids with premade boxes to suit their imagination. See here for the simpler house model.

    I can’t help but marvel at the simplicity of my daughter playing in this box. It’s a cardboard box, but I guess it is so much more than that. To me it is a reminder that I need to use my imagination more. That having fancy things do not really make me happier—some times they make things more complicated!

    I am envious (in a good way) at the manner in which my daughter can find joy in such a simple thing as a cardboard box. Maybe I’m putting too much into this thought, but what has happen to us adults that a cardboard box isn’t enough anymore? When was the last time we found joy in something so simple?

    It is something worth pondering. At least I think.

     

     

     

  • The Old Days

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    There are moments like today where I miss the calm, ordered, predictable life I once had. I had an apartment that was clean. Everything was placed in a particular way that made logical sense. I got up at a certain time. Went to sleep at a certain time. All was calm, ordered and clean.

    Life is not like this anymore and there are moments where I miss the old days.

    I miss it because it was easy. When you are alone you can set your own pace. Do what you want and have no one disrupt that. It’s nice because it’s predictable, constant and oh, so comfortable.

    Life is anything but predictable, constant and comfortable with a family. Everyday has something in it that you were not expecting that frustrates you, changes your plans, leaves a mess, etc. I currently stand in the mist of toy shrapnel in my living room. It looks like Fisher Price sent bombers and toys blew up everywhere. There are socks (none matching) all over the place. Food is smeared on the baby chair and dinning room table. My wife’s school books are sprawled out on the kitchen table, her own socks lie before the grown and there are at least 2 cups of water lying around in precarious places. Dishes peek over the sink and there is a particularly yellow stain on the kitchen counter that I think just winked at me.

    Not predictable…not constant…not comfortable and certainly not clean…

    Seven years ago I left the Catholic seminary. I was studying to be a Catholic priest; something I had felt a calling in my heart for a long time. After a few years in the seminary I was hooked and thought this was where I belonged. It was predictable, constant and comfortable. I felt like this was where I was supposed to be. Yet, God had other plans. During my second year I began to get a sense from God that this was a pit stop and not my final destination. I was not comfortable with that. I liked seminary and what it was. Needless to say I left the seminary. Not because I didn’t like it, or had a bad experience or any of the sorts. God had made it clear, that for me, this was too easy. Don’t misunderstand what I am saying. Being a seminarian and eventually becoming a priest is not easy. Priests have very demanding and difficult lives. Ask to shadow your local priest and you’ll see how not easy it is. However for me, and the way I am wired it was going to be too easy.

    This may seem confusing to people. Why not do what feels predictable, constant and comfortable? I thought the same thing until I got married. Pope Benedict 16 has a quote that I love, “The world promises you comfort, but you were not made for comfort. You were made for greatness.” In my life that which is comfortable and easy never helps me to grow. Sure, it’s predictable, constant and comfortable—all things I love. However, these things only help me to live a life that is comfortable and not great. Comfort in this sense is not the comfort one looks for in their couch after a long day of work. Comfort here refers to someone seeking to do that, which is less arduous, and doesn’t demand as much. Comfort in this sense is a lack of living to our full potential—half-assing if you will.

    You and me are made for greatness, but a lot of the time we settle for comfort. It’s predictable and constant. But to be who we are meant to be requires effort, pain, sweat and tears—none of which are comfortable.

    I stand before a room that is messy; a life that is no longer done “my way”; a life that demands that others be first and myself to be last. There are moments like this one where I miss the old days. Yet, I know that this new life is turning me into the man I am called to be. The lack of predictability, constancy and comfort makes me a better man, a better father, a better husband and a better person all around. It’s like going to the gym and working out. If I only lift weight that my body is comfortable with I will never breakdown the muscle fibbers that will in turn rebuild stronger and bigger muscles, which will make me a stronger and bigger person.

    There are moments when I reminisce on the old days, but these new days are better. I have a loving wife and daughter that make life so much better. We can all look to the old days and say they were good. There was a lot of good stuff there that made life predictable, constant and comfortable, “but you were not made for comfort. You were made for greatness.”

  • Death Trap

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    We have these really cool cut outs in our walls between the kitchen and living room. The stairs to the basement are what lie between these two rooms. When we first looked at the house we really loved these cut outs because they opened up the whole living room area. Plus they are really neat. My mother in law was the first one to notice that we would have to do “something” about those cut outs once we had kids. I stood in silence as she said this because it had never crossed my mind when we were looking to buy the house. Clearly we didn’t have children at the time.

    Before Claire was born we bought and installed a baby gate on the stairs and just a few days ago I installed plexi glass on the two bottom wall cut outs (see in above picture). I figured the house was baby-proofed…man was I wrong.

    My house is a baby death trap.

    We had our 9-month doctor visit a few days ago and the doctor asked us about baby proofing the house. I thought my wife and I were doing pretty well. “We’ve had a baby gate blocking the stairs since Claire was in utero doctor. We are doing well.” The doctor smiled and recommended getting down to Claire’s level and checking things out from her perspective to see what could be a hazard. I did.

    Conclusion: EVERYTHING is a hazard!

    After army crawling on the living room floor I realized our TV entertainment unit is filled with all kinds of heavy blunt objects ready to crack my daughters skull open: X-box, Blue Ray player, Roku, ipod stereo thingie. All of these objects from a 3 foot height could do damage. The lint roller doesn’t seem dangerous, but I had a vision of her somehow impaling herself on it.

    Next we have the wall corners.

    Maybe its because I haven’t army crawled in a while, or I haven’t stubbed my foot lately, but have you ever realized how sharp wall corners are? Why haven’t we rounded these out yet? I hear talk of rounded cell phone screens, which clearly is necessary. Why haven’t we invented rounded wall corners? Someone please get on this!

    Tablecloths are deadly.

    Claire in her little walker-thingy runs around in it and is constantly walking over to the dinner table and yanking at the tablecloth. We catch it most of the time, but it’s just a matter of time before she takes a Willow Tree figurine to the forehead.  I can see it now as Claire goes to her therapy sessions, “Can you explain your phobia of faceless figurines to me again?”

    The dog bowls.

    Apparently, our dog’s water bowl is Claire’s personal water playing station. In her walker-thingy she casually goes over and begins to bathe herself. As much as I appreciate her desire for cleanliness the fact that she could potentially fall head first into said water bowl is a little scary. Not to mention she will attempt to go for the remaining bits of dog food on the other bowl to see what that taste like. It’s a drowning and choking hazard all in one.

    I haven’t had a chance to army crawl the entire house yet, but I’m sure I will find more hazards. It is amazing to see how much of what we have in our homes could be problematic for the little ones.

    I welcome any thoughts on the manner. Please join the conversation. You could be saving a child from a Willow Tree phobia.

     

  • Telling the Story

    IMG_0603I love telling stories. I’m going to be that old grandfather who tells stories over and over again, while the grandkids say, “Grandpa! You just told us that one!”

    There is something about a good story that really can work a person’s imagination, help process through difficulty, or just leave us with a smile on our face. Stories are powerful.

    I am very thankful for the “Little People” that Fisher Price puts out—especially the biblical ones. My father-in-law recently got my daughter Claire the Little People Nativity Set and she loves it. I can tell because they all are covered in baby slobber half the time. Baby Jesus is currently in a cocoon of solidified saliva.

    Fisher Price has done a good job of creating these cute, little people. The facial features, outfits, and color design—they all do a great job at setting the scene. Yet, the toys in and of themselves don’t communicate the story. They are the cast of characters, the set, and scene. There still needs to be a storyteller.

    Since we got this Nativity set, my wife and I sit with Claire and tell her the story of Christmas. We grab the camel, 3 Wise Men, and have them talk to one another. We pick up the Wise Men and have them give Claire kisses so that she can see that they journey to share love to the Christ child. We take Joseph and Mary and have her stare at them and tell her (with made up voices) “Jesus is our precious child and we love Him this much…” This line is followed by Mary and Joseph kissing Claire all over and we don’t stop until she smiles. Next, comes baby Jesus with His painted golden halo and saliva cocoon. “I came into the world, Claire, for you! I love you so much…” More kisses, more smiles from Claire.

    As a Youth Worker I am saddened to see how many of our young people either don’t care or are bored by the story of the God who became man. In the last 13 years, I’ve realized that our young people don’t care or are bored by the story because we have stopped telling the story well. There is a lack of excitement, joy, and wonder in the telling of this story.

    The storytelling has become dull. Think about it. How many times have you heard people talk about the Christmas story as if it were just another of BuzzFeed’s top 25 list, a matter of fact type thing that just is. “God became man. Can you pass the potato salad?”

    Claire smiles and laughs when baby Jesus kisses her—she is introduced and becomes a part of the story. My wife and I change our voices, we place Jesus on top of the couch, sometimes He is on the Christmas Tree, or on the dog’s head. The story must be told with new ardor, new methods and new expressions so that it captures her attention. It is and will always be the same story, but the listener needs to hear it in fresh new ways. The ardor, enthusiasm, passion, etc. must be palpable. We are talking about the GOD who BECAME a MAN!! This story and the time uncle Willie used poison ivy at camp to clean his backside should not stand toe-to-toe with each other. The method and expression in which we share the story has to be fresh, especially for those of us who have heard the story so many times that it really doesn’t do anything for us. This doesn’t mean we change the story—we cannot—but, the way in which we tell it should be new. Paint/art, music, film, food, etc. are ways to tell the story. Humanity is so creative (click on the blue text)! We can come up with new methods easily; we just need to use our imagination and talents.

    Claire will outgrow the baby Jesus kissing method and expression. My wife and I will need to come up with other creative ways to tell the story. Let’s face it, reading it from Scripture to her at the age of 1 or 2 isn’t going to capture it for her. The story must be told over and over again. When our children begin to show that they do not care or are bored with the story of God becoming man, it means we are not telling the story well.

    May this story never seize to capture the imagination of our children. May you and I never seize to tell it well, because it is the greatest story ever told.

    Merry Christmas to all of you and your loved ones.