Faith

What We’re Actually Trying to Say

Two weeks before my son’s wedding, I’ve finally understood something I probably should have figured out years ago: inside every grown kid is still a person quietly hoping their parents will recognize the adult they’ve become. They want you to see that they turned out okay, even if they’re still improvising half the time.

So consider this my unofficial set of guidelines for how parents are trying to relate to their kids once marriage enters the picture. I’m writing from the parent side, but I suspect the kids will recognize themselves, too.

Saturday night we celebrated my son’s birthday at Hall’s Pizza Kitchen in downtown OKC. I’ve been downtown more in the past month than almost all of last year. Apparently, it takes wedding errands and playoff basketball to transform me from “man who enjoys staying home” into “local culture enthusiast.” My therapist would call this growth. I call it parking anxiety.

My son asked everyone to wear Thunder shirts. Half complied enthusiastically. The other half wore neutral colors—the universal signal for “I support the team emotionally but not enough to own merchandise.” I respect the honesty.

The table divided naturally: vegetarians on one side, meat lovers on the other. My future daughter-in-law’s family held the vegetarian end. Our side looked like we were preparing for winter hibernation. My son sat in the middle like a United Nations translator working to prevent an international incident involving sausage toppings. He chose wisely. The pizza, and the seating arrangement, reflected exactly where he is in life right now—one foot in each world, trying to keep everybody fed.

Conversation stayed polite but surface-level. Partly language barriers, partly two families still learning each other’s rhythms. Our future daughter-in-law handled everything gracefully. But at some point I noticed her attention drifting toward her side of the table, her family, her people.

Not wrong. Just different from how she usually is with us.

First guideline for parents: don’t panic when your child’s attention shifts toward their new family. They’re trying to hold two worlds at once. That’s genuinely hard, and they didn’t get a manual either.

I still experience my own version of this in my 60s, which is either reassuring or mildly alarming depending on how you look at it. When I’m with my mom or my siblings, some earlier version of me quietly reappears—somewhere between the Andy who’s been married 35 years and the one who existed before my wife’s civilizing influence showed up. She has done considerable work on this project and deserves full credit.

She does the same thing when we visit her family. There’s an unspoken arrangement: for a few days, her attention goes to people who knew her long before I did. I survive this temporary reassignment by walking a lot and reminding myself I’ll be relevant again once we cross the state line heading home.

When your kids bend back toward their families of origin after they’re married, it’s not a betrayal of their spouse or of you. It’s just old gravity still doing its job. Give it a little room.

When our oldest daughter got married, I wasn’t ready to be demoted. For years, I’d been the first call for every problem, every decision, every minor household catastrophe involving emotions or leaking plumbing. I had plenty of experience in both categories and was fully prepared to stay on retainer indefinitely.

But if we’d stayed her crutch, her marriage wouldn’t have the strength it has now.

She and her husband figured things out. They built the habits they needed. Our restraint—as unnatural as it felt—turned out to be the actual gift. She and I have a close relationship now, but it’s built on mutual respect rather than parental management. She’s no longer just our child. She’s a wife, a mother, and an adult running her own household.

I didn’t always want that. Selfishly, I’d have kept her eleven years old a little longer—mostly because eleven-year-olds think their dads are funnier than they actually are. Growing up was entirely her idea, and honestly, she handled it better than I did.

Not every family navigates this transition gracefully. Some parents keep treating married kids like supervised interns who need approval before making medium-sized decisions. Others read healthy distance as betrayal and make sure everyone knows it at Christmas. Some adult children never quite untangle themselves from their parents’ expectations and spend years quietly furious about it.

Everybody ends up frustrated, and Thanksgiving becomes an endurance event.

Here’s how I have found it works when it goes right: parents move from authority figures to mentors, then consultants, then—if everyone handles themselves reasonably well—friends. That shift requires humility from all sides. It also requires parents to understand that support and control are not the same thing, even when they feel identical from the inside.

On the in-law question—and every married person eventually develops strong opinions about this one—the only real requirement is that roles get respected. You don’t have to love your in-laws. You don’t have to enjoy every pizza dinner. You do have to honor their place in your spouse’s life, which is a meaningfully different and more achievable standard.

I’ll admit something: I’m very slow to weigh in on situations involving my wife’s side of the family, regardless of what I privately think. Partly because it’s not my call. Partly because her read on the situation is always more nuanced than mine—she has twenty-plus years of context I’ll never fully have. And partly because if I don’t initiate anything, I don’t have to manage the aftermath.

The guideline is simple: you’re not the sheriff on your spouse’s side of the family. At best, you’re a consultant brought in occasionally for a second opinion. Most consultants learn quickly that nobody actually wants their opinion on the family drama from 2014.

More weddings are coming in our family over the next few years. Some of those kids live farther away, which means we won’t have the same regular proximity we have with the ones nearby. Judy and I are adjusting to that reality at each encounter, and we don’t have it completely figured out.

What I do know from our own marriage is that over the years, the pull of my past has gotten quieter. The life Judy and I have built together feels more like ours and less like something we inherited or stumbled into. That’s not a rejection of where we came from. It’s just what a marriage does over time when you let it breathe and tend to it honestly. Eventually, you stop navigating by someone else’s map.

We want that for all of our kids.

We want them to build homes that reflect who they actually are—not extensions of us, not performances for anyone else. If they want six kids, we’ll show up and mean it. If their household goes fully vegetarian, we’ll eat beforehand and smile the whole time. We have opinions about both scenarios. We’ll keep most of them to ourselves.

They’re not obligated to edit themselves into a more comfortable version of themselves so the older generation doesn’t have to adjust. We’d genuinely rather deal with who they actually are.

There are values we hope they carry—faith, integrity, the willingness to keep choosing each other on the days it’s hard. We’ll be honest: we pray for all of it. But we’ve also learned that emotionally healthy people, people who know who they are and have done the work of figuring that out, tend to find their way toward those things more reliably than people who were handed a checklist. So emotional health comes first. Everything else we hope for has a much better chance of showing up behind it.

I had some misspent years sorting out my own feelings about the parents in my life—biological and in-law both. I don’t want that for our kids. We want to fill whatever role they actually need in a given season, not become the reason they avoid hard conversations or the reason they’re having one too many of them.

They’re also fully accountable for their own decisions. We didn’t raise them to invite chaos into their lives. The drama is optional. An emotionally healthy life is mostly a series of quiet choices to avoid the unnecessary ones.

What we’re actually trying to do—and we’re imperfect at it, regularly—is learn how to let go without disappearing. How to stay present without crowding. How to cheer loudly for the lives they’re building, even when those lives don’t look exactly like the ones we imagined.

That’s the guideline. That’s the promise.

We’re still learning, too. Hopefully that part’s obvious by now.

Humbled at the Exit

This morning started as a routine errand run. Somewhere between the hot tub and Sam’s Club, it turned into a humbling I didn’t see coming.

Four weeks of “scoop of this, scoop of that” Sunday night chemistry had produced a layer of something on the water that my wife found less than inviting. Fair. My self-appointed title of Hot Tub Chemist Extraordinaire was officially under review, so the first stop was Leslie’s for a free water test—which I will keep using indefinitely while buying all my chemicals online at half the price. I’m aware of the irony. I do like the woman who tells me I’ve been neglectful, and those few minutes of conversation aren’t nothing when your social calendar is on the quieter side.

Dry acid, some chlorine. Reputation partially restored.

Sam’s next, because the fridge needed actual food. My wife hosted a terrific wedding shower for our son’s fiancée, and the leftover situation had become a caloric hazard. My body was asking for roasted vegetables. Gas was $3.699, which felt like a small win. I loaded up on Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, broccoli, Gatorade, and a case of water—placed carefully on the bottom of the cart by a man who had no idea what was coming.

I love the Sam’s scan-and-go app. There’s something satisfying about walking past the checkout lanes knowing you’ve already handled it. I scanned everything, flipped items for barcodes, did my due diligence. Before paying, the app asked me to count my items. I counted twice. Got 17, then 16. The app said 16. I had multiple quantities of a couple things, so I figured that explained the gap and moved on without a tiebreaker count.

The door checker didn’t wave me through like usual. She scanned the water sitting on the bottom of my cart.

“You didn’t pay for this.”

Not a question.

She moved toward the Gatorade next—I held my breath—but that one was on the receipt. Instead of escorting me to what I can only imagine is a folding chair near customer service where you sit and think about your choices, she added the water to my account on the spot. Civilized. Quiet. More dignity than I’d earned.

Next time I’ll probably just use the regular checkout. Or bring my daughter, who has a reliable way of keeping my gray-matter moments from becoming public events.

I always say I’m glad when God keeps me humble. Even more glad when it only costs me my pride—a lot cheaper than a speeding ticket.

Apology Accepted, Access Denied

I saw this phrase during my morning scroll, and it made me pause. As a Christian, I lean into the forgiving part. The “access denied” part is harder to admit, but I’ve made peace with it — mostly.

I met Jerry (not his real name) through my online business, back when I was cobbling together a living after a post-9/11 layoff and the birth of our 4th child. He was sharp, helpful, and seemed to want what I wanted. That last part turned out to be the problem.

Jerry was one of those people.

Over nearly two decades, Jerry talked me into several business ventures. Some I was smart enough to avoid. Others, I wasn’t. The pattern was always the same — he’d find the angle that sounded like it worked for both of us, and I’d believe him, because he was genuinely convincing. My wife saw it before I did. She usually does.

The last venture was the one that finally clarified things. He connected me with a job through a supplier he knew — Jerry was the manager, and Jerry’s unacknowledged nephew was the chief of operations. The nepotism ran its course, and I was the first to go. Within a week, Jerry called and suggested lunch. He managed to seem apologetic about the fact that he’d had me fired. He also handed me paperwork to sign away my right to unemployment.

My wife didn’t let that stand.

I collected every dollar. I never saw Jerry again.

Looking back, the warnings were there early. Another supplier told me Jerry had dealt with him dirty. I filed it away and kept going. That’s the thing about a skilled manipulator — he doesn’t come at you all at once. He’s a master of the long game. He stays in light contact, patient, until you have something he needs. Then he’s your best friend again.

The hardest part to admit is that I liked him. He was warm and funny and made you feel like the smartest guy in the room for listening to him. I thought I was lucky to have someone like that in my corner. I wasn’t lucky. I was useful.

Now I get occasional Facebook updates. If a customer emails about an order Jerry once fulfilled, I write him a short note. He sends curt replies. That’s what twenty years looks like when one person was paying attention, and the other one wasn’t.

In my mind, the most unbelievable part of the story is that Jerry is now a pastor.

I’ll be honest — I’ve thought about showing up at his church. Not to make a scene. Just to see whether the man preaching from the front is the same one who handed me that paperwork. He has the skills for ministry. He also had the skills for everything else.

But poking around in someone’s life after a three-year gap feels like reopening a wound that’s healed clean. Whatever apology passed between us was probably silent and probably mutual. We moved on. I genuinely hope he’s doing good work now.

I even hope we spend eternity together. I just don’t need to spend any more of my time on earth with him.

Values Don’t Retire

My wife and I are somewhere in the foothills of retirement. Not even close to the summit. There are still detours on this road, and honestly, we keep choosing them. We could draw a straight line to the finish — coast, let someone else worry about the spring weather.

But here we are, babysitting a ten-month-old and still figuring out health insurance. And I wouldn’t trade it.

Faith Is a Verb

Every time our kids gather around the table, we say a prayer. That’s not a performance — it’s just what we do. Faith comes up again before the meal’s over, usually more than once. We counsel our kids, married and unmarried, on building something with a Godly foundation. But we learned a long time ago that advice requires a listener. Acting on it? That part belongs to them.

We’re conservative Christians. We attend a church that reflects that — not perfectly, but pretty close. Our kids know where we stand. They also know we can’t believe for them. My granddaughter, as much as I adore her, will have to find her own faith someday. Her parents’ belief won’t carry her across that finish line, and neither will ours. What we can do is make sure the example exists. Doing nothing, after all, is the easiest thing in the world to imitate.

The Tangible Stuff

I’m not going to pretend grandparenting is purely a spiritual exercise. My granddaughter needs a babysitter, and I technically have “spare time” — though I’m not sure where I’m hiding it. My wife works remotely, so we tag-team diaper duty in shifts that would make any grandparent proud.

And yes — her job keeps us from raiding our savings for insurance premiums until we hit 65. These aren’t just financial decisions. They’re the quiet argument I make every day to my kids without saying a word: this is what showing up looks like.

Respect Isn’t Political

Everyone has value. The prisoner. The foster kid. The garbage man. We did foster care for six years — that wasn’t a hobby, it was a conviction. The political lines blur for me here. But the bottom line is simple: treat me and my country with respect, and I’ll meet you with kindness. As a Christian, at a minimum, I owe you a prayer. We’re all sinners. Just not all saved.

Generosity Without the Receipt

Could I give more? Absolutely — most of us could, and I’d be a fool to claim otherwise. We give to causes, including our church. Our kids know we give. They don’t need to know the number. The impression matters more than the invoice.

Commitment Is the Whole Game

Marriage is the biggest bet most people will ever place. We’re honest with our kids about it: it’s not easy. It requires two people willing to grow up and reckon with the fact that their decisions now affect someone else’s life, too. We hold an old-fashioned view on this. A marriage with a Christian foundation is simply better, in our experience. That’s not a lecture. It’s just what we’ve lived.

The Promotion We Didn’t Know Was Coming

Somewhere around the time your kids leave the house, you stop being a parent in the daily operational sense and get promoted — if you’re lucky — to trusted counselor. We’re hoping to earn that promotion unanimously.

We weren’t perfect parents. Our advice isn’t flawless either. But if our kids can feel the gist of how we’ve lived — if they’ve seen our convictions match our words, if they’ve watched our marriage hold — then it’ll be hard for any of them to look back and say, “Nobody told me that.”

You were told. You were shown.

We’re not trying to make our kids into copies of us. We’re trying to make sure they don’t walk into the world without a compass. Call me boring. Just don’t accuse me of raising kids who’ll make the world worse. We fought too hard for that. And if they pass something worthwhile to the next generation of Gruenbaums?

That’s the whole point of the journey.

Amen Ambassador

This is a further explanation of one of the titles included on my “semi-retired” business card. (Amen Ambassador)

I’ve been involved with a program called “Let’s Start Talking” (LST) for a good number of years now. My daughters and I even trekked to Hungary almost a decade ago for a mission trip under their banner, but my real “boots on the ground” work happens right here at my desk with my “readers.”

What exactly is a “reader”? In my case, it’s a revolving door of international men who want to polish their English. Before COVID, this involved actual human contact at coffee shops or libraries. These days, it’s mostly me staring at a webcam. We use LST materials that cleverly disguise English challenges—like the dreaded verb conjugation—inside biblical lessons on sin, grace, and salvation.

I’ve worked with men from Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Vietnam, and Ecuador(all pre-Covid and in person). I’ve learned about their customs, tasted their food, and generally enjoyed the “armchair traveler” lifestyle. I did have one female reader from Hungary once (early-Covid), but that taught me a lesson in boundaries. She was preparing for marriage and telling me things about her fiancé that made me want to bail out of the conversation. I figured any marital advice she needed should come from a woman, not me. I arranged a “handoff” to a female teacher, but she apparently wasn’t a fan of the trade. She never showed up again, though I see her on Facebook with a baby now, so she clearly survived my attempt at mentorship.

The Current Roster I currently have three regulars. They are all academically driven, though their personalities couldn’t be more different:

  • The Long-Hauler (Asia): I’m keeping his specific country a mystery to avoid any international incidents. We’ve been at this for five years. I’ve “walked” with him through a doctorate in Europe and watched his son grow up via pixels. We spend 40 minutes talking about everything from personal pictures to politics before I “cherry-pick” devotions that contain enough big words to keep him on his toes.
  • The Enthusiast (Brazil): He’s been around for about four years. He is the walking definition of the Brazilian stereotype—emotional, enthusiastic, and loud. He’s met my granddaughter on Zoom (he asks about her every call), and I’ve met his mother. She doesn’t speak a lick of English, but she’s promised me a world-class meal if I ever show up in her kitchen. He is a fantastic, high-energy contrast to my more reserved Asian reader.
  • The Academic (Poland): He started with me in high school and is now a university student. He’s an only child who passionately describes every meal and movie in his life. Because of the age gap, I have to work a little harder to stay “relatable” (pray for me). He’s Catholic by heritage but mostly just a moral guy with no real interest in faith. I keep showing up anyway. Even if the conversations aren’t always “deep,” we both usually learn something by the time the timer hits zero.

The Logistics of Grace Aside from “showing up,” the hardest part of being an Amen Ambassador is basic math. Keeping track of time zones is a nightmare. Europe changes their clocks on a different schedule than the US, and my Asian and Brazilian readers don’t change their clocks at all. I much prefer the 9:00 AM meetings over the 8:00 AM ones—mostly because my brain functions significantly better with that extra hour of blood waking it up.

Could I do more? Probably. But at this stage, my wife and I have agreed that our own kids and grandkids are our primary mission field. We’re working to give them a foundation that won’t crack when life gets messy. If I’m held to account on the other side of the grave, I’ll be fine knowing my family came before any other “mission goals” I might have entertained.

God might have other things He’d like us to take on, and those may have to live in the “regret” folder of my mind for now. But I refuse to let my family be part of any regret.

Sermon Resolution

Today’s sermon reminded me how important it is to have a minimum weekly dose of straight-talk preaching. At times in my spiritual past, I inhaled multiple sermons daily over the internet. Of late, I have either decided I don’t need that much, or I have allowed my worldly priorities to shove the sermons down the list far too many notches.  I need to do better. I need to listen to less Spotify playlist and more Christ-focused sermons.

This may not qualify as a “resolution”, but it certainly should be a STRONG encouragement for me to trend in a more God-centered direction. Wherever Flight #2022 takes us, I want to end the flight, quoting more scripture and reciting less from the news networks. Our “Pilot” doesn’t need a co-pilot. I need to do a better job letting my life reflect that. 

Take On The Challenge

As I was nearing the end of my walk today at the park, a boy on a scooter approached me.  As I tried to figure out what side of the sidewalk he was going to take, he uttered, “Are you going to take on the challenge?” before slowly surfing down the paved hill.  It was clear what his challenge was–he was going to see how far he could coast without pushing off.  My challenge was a little less clear.  So, the kid forced me to think…

  • What are you going to do today in trade for another day of life?
  • Who did you make feel better about themselves today?
  • Were you a helper or someone who avoided helping those who needed it?
  • Did you show those you loved that you cared for them today?  Do you need to have a bigger list so you are more challenged?
  • Did you laugh today?  Did you make someone else laugh?
  • Did you feel empathy for someone who hurts? (Preferably someone you know personally.  There is a spectrum of hurt–it can land anywhere on that spectrum.)
  • What did you do today that will be remembered tomorrow?  For how many tomorrows will it still be remembered?
  • Do you think you were more good than bad today?
  • What reward do you think your opinion deserves?

It seems I have come to a point where I am challenging you to think about where you will spend eternity.  Am I allowed to do that?  Could it hurt someone’s feelings?  In the past, forcing a person to think about their eternity was effective.  In the present, a discussion about eternity could trigger someone.  If anyone is curious about the hereafter and what you can do now to affect your eternity, please contact me on the contact form for this site.

Gender What?

As I recently looked at the “disclaimer” at the bottom of listing on the Monster job site, I saw this in the footer of the job posting….

As an AA/EEO employer, “INSERT NAME OF INSTITUTE OF HIGHER LEARNING HERE” recruits, hires, and promotes qualified persons in all job classifications without regard to age, race, color, religion, sex, sexual orientation, gender, gender identity, gender expression, national origin, ethnic origin, disability, genetic information, covered veteran status, or any other basis protected by law. 

I guess my old-fashion-ness is showing, but the words “orientation”, “expression” and “identity” seem a little hard to nail down.  It would seem any questioning of a persons claims associated with these words tagged on as a suffix would make virtually anything a person does part of the norm.  This is not denying the world is a crazy place and circumstances have caused crazy thoughts and patterns to occur in people’s lives.  Regardless, with all of these qualifiers, it still seems like we are bending so far over backwards to be inclusive that we have forgotten how to be clear.

Since our genes give us a our gender and we are allowed to question our genetics, it would seem unfair to not be able to change our race, age or color by a simple declaration.  Something like, “I, [state your name] declare myself to be a 30 year old, Chinese-American.” (I have no desire to change my gender, thank you.)  If someone denies me the right to make this proclamation, wouldn’t they be questioning my right to alter my orientation, expression or identity?  They may argue, “Genetically and chronologically, you can’t alter your age or race or color.”  That seems quite discriminatory.  Why can certain things “baked into the baby” be changed when other things not be changed?

I realize I am not a biologist, psychologist, or a geneticist.  I don’t have the scientific background, (beyond my 5 senses–or 4, I don’t think tasting helps unless it has something to do with spicy food.  Maybe this should be another protected class.  Spicy food can offend some people.  I officially propose adding “diet” to the list above.  The poor peanut allergy people don’t seem to be adequately protected by the disclaimer.) to assess such important things.  But, it seems science has been redefined from what it was a few years ago.  I guess the problem is the science of the past was repressive and wrong, so it was reevaluated.  (Maybe evolution and the big bang could be given the same scrutiny.)

If we are going to go all in with “disclaimers”, might I suggest the following…

  • Diet:  (see above)  Besides nut allergies, spicy food and a strict vegetarian diet can sometimes have detrimental affects on the office environment, too.  I know we are all big enough to hold our noses and not mention it, but it should be explicitly protected.
  • Heavy sweaters:  I have worked with people who fall into this category.  They took great strains to not have people made aware of this fact.  The person I am referring to worked in retail.  He changed his t-shirt multiple times per day.  The secondary effect of his sweating was attempting to control the odor.  I know this quality might not come out until a person is hired and working.  It still seems unfair not to protect them as well.
  • Religious expression:  If they endorse the behaviors of one religion and not another religion merely for practicing their faith, then it does seem inconsistent.  As a Christian, I try to be flexible with what others believe.  How far do I let other religions go in this expression?  If it is codified in a neat little generic clause like listed above, the doubters can point but the ambiguity can continue.
  • This is not really a specific add on, but maybe it would help clarify.  Is it really “law” or is it Presidential decree or proclamation?  It seems a little bold referring to all of the issues addressed in the disclaimer as “being protected by law”. (I know some of them have been for many years.  Some of them are “hitchhikers” where the law is still unclear.)  Would this be natural law?  If natural law, some of the issues mentioned above would not seem to qualify.  (Gender confusion may allow for short term peace and happiness, but it doesn’t do much for continuing the human race.)

Have I offended or bothered you?  It was not my goal, but it was an accepted possibility.  I believe we have a right to participate in a work environment that is a positive, encouraging place.  If all of the things introduced in the disclaimer above are evident in every work place, I believe there will be to much tip-toeing around trying to be inclusive.  If the thought police care more about what you think and don’t say then what is done to fulfill your job description, then maybe staying self-employed is a saner option than being obligated to “endorse” all of the above behaviors.  God, please help our country!!

 

Greetings From The Curb

When I get an idea while walking, I pull out my Iphone and attempt to capture my thoughts.  While sometimes the voice capture feature does okay, most times it leaves me a little wanting.  If I capture a note and fail to review it within a day or so, I often can’t recognize my original thought.  Today’s thought was supposed to be, “Grading on the curve”.  My chosen English female friend on my Iphone chose to record this as “greetings from the curb”.  I can blame the wind or my inability to enunciate clearly.  The point is if I were writing this next week, I might have no idea what the note was a reminder of.

Why did I feel the need to capture this thought?  I was trying to find a way to describe what God does with us.  Does God award heaven on a curve?  No.  This is assuming you have already confessed you are unable to “do” salvation on your own.  You recognize you need a Savior, and His name is Christ.  My thought comes in a post-conversion situation. (Or post being born-again or being saved or “washed in the blood”.  I hope this is completely clear what I am referring to.)

God had given us all different abilities.  He has given us different strengths and weaknesses.  He does not hold us all to the same level of service.  He wants all of our hearts and our lives.  We don’t become us thru the efforts of a cookie cutter.  We are all uniquely made and given unique talents and abilities.  We may be similar to others on the outside, but on the inside we have talents given to us by God.  These talents allow us to reach unsaved people in a variety of different ways.

As I live my life, I often ask the question, “Am I doing enough? With all of the potential I believe I have, am I doing enough to justify a “C” grade?” (Depending on another person’s ability, if they were to do what I have done, they might justify an “A”. )  So, if I am figuratively on the curb, what more can I do to give a better witness of He who gave all for me? When I get off of the curb is there a grading curve?  Are all types of witnessing good action or does God make us accountable for the decisions we make in regards to how our witnessing/evangelizing time is spent(or not spent)?

I know we don’t just get an “A” for effort.  I regularly seek God’s will, and I encourage you to do the same.  If there is a good-better-best plan for my life, I want best.  If there is a plan that involves lots of trusting God, I pray I have the ability to turn all of my fears over to my Maker. And, if there is a plan that relies on us depleting our savings and relying entirely on God, then may our kids forgive us for doing what God has asked us to do.

I know God realizes what I wrote, but do I?  I think I do, now may He put the pieces in place to allow it to occur.

 

Life Mystery

Yesterday, both my daughter and my wife informed me the girls would not be having softball practice today.  I thought that was a little odd.  The coach is pretty hardcore about practicing.  Even if the coach used running during practice time to remind the team not to make so many errors, she rarely gives up a practice  UNLESS the weather is working against her.

As I show up at the regular “no practice” pickup time, my youngest daughter comes out without her books or anything.  She let me know the reason practice was cancelled.  It turns out one of the fathers of a girl on the team had committed suicide over the weekend.  I won’t say I took this hard, but it certainly does make one wonder what brings a person to this point.  Prior to last Saturday’s game, I believe the dad had attended nearly every game.  We had talked quite a bit while watching our girls play.

He genuinely had a good heart.  At one of the games, he bought a packet of M&Ms.  He shared a few with me.  He usually stood behind the bleachers and leaned on them.  I was usually sitting on the second row from the top.  He would just talk about his softball exploits, or his time with his daughter, or whatever other random thing a middle aged dad might think to say.  He was probably less odd than me….but this still left plenty of room for him to my left.  I wasn’t the only one he talked to–he seemed to enjoy being social as he roamed the back of the bleachers talking to whoever would listen or had a thought to share.

Just last Saturday I was talking to the mother of the girl.  During the games I attended, the parents interacted and seemed to get along.  There did seem to be some distance, but I never was bold enough to ask the specifics.  Last Saturday, the mother was talking about shopping for groceries.  In context, it was appropriate to ask who she buys them for.  (I believe the specific point was with bananas.)  She said, “I only buy for myself and my daughter.”   It was at this point I was certain they were divorced, and they played nicely for the sake of their daughter.

Last night, my daughter made both my wife and I promise we would never end our lives in such a sudden way.  We assured her we would not.  The mystery of why someone would end their life in such an immediate way puts me at quite a loss.  Relationships are not always as smooth as you would like.  Finances can also be a source of frustration.  I have found that no matter how badly things may go the only consistent comfort comes from knowing God put you on this planet for a purpose.  If you are still asking that question, then God still has a purpose to reveal to you.  When hope dies, the heart often follows.