God’s Surprising Lessons

Daddy: A Reckoning … the end?

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brave-quote-by-winnie-the-pooh

“Where’s my dolly?” I hollered as I walked through the aisles of the Christian bookstore where I worked.

It was the summer between my Freshman and Sophomore year in college. The store had been closed for the week while we moved from one location to a bigger, better one just “one mile down the road” as the sign put it. Not having a family or any other things tieing me down, I spent every possible waking hour at the move. I clocked more hours than any of the managers that week. The new store was opening in two days; it was nearly 8:00 p.m. and I was getting a bit punchy.

“Where’s my dolly?”

“Here it is!” called a young-dad-co-worker while holding up a package containing an actual doll. I giggled. He giggled. Within minutes I found the hand-truck (or dolly as I grew up calling them) and was back to work moving stacks of boxes. Two hours later I was in the storage unit behind the store preparing to batten down the hatches so I could go blearily home to find a pillow…any pillow.

“Thom, don’t grow up.” It was a simple statement, but it caught me off guard. I’d spent years listening to people tell me to “grow up!” or “act my shoe size not my age!” (I wore a size 15 shoe 4 years before I turned 15!) Here was someone telling me otherwise.

“What?” I didn’t know whether to be offended or not.

“Thom,” my co-worker started again, noticing my confusion, “I’ve watched many people grow up and get in God’s way. They get stuck in their ways and become a problem within the church. Keep your childlike, not childish, outlook on life. Don’t grow up.”

Every few years, God steers my memories back to that night. Many times as a reminder, sometimes as a warning. This reckoning has been the latter. It all started with a Casting Crowns concert and ended with the movie Christopher Robin, now out in theaters. I did not want to see this movie. I tasked my oldest with taking his younger brothers so that I could have a couple hours of peace and productivity. That’s not what happened. As God engineered the day, I ended up at the theater with all of my children waiting for the like re-telling – or rather continued telling – of the “bear of very little brains.” I knew I’d end up crying at the movie. Lately, I’ve been crying at telephone commercials! I wasn’t prepared for the lesson God set up for me, or rather, I wasn’t expecting it. God’s timing is always on point.

As I watched the movie, I was intrigued by something I’d never seen in Winnie the Pooh or his friends. Each one represents a specific emotion or state of childhood – except Kanga who represents mothers. As God opened my eyes to the profound message He’d laid out for me, I began to ponder these past two weeks and the lesson God’s been trying to teach me. As Piglet’s fear took center stage, followed by Eeyore’s melancholy, and Rabbit’s bossiness and practicality, I began to see myself wandering among the emotions of grief, guilt, single parenting, and exhaustion. I was struggling to see how the rest of Pooh’s friend fit into what God was showing me. When little Roo and Tigger bounded onto the screen, Mark 10: 13ff came at me: “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone, who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”

At that moment, each of the characters in Pooh’s Hundred Acre Wood morphed into the faces of my children at different periods in their life. I saw the exuberance of life, the life-giving joy and wisdom, and the bone-crushing grief and fear. I turned my head in the theater; rivers were washing my cheeks and landing on my collar.

God, I silently prayed, have I grown up and gotten into Your way?!? It was somewhat of a panicked prayer. How can I help my boys best in the upcoming days, weeks, and months? The answer seemed quite obvious. I feel ashamed to admit that the answer was terribly, painfully obvious. Good dads MUST have the faith of a child! And they must view the world through the eyes of a child…God’s child.

I felt pretty stupid sitting there in the theater crying, especially over something so blatantly obvious. After putting my boys to bed after the movie, I crawled up into Abba God’s lap and let Him play with what’s left of my hair while I told him of my fears, my sins, and my dreams for the boys.

I don’t know if God deals with you the same way He deals with me. You probably are much more mature in your walk with Him and your mutual communication probably doesn’t include “walking” or rather talking in circles. This reckoning for me — a re-defined definition and purpose of daddy — has left me with Hope and renewed vigor. Tomorrow I might screw everything up as a dad, but if I go to Abba God first with my wins and failures, He makes all things good for “those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28). To sum up, to be a good daddy, I’ve got to remember I’m a child myself, and I’ve got to return to a view of the world through the eyes and faith of a child. That’s the best gift I can give my boys right now.

Daddy: A Reckoning pt. 3

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hospital crib

When my oldest was two years old, he’d had so many ear infections he needed surgery. I remember sitting in the prep room with him and Amy, nervous for a positive outcome. I remember thinking, If I could take this from you, I would. Eustachian tubes surgeries are so common, I should not have been nervous, but I was. There’s always a risk with full sedation, but it’s minimal kept replaying over and over in my head.

After the surgery, the nurse escorted Amy and me to our son’s bedside. The sight was a bit shocking to me. The crib he was lying in had significantly tall sides; it almost looked like “baby jail”. The nurse explained the difficulties our son might have coming out of the anesthesia and then left the room.

When Micah began to whine and wake, I lowered the side of the crib and picked him up to soothe him. He immediately stopped whining; however, he began fighting me, trying to get out of my grip. I didn’t realize how strong toddlers could be. It took everything in me to keep a hold of him as he threw his head forcibly backward. Amy suggested I lay him down. I agreed, nearly dropping my flailing son into the crib. As soon as Micah was out of my grip, he started whining and he instantly raised his hands begging to be picked up and held. I picked him up. He instantly began fighting and wailing. I set him down, trying to soothe him in the crib, to no avail. Amy tried as well. For nearly thirty minutes, we rotated through this same pattern. Amy was concerned she would drop him, so I picked Micah up, but she stood at my side, hands on our son, praying. It was an exhausting half-hour. All at once, Micah – while in my arms – stopped fighting and the light in his eyes returned. He looked at me, seemed to recognize he was safe, smiled, then snuggled into my embrace.

At the Casting Crowns concert last week, God reminded me of this almost faded memory. When the band began the chorus of “Just be Held“, I closed my eyes and began weeping. The reckoning had just begun.

“So when you’re on your knees and answers seem so far away

You’re not alone, stop holding on and just be held

Your world’s not falling apart, it’s falling into place

I’m on the throne, stop holding on and just be held

Just be held, just be held”

At first, it was as if I were back in that hospital room, wrestling to soothe my son who knew not what he wanted or needed. Then I saw the image I referred to in part 1 of this series: the picture of me on God’s lap, but this time, He wasn’t playing with my hair, He was trying to hold me as I kicked and screamed. As I focused on the picture in my head, I remember saying, But God, this is too much! I can’t do this! I could be such a better dad, but instead, I’m alone. I don’t know how to parent these kids by myself. It was a prayer of resignation. This can’t be what you planned for their lives! Then I heard more of the lyrics.

“If your eyes are on the storm

You’ll wonder if I love you still

But if your eyes are on the cross

You’ll know I always have and I always will”

If my eyes are on the storm?!? reminded me of another lesson God taught me during my senior year in college. I was in the middle of a different storm: a crisis of identity, a crisis of pain, a crisis of fear. It was the first time God’d used music to speak directly to me. I was at a Point of Grace concert with three very good friends, but I was very much alone. Scott Krippayne was the opening act for PoG. In his set he sang “Sometimes He Calms the Storm” and I was beside myself. The profound message in the song can be reduced to one line: “Sometimes He calms the storm and other times He calms His child.”

I know it wasn’t an audible conversation with God, but my heart knew what He was saying. I am and have recently been the child fighting against my Daddy as He was trying to comfort and care for me. Abba Father has walked this road with me since birth; He’s always been beside me. Over and over, He’s told me, “…I always [have loved you] and I always will.” I have been so focused on the storm of late: Amy’s death and the endless pain it’s caused my boys.

One of the things dads know well is the unavoidable construct of pain. Pain is instructive: “Don’t do that again.” Pain is a warning: “Move your hand off the hot burner!” Pain is also a reminder of loss: “She loved you very much.” A good dad understands that preventing pain is pointless. Pain will happen. Dads know that if pain was removed, we would destroy ourselves. Dads also know that pain builds character. When a dad looks down the road, he instinctively knows what will cause pain. But we still buy our kids their first bicycle. Why? Are we masochists? No. We know that part of life, part of growing up, part of living, is handling pain. We also know pain makes us stronger.

When Micah’s sedatives wore off in that hospital room, he recognized Daddy was holding him. He stopped fighting and wailing. He was content to just be held. When I stopped to listen for God’s voice at the concert, I realized I’ve been missing His direction for me: sometimes dads need their dads – sometimes a dad is just a grown-up boy who needs to stop fighting Abba and just be held.

…finished in Pt. 4…

Daddy: A Reckoning part 1

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1BryanDuncan
Photo courtesy of amazon.com.

In 1990, my youth group and I attended a Bryan Duncan concert. Opening the concert was an unknown group to me at the time. I do not remember the second half of the concert at all. In the middle of the opening act, Bob Carlisle, lead singer for Allies, began talking about the difference between his and his wife’s views of God when they were first married. Carlisle thought God to be the Zeus type, ready to throw bolts of lightning at a single misstep, demanding unwavering respect, and distant from His creation. I’ll never forget, however, the description of God as his wife encountered Him. What follows is my best attempt at retelling the story. 

“…My wife refers to God as Abba. In Hebrew, Abba means Daddy. It’s an intimate understanding of a child’s relationship with their father…as a daddy. She had a great relationship with her daddy and it transferred to her view of God. She wanted to call God by a name that indicated the same intimate relationship a little girl has with her daddy. The little girl doesn’t worry about grown-up issues because Daddy takes care of them. She doesn’t worry about angering her daddy because he always has time for her. And she doesn’t worry about tomorrow because she’s caught up in the here and now talking with her daddy. For my wife, the name Abba God fit that relationship better. When things get stressful and difficult for my wife, she closes her eyes and pictures herself curled up on Abba’s lap while He plays with her hair…”

That last sentence haunted me for decades. I grew up in a broken family. I had a father, not a daddy. In fact, my father asked me to stop calling him Dad or Daddy because he felt Father was more respectful. When his marriage to my step-mother ended in divorce, our relationship ceased to have any resemblance to healthy.

As I moved through Bible college, I still wrestled with the idea that I could have an intimate relationship where God would let me curl up into His lap and listen to my worries, my boo-boos, and my victories. When I was diagnosed with Acromegaly, I was angry at God and expected a lightning bolt for the many tantrums I threw directed toward my Creator. A year after I was diagnosed, I received an almost clean bill of health.

“We don’t know what’s happened, Thom, but you no longer have the pituitary tumor nor the disease in your bloodstream.”

“I do,” I told the Endocrinologist, “God healed me.” I was ecstatic…until I comprehended the doctor’s next piece of news.

“Our tests show that you may never have children, though.” My life entered a tail-spin. Selfishly, I wanted to have children. I wanted to prove that I didn’t have to be like my father. I wanted to prove that the mold could be broken and I could be a dad. With the announcement brought the certainty that no one would ever consider marrying me, that I was broken. I gave up all dreams of being a dad.

When Amy and I were dating – very early on – I made sure she understood I may not be able to sire children. After we were engaged, we began a five-year plan that would end with the first of five adoptions. (Yes, we were crazy and wanted five children: boy, girl, boy, girl, boy. Oy!) About six months after we were married, Amy was told she “would never be able to bear children”. We threw caution to the wind. I was told “may never” while Amy was told “never”. Her news was more definitive. She stopped taking the birth control pills and we began looking for an adoption agency just to figure out what hoops we’d have to jump through and just how much each hoop would deduct from our bank account.

God had a different plan. Fast forward five and a half years, add the mathematical rule “two negatives make a positive” and multiply by three. In the beginning, I was not a very good dad. I struggled to understand my role and to become the Daddy my children thought I was, or rather, the Daddy they deserved. With each of my three boys, there was a moment in time God froze for me. I can still close my eyes and relive each of those three moments. The house, furniture, and surroundings were not the same, but the three events were nearly identical. In each one, I was sitting in a recliner with one of my three toddlers curled up in my lap. Guess what I was doing. The realization at the time etched the moment into my memory. I can smell dinner during the first encounter. I can hear the blips and squeaks of the hospital monitors during the second encounter. I can see my beautiful wife watching me during the third. What was I doing? I was playing with my boys’ curls and talking with them about why their little heart hurt.

Sometime later, Amy and I were in a Christian bookstore, and I stumbled upon a picture by an unknown artist, simply titled “Destiny”. DestinyI stood stone still staring at that picture for an unknown length of time. My collar was wet from the tears when Amy found me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even speak. God gave her a revelation of her own. I had never even imagined Jesus as a toddler, let alone a nearly red-headed toddler with curls. The toddler in the picture looked almost like my youngest; it was overwhelming. Amy pointed out the shadow behind the toddler; that was the moment when God brought it all to a point. The concert. The desire to be a daddy. The three moments, one with each of my three boys. I was wrestling with it all while looking at one of my now heroes – Joseph of Nazareth – as he lived life with his “son” at his feet. We bought the picture and have had it in our home since. Today, the juxtaposition of the toddler Jesus playing with a spike while the cross looms in the foreground has me choking on yet another difficulty related to being a daddy: the world is big and scary and my children will get hurt – it’s my job to be the daddy they need when they are hurt.

In this season of life, as a widowed father of three teenage boys, I find myself struggling as a dad. My soul aches to crawl up into Abba God’s lap and bear my soul while He plays with…what’s left of my hair. And in the middle of the heart-pounding desire is another desire, to be a better daddy today than I was yesterday.

…to be continued in pt. 2…

An Epiphany re: parenting!

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It’s taken me nearly a week to write this post. The epiphany has been a lot to digest and understand God’s lesson to me. It never donned on me just how much my kids are like me or rather just how suited I am to be their dad until the other day. I know this might sound stupid, but the epiphany is too big for me to let pass.

Growing up, there were many careers I wanted to try on for size. Some fell by the wayside, others were tucked into the Maybe bin, while others landed directly in front of me. Dropping my youngest off at his first cake decorating class last Thursday, brought about the epiphany.

When I was in first grade, I wanted to become was a trapeze artist. (Insert giggles here.) I read every book about Miguel Vazquez I could find. He was my hero. Vazquez was the youngest flyer in the Barnum and Bailey Circus at the time, and he was only a few years older than I was. In the third grade, I learned I surpassed most trapeze flyers in height and therefore needed to find another passion to follow. My hopes of being a circus performer were dashed.

Years later, during a move to a new house, I found a cache of spiral notebooks in which I’d designed many trapeze flyer costumes. That got me started on fashion design. I spent my free time drawing clothes, inventing fabric patterns and testing different ways to re-design the boring clothes I wore. By middle school, I stood out from the crowd with my Z Cavaricci jeans and my three quarter sleeve jackets by Guess. I was wearing Don Johnson’s wardrobe ala Miami Vice before the show was popular!

Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with acting and Broadway musicals. In high school alone, I performed in six different plays. I was even cast in a professional production of Left Behind, right here in Hillsboro, Oregon. Although I’ve only performed in one musical – No, No, Nannette! – one of my Bucket List goals since 9th grade is to one day perform on Broadway! By the end of my Sophomore year, I wanted to become an American Novelist, publishing at least three books a year! (No one told me I couldn’t reach for the stars in my dreams!)

Amy and I spent our Honeymoon in Disneyworld. We had so much fun, and fell in love with the place, that we began making plans to retire and work in one of the Disney Parks after we raised a family.

Shortly after our wedding, Amy set out to take a cake decorating class together. We’d been catering events from intimate dinners for 6 to weddings with 1200 in attendance. We didn’t have a lot in common, except a love for the Lord and for all things Disney; I saw an opportunity to do something together, even if it wasn’t something I really wanted to do. I ended up loving it. Within two years, we were winning baking contests.

All in all, I grew up with a significant amount of creativity trying to break out of me. What did I grow up to be? An English/Language Arts teacher by day and a superhero by night – but that’s a whole different story/post for another day.

Now back to my epiphany.

My oldest has a passion for Broadway and wants to write musicals. He’s written, directed, and produced a one-act play during his Senior year in high school. He’s written many short stories, blog posts, and even a chapter in my book: Good Grief?!?

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Micah’s first Caramel Apple pie

Over the last year, he’s been working on a musical with a friend or two. I told him I want a front-row seat when he debuts on Broadway and a walk-on part for the week following. He recently returned from a trip to New York City in which he had the opportunity to see Waitress, his favorite musical and the reason he’s picked up pie baking.

My middle son loves all things Disney, especially Tinkerbell and Peter Pan his mother’s and his favorite characters respectively. He also has a deep desire to do things other people would like to do; this passion offers him community with creative people. He’s dabbled at cooking, musicals, and writing because his mother, brothers, and I have all enjoyed those tasks.

Then there’s my youngest. At almost three, he crawled into my lap, arrested the remote control from my grip and changed the channel from Young Justice to Good Eats with Alton Brown.

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The sundress Isaiah made.

He liked superheroes but thought that the Food Network was a better use of his time. In first grade, he asked his mother to teach him her famous chocolate chip cookie recipe. She plopped him on the island countertop, criss-cross-applesauce, and placed a giant Tupperware bowl in his lap. Then she made him swear to always “quality control” the chocolate chips and other tasty ingredients. He’s grown into quite the chef, confounding our taste-buds with his cooking and baking creations alike. The summer after Amy died, my son’s favorite math teacher left the profession choosing to be a stay at home mom to her son and newborn daughter. To show his appreciation, my youngest created a beautiful sun dress for the little girl. When his teacher opened the box, she asked him, “Where did you buy this? It’s so cute.” She was speechless when she learned that he’d made it under the direction of his godmother.

It was an amazing thing to realize my kids were growing up as extensions of me, not that I live through them vicariously, but that we can go through life together interested in and participating in activities we all like!

Then IT hit me.

Amy was very creative and loved cooking, baking, Broadway, and Disney. My kids are each an extension of her! I see her face in their faces daily. Sometimes the recognition brings a face-wide grin to part my visage, other times it brings tears. I know many kids grow up to be something their parents never saw coming or something their parents were never interested in pursuing. I find myself very blessed to look at my kids and see the extension of Amy and myself in them. All three of them will go places above and beyond our dreams. It’s my job to support them and offer help…when they ask for it.

Single Parenting

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active-listening
Photo Credit: https://perfectsmalloffice.com/listen-up/

It’s been a few days longer than usual between posts. I’m sorry. I’ve had one of those weeks where I truly miss the wisdom, insight, and direction my wife brought to this marriage. Especially in the area of parenting. Parenting is hard. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I took Amy’s contribution to our parenting for granted. For a while, I’ve felt less than as a dad, like I couldn’t quite get it all done – and not just the physical stuff, I’m talking the relational, the comforting, the directing, and the correcting stuff! I’ve felt very inadequate of late. So I prayed: “God, I don’t think I can do this?” He sent me wisdom, insight, and direction, from a few friends reminding me that I’m enough and that He’s in control.

Single parenting is more difficult than having a spouse to help carry the load, but God…(there’s that phrase again)…but God makes it all work. Here’s a snippet of the book from when Amy and I began learning to truly listen and trust God as a couple. We’d been married for just about a month. Things between us were great. My work situation was not. In the month that followed, we began fighting over the most trivial of things and even came up with a STUPID solution (that I’m glad we never tried).

When God led me to this section of the book while I was contemplating this post, I knew I needed to remind someone that “You’re enough. God’s in control. You just need to listen.” I’m trying to remember that message quicker myself.

_________________________________________

In less than a month, Wonderland would be shattered. My boss at the time was very difficult to work for, especially after getting married. Amy and I didn’t see much of each other since she had a good job in Beaverton, Oregon, while my two part-time jobs were up the Columbia River on the Washington side, some seventy miles apart. Amy left for work at 5:00 every morning, and arrived back at home around 7:00 p.m.

Little things like squeezing the tube of toothpaste in the middle of the tube created large blow-out arguments. The dinner I prepared for her on our first evening home after the Honeymoon was Eggplant Parmesan, ala L’Originale Alfredo di Roma Ristorante in Epcot’s Italy. It was the first meal we had eaten together in Epcot Center. What I made didn’t taste anything like the meal we’d loved so much. It tasted like Failure.

One night, while trying to figure out why we felt like we were butting heads all the time, why things didn’t seem to work out in our favor at all, and why it seemed like God had gone silent, I blurted, “I knew I should have resigned this youth pastorate before we got married.”

“Wha…” Amy’s response wasn’t even a complete word, but a complete thought none the less.

I inhaled as much courage as my lungs could find.

“I’m pretty sure we aren’t supposed to be here. Three different people told me they thought I should resign the church so we could spend our first year building a strong marriage before I begin working on the path to becoming a teacher. I started praying about it and thought that I heard the same message from God, but I was really nervous to tell you since you had said you ‘felt called to marry a pastor.’” At the last word, my lungs let go and I deflated, standing in front of a new bride who just found out that she might have married a fraud. It had all come out rapid-fire. No breaks. No stopping for breath. No pausing for punctuation. It was just staccato bullets driving their way through our concept of Wonderland.

After an uncomfortable pause, Amy quietly said, “I’ve known you were supposed to resign for a couple of months, but I kept thinking, ‘Who am I to ask him to give up his calling?’”

I was the one now standing in stunned silence. I would have never guessed those words would come out of Amy’s mouth, not even if $20 million were riding on it.

“Thom?… Are you…going…to say…anything?”

I got the giggles.

“What’s so funny?!?” This question was not inquisitive as the previous one had been. This question was shrouded in pain. Amy thought I was laughing at her.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the fit of giggles doubled, then tripled. I fell to the floor, turning deep reddish-purple, squeaking for lack of oxygen intake.

Many minutes later, I looked up from my seat on the floor while gasping for oxygen.

“Honey,” I managed, lifting my arm to encourage her to sit next to me, “We both knew, but were afraid to tell each other! Don’t you see the irony in that?”

“Not really,” she supplied as she sat, both our backs against the narrow hallway wall.

“You thought I would break off the engagement if you told me, and I thought you’d tell me I wasn’t worth it if I told you, so instead, we both sat in silence, letting what may come… come. When in reality, we both, who love the Lord God with all our hearts; we both, who love each other and want what’s best for each other to come to fruition; we both kept quiet. It’s a bit comical to me that we’re standing here, or rather sitting,” which brought a short giggle out of Amy, “wondering what’s wrong? Why isn’t anything seeming to work out around us? Heck, it’s just a week past Christmas and we’ve been talking about attending two different churches – you, in Beaverton, and me up here – Why?!? In order to try and ‘get along’!?! Or better yet, so that I can keep my two part-time jobs that pay less than one-third of your salary so that I can feel fulfilled and obedient to God when He’s the one who told me to leave in the first place!?!”

Amy looked at me sheepishly, “No. I was afraid you’d marry me and be unhappy for the rest of our lives because I asked you to resign from your job at the church.” I smiled, a weak, wan smile, but still a smile.

“Amy, we both know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God moved Heaven and Earth to cross our paths, from two completely different worlds. We both knew that night on the phone, three weeks before our first date that ‘this was the one.’ Promise me we’ll never keep what God is telling us a secret from each other ever again.”

“I promise.”

__________________________________________

Sadly, we didn’t completely learn that valuable lesson on that late December evening in 1997. It wouldn’t be until many years later before we truly learned what God had been trying to teach us: He is ultimately in control. Now He’s working on, “You’re enough.”

A First Date?!?

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“You have a hot date tomorrow with Amy Standley!” Rob announced entering my office.

Date?!? I began freaking out in my head. It’s just coffee.

“Y…e…s…,” I tried to cover, hoping Rob didn’t notice. Dating and I never got along. Most of my first dates landed around 9.0 on the Rhictor scale. I spent much time leading up to first dates worshipping the porcelain throne, heaving everything I’d eaten for the past few weeks. Then I struggled to hold conversation with the girl with whom I had no trouble talking before and when I asked her out. The cold sweats began.

“It’s not a big deal,” I continued after a beat. “Just coffee.” My voice cracked like a pre-pubescent boy.

“You can’t do just coffee on a first date with Amy.” Rob said it like I should have known that rule. In college, Amy lived with Temple, about a mile off campus. Temple’s boyfriend (now husband), Jason, introduced Amy to his best friend, Rob. The four spent much time together. Amy and Temple’s house was a second home to Rob. After graduation, I just happened to be hired as the youth pastor of Rob’s home church. So, that’s how we ended up staring at each other on that Friday afternoon.

“Amy said coffee when I called, so coffee it is.” But Rob’s “encouragement” changed my mind. On the way into town – I lived 72 miles from Amy at the time – I stopped and picked up a floral bouquet and a copy of The Oregonian newspaper to get some destination ideas (it was well before SMART phones and Google Assistant).

Apparently, after leaving my office, Rob called Amy with a similar proclamation. She’d been just as confused as I had been. When I arrived for our “date”, Amy was on a long-distance call to her sister Lisa in full freak-out mode.

“It’s just supposed to be coffee!” she’d told Lisa.

“If he’s got flowers, then it’s a date,” was the bit of wisdom Lisa gave her before hanging up the phone. (Amy filled me in on our third date.)

I was so nervous after talking with Rob that I spent the evening futzing over outfits and plans. In the morning, before the date, I changed clothes four times! I settled on stone-washed denim jeans and a mustard yellow button-down shirt. Amy would confide in me years later that she hated that shirt. I’m glad I showed up with the flowers, or it may have just been coffee.

Eight months had passed since I declared to my college roommate I would marry Amy Standley. In that time, many things happened to ensure we would never meet again, but God had a bigger plan. I believe God gives us choice in whom we choose to love and marry. The romantic in me still believes that sometimes God moves Heaven and Earth in order for two specific people to meet. When I take into account all of the things working against us becoming a couple, my head swims. Good grief!?! All the head-swimming ceases, though, when I remember two incredible words: but God.

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Graphic Credit: WaveChurch https://wavechurch.com/store/but-god/

Those two words are so powerful. Amy and I wouldn’t have met, but God convinced Amy to go to Eugene Bible College for a one-year Bible certificate. Amy and I wouldn’t have had a first date, but God prompted Rob to drop a few hints. Amy and I were both separately told we couldn’t have children, but God decided to confound the doctors…thrice! There are many more instances in my life where those two small words change the direction of the narrative.

As I sat pondering these two words, God took me on a trip through Scripture. I found forty-one chapters in the Bible containing this powerful phrase. One story stood out from the rest. One man – who happens to be one of my favorite characters in the Bible – stood out from the rest. In speaking about this man, Stephen said, “Because the patriarchs were jealous of Joseph, they sold him as a slave into Egypt. But God was with him” (Acts 7:9). At the end of his life, when his brothers came to him in fear for their very lives, Joseph said, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done” (Genesis 50:20). I pray I will see “…but God…” strung through the narrative of my story and will be able to speak blessing and not curses when all is said and done.

It’s just coffee!

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For 5 years, Amy took care of everyone at camp, from the camper’s dietary needs, to the staff’s late night hankering for cereal, and our fearless director’s love for Diet Coke and peanut M&M’s. She knew how to make everyone feel welcome, valued, and loved. It was her gift, and not everyone knew how much of herself she poured into that work or how much time and energy it required of her.

Amy became revered for the iced coffee treat she put out halfway through camp. It doesn’t taste like coffee. It tastes like liquid dessert. Last year, our hospitality team put it out in her honor. I took one drink and bawled, for an hour!

Today, I slowly drank a cup, holding back tears, not knowing why I was trying to and trying not to cry at the same time. Fifteen minutes later we sang “Your Love Never Fails” in worship. I couldn’t stop the tears. And then our speaker flattened me.

Speaking on Joshua 4, Tim Love said, “Our lives can be memorials for others who come after us.” Then he encouraged us to make memorials when God is faithful and sovereign so 1) we don’t forget, and 2) others can be encouraged and inspired from those memorials.

I find it uniquely odd and yet comforting that Abba God would make a memorial out of a used plastic cup and a signature red straw. Sometimes I close my eyes and feel Amy right next to me. Then my heart rends itself in two upon the reminder from my soon open eyes: she is not right next to me, not physically at least.

In time, Amy’s liquid love dessert may no longer be served at camp, but for me, this monument will always remind me that Amy’s legacy will live on to touch many more than she ever knew. God is faithful.

When was the last time God proved to you He is Faithful and Sovereign? How can you memorialize that incredible event?

The Devil be Damned

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Two nights ago, I waxed poetic about the “increasingly irritating insomniac incubus” within the smoke detectors in my house. I knew we were dealing with Spiritual Warfare, but thought, “Good grief, why give the devil the spotlight?” I focussed more on God’s intervention and flexed my alliterative skills, trying to show the humor.

Every year, leading in to camp season, spiritual warfare is center stage. Most years I’m prepared, or at least quick to recognize and change tactics. This year, it “started late” – or rather l noticed it late. The incubus within the smoke detectors got my FULL attention. Shortly after posting last, the sucubi entered the fray: two major issues exploded within my home – the kind that hit you so hard out of nowhere, it takes a beat to recover. Yesterday was challenging just getting to camp. It was almost 7p.m. when I finally arrived! I’m usually here at 3p.m. in full setup mode. The setup surprisingly was still finished with time to spare.

Today was the day for half our coaches and deans to go back to the church, collect our campers and return for a packed evening. Everything was going without a hitch until the buses didn’t show. After much prayer and a scramble of phone calls, four buses appeared (albeit two hours late), but we only needed three. Our incredible coaches and activity directors had kept our charges engaged. We finally loaded the buses and hit the road to much applause.

Six miles from camp, one of the now three buses broke down. Having emptied the bus onto the other two, we got back on the road heading for camp. The kids were nearly three hours late, but God…

I have to say, that phrase is quickly becoming my favorite: but God!

… but God had a plan, and things shot into motion. All lost luggage was found, all missing toothbrushes were replaced, and all staff was pumped to see what God’s going to do! I haven’t seen the devil work this hard trying to destroy camp, but I’m not amazed that God is always prepared. The incubi and succubi are shaken at the power of God. They’re terrified about God’s plan for these 4th and 5th graders. I’m excited! God is here, at work mightily, and changing hearts already. The devil be damned!

Facebook Memories from…God?!?

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Grandma Edisons Fbook post

Three years ago, I received this note via Facebook from my grandma. It popped up this morning. Why? Because someone at Facebook thought it a good idea to create a “You have memories with __ and __  today” popup for their users.

Although I hadn’t seen her in nine years, Grandma and I had a special connection. We kept in touch through Facebook and the occasional phone call. Growing up, she would often come into town to celebrate a special birthday treat – just her and I – near or on our shared birthday. I felt close to her. I spent many weekends with her at her lake house away from the city before she retired to Arizona. She introduced me to comedy music, musicals, and root beer. I even inherited my red hair from her. When I had talked with her last, Grandma told me she had just been diagnosed with stage four cancer.

“I’m not going to take the radiation,” she said in a calm voice. “I want to enjoy the time I have left. And I don’t want anyone to be sorry for me. I’ve made peace with God. I’m old. I’ve lived a good life.” She was so matter-of-fact. Then she added, “You’re a good dad, Thom. I’m sorry I couldn’t come up for Amy’s service.” I understood. She was in her late eighties and she’d lost a lot of her strength and energy.

Months later, at the beginning of May 2017 — just before Micah graduated from high school, I received the call: Jesus had come in the night to take her home.

This morning, I was processing it all again. Why? Because someone at Facebook thought a “trip-down-memory-lane” tool was a good idea. Most of the time, I eagerly click on it, not thinking about what might be lurking behind that link. This past year, I’ve been caught off guard by memories I wasn’t prepared to be reliving.

Today was…different.

Yes, I cried. Yes, I reminisced. And yes, I was mad, initially, at not having been forewarned about the drama linked to Facebook’s wonderful new tool. Then, God intervened.

“You’re a good dad, Thom.” It echoed in my head. Then, as I so often do, I began running down the list of reasons why it wasn’t true. This past week, I’ve fought with one of my boys quite a bit, struggling through HARD, battling through WOULDA-COULDA-SHOULDA, and droning on about THIS-IS-NOT-HOW-WE’VE-RAISED-YOU speeches ad nauseam. Par for the course of parenting teenage boys…right? Many times I’ve asked, “God, what am I doing wrong?!?”

This morning, I lay in bed, in tears. “You’re a good dad, Thom.” I got in the shower. “You’re a good dad, Thom.” It kept ringing in my ears. Over and over…until it wasn’t Grandma’s voice anymore. Stepping out of the shower, I realized the missing component to my parenting tactics this past week. Hurriedly, I shot a quick text to a good friend, admitting fault and asking for prayer.

“He gives us eyes to see, but it starts with hearing from Him. And hearing begins with listening. Open scripture and listen for His voice. You are beloved.”

I was soon sitting on my son’s bed, telling him I was sorry for not having approached the week with Spiritual eyes.

“I want you to know that I love you very much,” I finished.

“I know, Dad. I love you too.” Smile. Hug. Prayer.

I am so very glad God takes the time to line things up in ways only He can, to teach me how to be a good dad. I may not have the market cornered, but I’m glad I have a Grandma (and a host of many others still surrounding me in prayer daily) who believed I could become a “great Dad.”

“Thank you, Abba, for today’s Facebook memory.”