BemuseDad
I looked at my cell phone. The screen said, “Kurt.” Answering with a bit of hesitation, I said, “Hi; how’d it go?”
“I passed,” he said.
“Congratulations! Are you driving right now?”
“No, but Mom’s taking me to get a wallet.”
And so it is that another chapter of parenting comes to a (screeching?) close. For the first time in 23 years there is no child who needs us behind the wheel in order to drive somewhere.
I know, it’s only a permit; there are still five months of semi-dependency. But still….
Our youngest is now our tallest. Seems only yesterday that he was the smallest. And wasn’t it only a last week that he would fall asleep in the high chair while still chewing food?
Today he’s a strapping young man with four inches on his dad, excelling in soccer, in school, and most importantly, in life. Tomorrow I suppose he’ll follow his siblings to a southern California university.
And we’ll be alone. Our nest will be empty. Although we imagine it someday multiplied with new sons, daughters and grandchildren, this chapter is winding down. The book of our lives is likely past its midpoint.
As our children have grown up and out, the joys and sorrows of parenting have grown deeper and richer. The stakes are higher: the pain of a failed test in grade school can’t compare with that of a failed marriage. But the rewards are greater too: there’s nothing like watching your adult children make great life choices while beginning to make their own mark in the world.
Considering how deeply attached I am to my children, I can’t understand why people act as if God is an absent landowner, or a mean uncle, or even a benign grandfather. We’re his children, aren't we? We're his creation, his joy, his delight (Psalm 149:4)
He feels the depths of our pain, and shares the heights of our joy. As I would give my life for my children, so He would (and did) give his life for us.
When we call to him, he comes running. When we run from him, he comes calling.
Even when I don’t understand him, I can’t help but trust him. Even when he makes me angry (and he does!), I can't turn my back on him.
Anyway, I'm feeling both proud and old this evening. It's hard to believe that my children are mostly grown. I'm wistful thinking of those days when all three of them spent every night under our roof. When they came to visit recently, there was something deeply satisfying about spending the morning together just as we did for so many years. (No wonder God is homesick for us to be with him.)
But they don't need me as much as they once did, and that's a little hard. Whereas we once were the youngest parents among our daughter's friends, we are now the oldest parents of our youngest's friends.
This evening my daughter called from California. She coordinated a program to provide free dental care for 500 children in forty-three of the offices owned by her company. It’s an adult-size challenge with all the commensurate headaches and responsibilities.
Under her leadership the program has more than doubled in size in the past year. I couldn’t be more proud of her.
Tomorrow’s the big day. She will drive hundreds of miles on LA freeways visiting dentist offices, encouraging workers, doing interviews, and documenting this important community and company event.
The thought of her driving alone in LA still gives me shudders. Didn’t she just get her permit yesterday? I remember it clear as a bell. “Daddy,” she said as she sank in the driver’s seat, “Which one of these two pedals makes the car go?”
“I passed,” he said.
“Congratulations! Are you driving right now?”
“No, but Mom’s taking me to get a wallet.”
And so it is that another chapter of parenting comes to a (screeching?) close. For the first time in 23 years there is no child who needs us behind the wheel in order to drive somewhere.
I know, it’s only a permit; there are still five months of semi-dependency. But still….
Our youngest is now our tallest. Seems only yesterday that he was the smallest. And wasn’t it only a last week that he would fall asleep in the high chair while still chewing food?
Today he’s a strapping young man with four inches on his dad, excelling in soccer, in school, and most importantly, in life. Tomorrow I suppose he’ll follow his siblings to a southern California university.
And we’ll be alone. Our nest will be empty. Although we imagine it someday multiplied with new sons, daughters and grandchildren, this chapter is winding down. The book of our lives is likely past its midpoint.
As our children have grown up and out, the joys and sorrows of parenting have grown deeper and richer. The stakes are higher: the pain of a failed test in grade school can’t compare with that of a failed marriage. But the rewards are greater too: there’s nothing like watching your adult children make great life choices while beginning to make their own mark in the world.
Considering how deeply attached I am to my children, I can’t understand why people act as if God is an absent landowner, or a mean uncle, or even a benign grandfather. We’re his children, aren't we? We're his creation, his joy, his delight (Psalm 149:4)
He feels the depths of our pain, and shares the heights of our joy. As I would give my life for my children, so He would (and did) give his life for us.
When we call to him, he comes running. When we run from him, he comes calling.
Even when I don’t understand him, I can’t help but trust him. Even when he makes me angry (and he does!), I can't turn my back on him.
Anyway, I'm feeling both proud and old this evening. It's hard to believe that my children are mostly grown. I'm wistful thinking of those days when all three of them spent every night under our roof. When they came to visit recently, there was something deeply satisfying about spending the morning together just as we did for so many years. (No wonder God is homesick for us to be with him.)
But they don't need me as much as they once did, and that's a little hard. Whereas we once were the youngest parents among our daughter's friends, we are now the oldest parents of our youngest's friends.
This evening my daughter called from California. She coordinated a program to provide free dental care for 500 children in forty-three of the offices owned by her company. It’s an adult-size challenge with all the commensurate headaches and responsibilities.
Under her leadership the program has more than doubled in size in the past year. I couldn’t be more proud of her.
Tomorrow’s the big day. She will drive hundreds of miles on LA freeways visiting dentist offices, encouraging workers, doing interviews, and documenting this important community and company event.
The thought of her driving alone in LA still gives me shudders. Didn’t she just get her permit yesterday? I remember it clear as a bell. “Daddy,” she said as she sank in the driver’s seat, “Which one of these two pedals makes the car go?”