just being christian

This morning I return to work after an eight-week hiatus. That’s two months for those of you doing the math at home. That’s a long time.

The world of education has provided a different rhythm for our family. When I was doing youth ministry, summers were always mad hectic. My travel schedule ramped up. I worked more nights. I expended tons of energy. It was a beast.

This summer was the exact opposite. I got to rest. I was more available and present for my kids than I have ever been. I embraced my role as Stay at Home Dad. It took a bit for us to hit our rhythm, but we figured it out. Looking back, it seems as though I just had to progress through the 4 Stages of Stay at Home Fathering.

1. Anticipation and Ambition – As the school year ended I was pumped to get to hang out with my kids. I also had grand plans for all I would achieve this summer. I mean, how can you not be incredibly efficient if you have an extra 30-40 hours each week you aren’t spending in the office?
2. Realizing Reality – The answer to that last question? You chase around a 2yr old and a 5yr old all day. Those 30-40 hours get accounted for quite quickly. Prior to our move a little over a year ago I had talked myself into thinking I could be a Stay at Home Dad full-time. Stage 2 had me chucking that idea out the window. I didn’t know if I could last the whole summer, let alone make a life of this gig. Did I have the patience needed to nurture my kids all day, every day? Doubtful. Did I have the wisdom to solve the riddles they would barrage me with? Not likely. Every time I pondered what the summer had in store for me, I came to the same conclusion: I’m royally screwed.
3. Getting the Groove – Thank goodness we figured things out. I learned what to do with my kids all day. They learned what to do with me. Eventually we started dancing in a coordinated fashion, and stopped falling all over each others feet. It just took a minute. Once we hit our groove however, I ran outside and grabbed the positive notion of being a Stay at Home Dad I had previously chucked out the window. As the summer progressed I realized just how funny my kids are, how much they are like their parents, and how deeply I’m smitten with them. I knew all of these things before, but they were certainly reaffirmed for me during our time together. Not that we didn’t have our moments. My daughter would occasionally do her best impersonation of a teenager on an MTV reality show, and my son perfected the art of making a huge mess every time I turn my back. But overall, we figured out how to have a blast together.
4. Schmaltzy Sentiment – A couple of weeks ago I realized I was soon to return to work. I found myself straining to soak up our time together and really enjoy our quickly waning summer. It’s not that I don’t want to go back to work. My job is energizing and challenging and all kinds of fun. I even have some new challenges and ambitious goals that I’m looking forward to tackling this school year. So it’s not exactly like I’ll be dragging myself back into the office. Mixed feelings for sure, because I wouldn’t trade the time I had with my kids this summer for anything.

I think the big loser her is my wife. She was pretty happy to have a house husband for a couple of months. We typically do a good job of splitting up tasks around the house, but with me at home more I absorbed a larger share of cooking/cleaning/etc for those two months. She’s going to be bummed if I ever get called away from education and end up taking a position that has me in the office all year.

Renew and Restore

As of Saturday, my daughter is five.  My son is 18 months old.  Just recently they started to fight with each other, and I couldn’t be happier.

We don’t condone any kind of sibling rivalry/fighting/bickering in our house.  None at all.  But those are time honored traditions amongst siblings, and it would be unrealistic to think that our kids would never indulge in them.  When these behaviors manifest there are repercussions, but on the inside I sigh a little sigh of relief.

As an adoptive family, one of the things that you pray the most for is that everyone’s place in the family feels natural. We don’t try to achieve this by glossing over that fact that El is adopted. We will (and do) celebrate our differences. El is already aware of her adoptedness and understands it to the extent of her cognitive ability. We have days ahead of us where that journey of understanding will be rocky, but that’s part of the deal.

It’s no small matter to my heart that my kids treat each other as any siblings would.  It’s healthy.  And certainly, the fighting and rivalry is easier accepted in that it is a package deal with incredibly tender moments that our kids have started sharing.

The other day, Z lost his most prized posession…his bink.  Dude loves that thing.  Can work it like Maggie Simpson.

Eventually, he realized it had gotten pushed under our recliner.  The kid’s go-go gadget arms always seem to be long enough to nab contraband, but they weren’t long enough to retrieve his bink in this instance.

El saw his struggle and tried to grab it for him.  Couldn’t. So she echoed the common refrain of “It’s OK Bud,” and proceeded to climb up into the chair and recline it.  She then climbed down and used the new found space to satiate her brother’s greatest need.

“Here you go, Bud.”

Our kids look very different.  They have very different personalities.  They act differently a lot of time. Makes sense.  They have very different genetic makeups.

But you know what?  They are siblings.  We view them as such.  They view each other as such.  God views them as such.  There is a deep bond there, and that bond brings my spirit a feeling of completeness.

Even when they fight.

Sometimes especially when they fight.

Renew and Restore

We were informed this weekend that our son is the second youngest boy in the church. It matters insomuch as the Christmas season is fast approaching, and the first youngest boy in the church will be traveling over the weeks around Christmas. Thus, Z has been drafted as baby Jesus for this year’s Christmas play.

Which means Stacy and I have also been drafted into supporting roles as Mary and Joseph.

We are in comedic territory on a number of levels here. Starting with the fact that my son’s behavior can tend to be passionate, noisy and highly erratic.  There is really no telling what that kid is going to do when the bright lights of stardom are shining down on him.  Will he have an epic meltdown because he sees some kid in the crowd eating fruit snacks?  Will he want want to get down and pet his sister, who I can only assume will be dressed as a sheep for the occasion? Will he be struck by a spirit of joy and laugh his way through his interactions with the wise men?  Will he use his go-go-gadget arms to jack the halo off an angel and try it on?
Who knows.

What I do know is that the family of Jesus is now highly interracial.  Ironic in and of itself, it’s even more ironic that my biological son is a genetic anomaly sporting blond hair and blue eyes.  So no matter how much I’ve contended over the years that Jesus is not Swedish, it’s my son that is propagating the myth of Swedish Jesus.

Best. Christmas. Program. Ever.

Renew and Restore.

When I met my wife, she wasn’t my wife.  She was an 18 year-old college freshman who had aspirations of being a doctor.  We had a public speaking class together, and the alphabetical seating chart gods smiled down on us as I had the opportunity to sit behind her for the entire semester.  As an added bonus, we ended up assigned to the same final project group. And we did the bulk of the work to make sure our group Aced the project.  That’s a lot of quality time.

We enjoyed our assigned time together so much that we started spending time together voluntarily.  Studying together, going on walks, going on dates.  Generally doing the things that young people do when they fall in love.

That young lady never lost track of her goal to be a doctor.  She worked hard all throughout college.  Really hard.  Three years into her college career, I would marry this would-be doctor.  Not because she was going to be a doctor.  Because she was amazing. The most gracious, hardworking and loving person I would ever meet. A beautiful person of high character and strong moral fortitude.

All of those characteristics would serve her well when she moved to Kansas City where she entered Medical School.  That was where the task really started to seem impossible.  The woman who had never known anything other than A’s started to struggle in classes.  The chief goal of med school seems to be to break the will of every single student, consequences be damned.  It’s no wonder so many doctors are jerks.

But my wife made it.  She handled the wringer with grace and dignity.  She kept the faith and she kept pursuing her goals.  And all the while she was supportive of my callings and my vocational journey.

After four hard years, medical school was over, though there would be no rest for the weary. Before this highly educated woman could hang her shingle and practice the medicine, she would have to go through residency.  It was like medical school, only worse.  Instead of trying to make her feel dumb, the chief end was to break her will to live by introducing torturous levels of exhaustion.  80, 90, 100 hour work weeks exhausted.  Add in the two kids we brought into our family during that time period, and you’re looking at a woman trying to set a record for the least hours of sleep recorded over a thirty six month period.

But tomorrow it all ends. In reality, it’s been winding down all week.  She delivered her last OB patient of residency Monday night. She turned her pager in on Sunday.  She’s done with clinics and rotations and only has a two day conference left.  And it will all culminate tomorrow night when she stands on stage and graduates from residency.

For the first time in the 10.5 years I’ve known her and the almost 8 years we’ve been married, this woman will not be working toward her vocational goal.  No more working to become a doctor.  I’m finally saying goodbye to the woman who is striving to achieve her long-held goal, and finally saying hello to the woman who has achieved it.

And I couldn’t be more proud of her.

Renew and Restore