Be present

 I am writing on a day when I received a video call from Hannah, was entertained by Walker, watched Leo sleep through the whirlwind that is his brother's energy, and continued to wait for Luna with great expectation. When I first started my blogging life, I didn't imagine that I would see a day like today. I am grateful that I have.

This brings me to the central idea I want to communicate to you—or, better said, that I have tried to communicate to you and hope you now carry into your parenting. I am so very grateful—to God, to your mom, to you—for the privilege of seeing the fruit of my life ripen. Obviously, my life has had its share of storms, and I have not always acted out of the gratitude that I feel, but feel it I do.

There will be a great many days when, despite the depth of feeling that you undoubtedly have for your spouses, children, and hopefully your parents, you won't have the energy or the presence of mind to act gratefully. I know both of my children to be far more "present" than I am, generally, and as good and kind-hearted as any dad could hope there children to be. I point this out because I am learning, not too late, I trust, that bringing my mind to bear in being present with those who I love is, perhaps, the most vital daily exercise I do. 

I have learned that prayer and meditation, exercise, and conversation with you and your mom are great tools to use. I pray that you will learn far earlier in your lives to use those tools with those whom you love. While judging from the people you have grown to be, it seems you endured my parenting pretty well, I still regret not making the most of my time as a father with you. I hope to do better as a Peepaw and I trust that as you watch me with your children, my vast love for you will show through as well.

Keep walking

Very often we deprive ourselves of great joy because of fear.  Fear is particularly insidious because it is most often a liar, creating doubts where none should exist.  We worry about outcomes because we don’t trust ourselves or others to do the right thing, even when there is no evidence to lead us in that direction.  Fear tells us that failure is inevitable and that it will be the end of us; I am here, now writing this as proof that nothing could be further from the truth.
The two of you are now old enough to have begun accumulating a list of your own failures and shortcomings.  You have learned, I think, to wake up in the morning, climb out of bed, drink your coffee and get on with life.  We do this in spite of any failures we might have suffered the day before.  We crest the hills of our lives and look down at the valleys ahead, understanding that beyond those valleys are more mountaintops.  We must not let the fear of the inevitable descent overcome the equally inevitable joy of the summit.
Life has begun unfolding for you both.  Work, relationships, vocations and avocations are filling your time, and every day is another opportunity to overcome the niggling doubts and fears that can occupy our brains and hearts.  Just know that every victory is preceded by fears overcome, and each one of those is a victory over our lesser selves.  Become what you will be by overcoming every doubt, every fear, in the name of joy and faith.

What are you afraid of?

We don't talk about fear much.  I suppose Hannah and I have talked more about it because of her circumstances with injury and rehabilitation and facing opponents, though the question of what we are afraid of drives us greatly, I think.  It is a question to be wrestled with and the answer is one you must come to terms with.

So, to lead by example...I know that our fears change with age.  I've been afraid of the dark, of drowning, of asking girls out on dates, of making the wrong decision at work.  But now, at the dawn of my second half-century I find my fears changing and becoming more future-centric than anything in the immediate.  I suppose that is a function of God's grace being so rich that I never have to worry about the immediate things: house or food or clothing or life or death.  That has all been settled.  What I fear is that I have left out some key piece of loving the two of you, or of your mom.  Mom and I have begun having those conversations you only have at points of transition in life, and as we head toward retirement soon, I'm sure we're both excited and just a little taken back by the prospect of REALLY being married, 24/7, without kids or work to act as a buffer.  Not that it's a "scary" thing, but a thing where I truly hope I'm the man your mom wants me to be.

As you both head off to your lives now, I hope I've been the man and the dad that you've needed me to be while you are growing up, to be sure, but moreso now I hope I can be the man you need me to be in the future.  You will need a wise friend, a fellow judge of character as you both select your life companions.  You will need a man who can be a grandpa to your children, and a friend to your spouse.  You will need a parent who is faithful to keep you lifted up in prayer before our Father always, as your lives-and mine-I hope will be wonderful incense on the altar of God's temple.

So what am I afraid of?  Not being enough, or at least not being what you need.  The fatherly bond I feel with both of you goes far beyond biology.  I know that my words often express the "functional" part of fatherhood, the 'yes' and 'no'-giver of your young lives, but I want to be much more.  I love you beyond reason, with all of my heart, and I want you to know that more than anything.  Really.

Picking the Right One

At 49 (and almost 21 and 18), I've had a chance to watch both of you begin to live through heartbreaks and the trials of relationships.  Your mother feels your pains more acutely than I do; I tend to view pain as a hammer and anvil sort of thing, where we are shaped by heat and pressure, and hardened so that we might be more useful in the long run.  Love demands usefulness, I think, if only that we are useful to another person.

That's not to say, however, that we should be cavalier with our hearts.  There is such a thing as casting pearls before swine, and both of you have hearts of gold, let alone pearl.  Deciding with whom you will share your heart is one of life's greatest challenges.  The power of hormones does the heart a great disservice.  A truth I would share is that outward beauty (or handsomeness) is never a guarantee of inward grace.  When you can find that all too rare combination of beauty and kindness and grace and compassion (read: the ability to forgive you your faults), leap at the opportunity to spend time with that person.  You are both sharp-witted, yet soft-hearted people, which makes you wonderful companions.  Be sure you realize the gift you are sharing with others, and seek those who encourage your best qualities when you spend time with them.

Above all, don't hold the heartbreak you face with one person against all of the other people of that gender.  Finding a compatible relationship is very much like working a 1,000 piece puzzle, where you have to handle many pieces, turning them every which way in order to see how they might fit together.  Some relationships might look deceivingly compatible; you may enjoy a season of "fitting together," only to find that as the other pieces of your life begin to fill in around you, that relationship piece really isn't the one.  And so it goes.  Having the grace and the courage and the ability to realize that, to be open about it with others and to be wise enough to know when working harder is the key to maintaining an extraordinary friendship or love affair, these are the real challenges to building the core relationships of your lives.  Every relationship doesn't qualify; relatively few really do.

The nice thing is that blood really is thicker than water, and that we all have relationship that are insoluble, regardless of anger or time or action.  You're stuck with me, overbearing as I sometimes am; you're stuck with your mom, whose love is like bathing in honey.  And you're stuck with each other, companions by luck and grace on the same ship sailing through life, at least for a little while.  I love you both.  Don't ever sell yourselves short; and always be willing to share your gifts with others, even if you can't give yourself to everyone.

Hercules, Andromeda and other distractions

My loves:

Living with your mother and I must have taught you many things...many of which we'd probably rather you hadn't learned from us!  One of these things is the great joy of mindlessness, especially in front of the television.  Now, I know that conventional wisdom would have us believe that these spells of sitting for hours on end in front of our favorite mind-numbing programs is bad parenting...but nay! I say.  Think of the wonderful, if imaginary friends and adventures we've met and traveled.  To put things in perspective, parents and grandparents of an earlier age sat around campfires and fireplaces telling stories and yarns that captivated their young audiences.  I'm not sure that the simple introduction of pictures and sound makes the stories and more or less gratifying.

You will undoubtedly have a whole new type of media to share with your children.  Above all, share whatever you have..together.  Our times together, all in the same room, laughing at the corny jokes and ooohhhhing and aaahhhing at the science fiction served to help give us a common culture, a common bond that only the four of us shared.  And I call that something special...singularly ours.

other people...

One of the key things that I have tried to teach you through my example (and words, I hope) is a responsibility to place other people's interests before my/our own. I know that hasn't always come through in my example, but as with so many things, I am asking you to trust my words. (Strong) rather than my actions (weak)...my persistent goal is to one day have my thoughts, words and actions match in their integrity, I love you both...

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I love you

We are watching Perry Mason...I love the time I spend with you. I love you both very much!