It’s Time.

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The last “two-candle” candlelight service

December 23, 2018, was an important night for me. I was in the middle of the Candlelight service at my church. I was holding two candles like I’ve done each Christmas Candlelight Service since my wife died. While waiting for the rest of the candles in the room to get lit, I asked God, “Abba, how do we move on into this next year?” It was a prayer I’ve asked many times when a new year is staring down the barrel at me. Usually, I feel God direct me – sometimes immediately, but most times, as the days go on, His plan falls into place. This time was different.

“Put out a candle, Thom.”

It wasn’t audible, but it was distinct. I shook my head. That can’t be right. I’ve been holding on to two candles since Amy died, to honor her. I’m sure that wasn’t God. 

“Yes, Thom, it’s me. I said, put out a candle. It’s time.”

Not wanting to give myself time to talk me out of God’s directive, I licked my forefinger and thumb and pinched out the flame. There was a finality to it. I immediately felt a difference, as if something tangible inside of me happened when I snuffed out the flame.

I remember shaking my head slightly, looking down at my hand that held a lit candle and a used candle. I wasn’t sobbing. I was at peace.

“It’s time.”

There is a lot of meaning in those two words. I’m wondering what all God has in mind, but He didn’t take long to start me down the path of change.

A few days later, I was asking my sons’ counselors about the process of redecorating the house. I’ve been very antsy about helping my boys and me move out of the season of grief caused by the daily reminder of loss.

“It’s high time for a Bachelor Pad,” one of the counselors said. “Don’t do it all in one weekend, but be intentional. Have a box ready to store things you and your boys do not want to give away. Put the things of Amy’s in the box that you all want to keep, but that really don’t have a place in a bachelor pad. Put the box somewhere safe so everyone can go check on it when he needs to make sure Mom’s things are still there. Then put the lid back on the box and put it away. Tackle one room at a time. It’s time.” The other counselor agreed and said something similar. She too ended with “It’s time.” I felt confirmation in the continued reminder.

One week after the candlelight service, I was talking with some close family friends. I filled them in on God’s directive and told them I was praying the boys’ transition would be positive, even if it was painful. A week later my phone rang. One of the same friends I’d been talking to was on the other end.

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Out with the old… (complete with 2 dressers, an armoire, and 2 side table dressers)

“Thom, my mom’s getting rid of her solid oak bedroom set. I sent you an email with pictures. Check it out and let me know if you’re interested.” I opened the email to look at the pictures. I was overwhelmed. The bedroom set I’d been using was the one Amy and I purchased two weeks before we got married. Climbing into it each night brought with it a sense of loss, a reminder that I would wake up alone in the morning. I’d been wanting to purchase a new set, but knew it would be too costly. I was trying to figure out how to purchase a new set, but God had a different plan.

When the arrangements were made for the new bed to arrive, I offhandedly asked another friend of the family if she knew of anyone who might need a bedroom set. She did. It was another confirmation of God’s divine plan. The following Saturday morning, the new bedroom set arrived after the old one had been brought downstairs. Two hours later, a packed U-Haul left my home on its way to bless someone God wanted to bless. I slept soundly that night for the first time in years.

had no idea God was going to start the “Bachelor Pad Makeover” in my bedroom, but He did. For the last three weeks, I’ve slept in a new sanctuary. Little by little, the rest of the house is changing too. And my boys…they are helping to create the Bachelor Pad.

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In with the new…

Two Sundays ago, one of the pastors at my church said, “God is never late, but he sure does miss many opportunities to be early.” I remember chuckling, thinking about my impatience, but tonight, I realized that I’d rather be in God’s timing than mine. If it had been up to me, I’d be making payments on a new bedroom set for the next three to five years, struggling to figure out how it would all work out financially. The next time I’m impatient, I pray I remember to be patient and listen for “It’s time” from on high. God’s timing is truly perfect.

 

I’m a parent! My job is to take care of you, not me!

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Retrieved from: https://www.reddit.com/r/QuotesPorn/comments/2tu02v/i_used_to_say_if_you_will_take_care_of_me_i_will/

The last 4 months have been a whirlwind. Learning to balance single parenting, a full-time teaching career, volunteering at church, and taking care of me has been a steep learning curve. At the end of September, I hit a wall. There wasn’t any margin in my life. I was skimping on sleep. I was skimping on taking the time to prepare healthy food for myself. I was skimping on the things I knew I needed to be doing.

“God!?! How do I fix this mess,” I think was my actual prayer. The answer wasn’t an easy one to swallow.

“Take a break.”

“I don’t need to take a break!” I retorted. “I’m doing just fine. Besides, I’m doing all this stuff…this good stuff…and…what are they going to do without me?”

I see the folly of my thinking now, but at the time, I was sure I had to convince God I was doing so much for the Kingdom, for His Kingdom, and “Who would do it if I weren’t doing it?” What a shot to the ego, right? How dare God ask me to step down from things I loved doing?!? How dare He tell me to stop doing things for Him?!?

If you’ve never argued with God, you should try it – just to say that you’ve experienced it and can then understand those of us with thicker skulls.

God began to show me where my over-commitment was hurting more than helping. I was Sleepy. I was Grumpy. And it didn’t look like I’d ever be Happy. My students were driving me nuts. Why? Because they were acting like typical 6th graders. I mean, how dare they?!? My friends were asking, “What’s wrong?” more often than I thought was normal. And my kids, the sweet ones God gave Amy and me to raise, were wondering if I actually lived at home anymore. They never saw me. And when they did, I was mimicking one of the 7 Dwarves, and not the fun ones. When I realized just how impactful my absence at home had been, I made an appointment for the very next day to take a break. It was hard to look into the eyes of a very close friend and tell him I had to stop volunteering under his ministry for a time. It was excruciating to look my youngest in the face and ask for his forgiveness.

“I haven’t been taking care of me,” I said one night. He was a bit surprised, having expected a rant to come out of me. “I used to get on your mom a lot to take care of herself. She was so good with her diabetes while she was pregnant. Then after each pregnancy, things would slip and she’d get busy and she’d forget to take care of herself.”

After she was diagnosed with kidney failure, Amy said to me, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that taking care of you and the kids meant taking care of me.” Sitting in front of my 14-year-old, choking on that realization was humbling.

I spent 2 1/2 months in hiatus from my volunteer positions at church (both of them). I resigned a tutoring job I’d taken “to help make ends meet” – a tutoring job for a student who really needed the help. And I signed up for a Bible study focused on being healthy in a non-healthy world. Each decision was extremely difficult. However, I’ve spent more time with my kids. I’ve been there for my kids when they needed me. I’ve even been there for my kids when they wanted me to be there.

I was reminded this week, in the midst of a very dark set of circumstances (none of my doing, but none that confidentiality will let me explain), that it is very important I continue to take care of me. Why? Because I can’t take care of my 3 boys if I don’t have the energy, time, and space to take care of them. And to get that energy, time, and space…I have to say “No” sometimes, even to “good things”. A wise Couples Bible Study leader once taught me that. I’d forgotten. Here’s to getting sleep, eating well, and laughing much!

Daddy: A Reckoning … the end?

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“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

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…

Single Parenting

 

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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.

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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.”

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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.”