Today is the day that we give thanks. Really what we do is eat too much and watch football and hang with family that we may or may not be really close with. But a little part of us also gives thanks.
Thankfulness is a pretty natural space for me these days. I have a life that I've worked hard for, but i've also been given gifts that I could never earn. My wife is one of the most phenomenal people I know. The perfect compliment to me in nearly every way. She loves and supports me and calls me higher as a husband, father and man. I have three healthy, beautiful, intelligent sons. I have a home and food and a job that I love. Gratitude is easy for me. Still, as I sat in the middle of a bunch of family today, watching you boys run around w/ your cousins Aubrey, Lila and Ellery, I felt on edge and lonely. Afton spent time connecting w/ Aunt Amber and Uncle Pat and Papa talked too. My brother and mom and grandma are in Tulsa together, my sister and her family are together too. I really miss my dad. It seems like 3 years out and I'm still grieving and more in the past week than in most of the previous year.
My family is interesting. All of us kids, we've led very different paths. We're very different people. And we've walked our paths on our own. Amber has always been close w/ my mom's mom and was pretty much raised by her in many ways. She works so hard to keep it together, but it's so hard for her to let people in. Miah was left to fend for himself and is still growing up, even at 29. He's struggled w/ shame and guilt that have led him to drugs to avoid the pain. I've had to figure out a great many things for myself, having to trust in the Lord most of the way. He's been super faithful to me and given me surrogates
So for about the past six months, i've been meaning to write to you. I've wanted to tell you how much you mean to me. I've wanted to tell you how grateful that I am for you. I guess today is as good a day as any. For the last 4 years, you have poured into me so much more than you know. You have been the mother and friend that I desperately needed. Even though she's still alive, my own mom just doesn't have the capacity to care for me in the ways I need. Wether you know it or not, I truly believe that the Lord smushed our lives together. There've been so many times that I doubted myself, doubted my gifts, doubted my career choice. So many times that I wanted to quit. Every time we talked, i left lifted. Our conversations at TBH and the Gypsy were the lifeboat that carried me through some unbelievably difficult times. You know me and my heart and you affirm me so well. You love my family and my kids just because. You're an incredibly skilled clinician of course, but what I learned the most was how much people need to be seen. You of all the people in the world know me best, second only to my wife, because you know, marriage. You saw things in me that i couldn't see yet. Calo is so absolutely the spot for me. I wouldn't have made it here without you. For the rest of my life, when I look back and think of the people who walked with me along my path, I will treasure our time together. Rebecca, I am so so grateful for you. I just wanted you to know. Love you.
-Josh
Monday, December 5, 2016
Grandfathered
So yesterday I got a text from a friend saying that a man named Merland Severson was celebrating probably his last birthday and his family was asking for letters and encouragements to read to him. This is what I sent to him.
Dear Merland-
In 2010, the Lord brought my wife Afton and I to Believers Church in Tulsa. I came to work as the Jr. High Pastor, and I came as an orphan. My parents were both still alive but I was an orphan no less. An orphan in my heart, very capable, but desperately seeking to find a home and someone to care for me. Believers Church represented that home for me, where I learned to settle into the Father's arms. You were part of that homecoming.
You see, I never really knew either of my grandfathers. My mom's dad died of cancer before I was born, and my dad's dad had a stroke when I was about 10. I remember him, but not well. This was a wound for me for a long time, especially as I grew into manhood and started a family. There was no patriarch in my family. My own father was frail and afflicted by depression and so I was thrust into that position. The strongest man in my family, but weakened by uncertainty. So I sought the Lord and threw my weakness at his feet. I decided to trust him, to depend on him, to need him for my strength. My wife gave birth to my first two sons, and I was so scared to try to raise them. I thought, how can I bring these babies into manhood when I still on that journey myself. Somewhere in that journey, I met you.
My ancestors migrated from Sweden, so I was I think naturally drawn to your Scandinavian stature. I'm a big guy myself, so I don't often feel hugged, but man, I enjoy a hug from you. Probably every time I saw you on a Sunday, we would find ourselves in a hearty embrace and you would say "Oh bless you, bless you, bless you".Your joy and presence bring me joy. I remember sitting in church one morning in some kind of crisis, wondering if I could manage to serve the Lord for the rest of my days, and lamenting that I had no idea what that really looked like. Tim played the song "I Need Thee Every Hour". Behind me I heard this booming voice, which was so sincere and honest and humble, crying out to the Lord. I looked back and saw you with your massive strong hands lifted to the Lord and tears in your eyes. I thought to myself "surely this man has lived so much life has got a great many things figured out and yet there was no pride in your voice". I felt the Lord telling me "this is what it looks like to serve Me all of your days" and I wept. You didn't know it, but your obedience and humility filled a hole in my heart that day.
Another great time was when you and Ann invited me to your house in Tulsa and we just sat and talked for a bit. You told me stories of working with Leonard Ravenhill and you prayed for me. I wanted to have that space of stories and prayer with my own grandfathers and even with my own father, but never did. You were the Lord's surrogate for me and brought me great joy.
My most precious memory though is when you honored me in standing with my family as we dedicated by oldest two boys to the Lord. Bear was 4 and Boss was less than a year old, and we finally got around to doing it. You were about to leave Tulsa, and my own father had passed away the previous year. I felt more fatherless than ever. I don't really remember what was said, but I remember your hand on my head. I felt in that moment as you prayed a blessing over my sons and over me something like when Jacob must have spoken blessing over Joseph's sons Ephraim and Manasseh. It was a moment so full of the Lord's presence that I just cried and cried. I felt like you passed something to me. I felt like the Lord was again reminding me of His faithfulness that Mark 10:29-30 describes. I knew that God will forever meet my needs as I lay them at His feet. I haven't seen you since that day, but if I could, I would wrap you up in a hearty hug and tell you how much I appreciate you.
So I will end with this and I hope you get to hear it:
Merland Severson, I bless you in the name of the Lord. I bless your years of faithfulness to the Lord and your humble obedience. As your heart turns toward your eternal home, I can hear the Spirit whispering the words that you will no doubt hear booming from the Father someday soon. "Well done! Well done good and faithful servant. You have run your race well and finished strong". May your family be filled with peace and may they carry the legacy and the mantle that you have borne so well for so long. I will miss you dear friend, but I know that we will see each other again and find ourselves in yet another hearty Scandinavian embrace. Please know, that each time I think of you, I am reminded of the Lord's goodness and faithfulness. If that's not a hell of a way to be remembered, I don't know what is. I love you.
Josh
Dear Merland-
In 2010, the Lord brought my wife Afton and I to Believers Church in Tulsa. I came to work as the Jr. High Pastor, and I came as an orphan. My parents were both still alive but I was an orphan no less. An orphan in my heart, very capable, but desperately seeking to find a home and someone to care for me. Believers Church represented that home for me, where I learned to settle into the Father's arms. You were part of that homecoming.
You see, I never really knew either of my grandfathers. My mom's dad died of cancer before I was born, and my dad's dad had a stroke when I was about 10. I remember him, but not well. This was a wound for me for a long time, especially as I grew into manhood and started a family. There was no patriarch in my family. My own father was frail and afflicted by depression and so I was thrust into that position. The strongest man in my family, but weakened by uncertainty. So I sought the Lord and threw my weakness at his feet. I decided to trust him, to depend on him, to need him for my strength. My wife gave birth to my first two sons, and I was so scared to try to raise them. I thought, how can I bring these babies into manhood when I still on that journey myself. Somewhere in that journey, I met you.
My ancestors migrated from Sweden, so I was I think naturally drawn to your Scandinavian stature. I'm a big guy myself, so I don't often feel hugged, but man, I enjoy a hug from you. Probably every time I saw you on a Sunday, we would find ourselves in a hearty embrace and you would say "Oh bless you, bless you, bless you".Your joy and presence bring me joy. I remember sitting in church one morning in some kind of crisis, wondering if I could manage to serve the Lord for the rest of my days, and lamenting that I had no idea what that really looked like. Tim played the song "I Need Thee Every Hour". Behind me I heard this booming voice, which was so sincere and honest and humble, crying out to the Lord. I looked back and saw you with your massive strong hands lifted to the Lord and tears in your eyes. I thought to myself "surely this man has lived so much life has got a great many things figured out and yet there was no pride in your voice". I felt the Lord telling me "this is what it looks like to serve Me all of your days" and I wept. You didn't know it, but your obedience and humility filled a hole in my heart that day.
Another great time was when you and Ann invited me to your house in Tulsa and we just sat and talked for a bit. You told me stories of working with Leonard Ravenhill and you prayed for me. I wanted to have that space of stories and prayer with my own grandfathers and even with my own father, but never did. You were the Lord's surrogate for me and brought me great joy.
My most precious memory though is when you honored me in standing with my family as we dedicated by oldest two boys to the Lord. Bear was 4 and Boss was less than a year old, and we finally got around to doing it. You were about to leave Tulsa, and my own father had passed away the previous year. I felt more fatherless than ever. I don't really remember what was said, but I remember your hand on my head. I felt in that moment as you prayed a blessing over my sons and over me something like when Jacob must have spoken blessing over Joseph's sons Ephraim and Manasseh. It was a moment so full of the Lord's presence that I just cried and cried. I felt like you passed something to me. I felt like the Lord was again reminding me of His faithfulness that Mark 10:29-30 describes. I knew that God will forever meet my needs as I lay them at His feet. I haven't seen you since that day, but if I could, I would wrap you up in a hearty hug and tell you how much I appreciate you.
So I will end with this and I hope you get to hear it:
Merland Severson, I bless you in the name of the Lord. I bless your years of faithfulness to the Lord and your humble obedience. As your heart turns toward your eternal home, I can hear the Spirit whispering the words that you will no doubt hear booming from the Father someday soon. "Well done! Well done good and faithful servant. You have run your race well and finished strong". May your family be filled with peace and may they carry the legacy and the mantle that you have borne so well for so long. I will miss you dear friend, but I know that we will see each other again and find ourselves in yet another hearty Scandinavian embrace. Please know, that each time I think of you, I am reminded of the Lord's goodness and faithfulness. If that's not a hell of a way to be remembered, I don't know what is. I love you.
Josh
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
The Lake
My Sons-
Well, a tremendous amount of life has happened since I last wrote to you. It's 2 days before Thanksgiving 2016. I'm sitting in my office at Calo in Lake Ozark, MO where I've worked for the past 6 months. Three years ago, I sat in a Career Counseling class and wrote down my dream job. I wrote about working in a beautiful setting doing residential treatment w/ a team that I could collaborate w/. I wrote about doing work w/ families. I wrote about having some pressure but not too much and doing long term, intensive work, not just the typical hour per week sort. 2.5 years ago, I found out about Calo after a colleague had interviewed here. I applied and was offered the job but turned it down because it wasn't enough money we thought. The dream was still there though. I left excited about the future as I drove back to Tulsa w/ almost 3 year old Bear and 1 month old Boss in the back. I went back to Tulsa w/ a knowing that I had to leave my job at Believers Church and focus on being home and being a husband and dad as much as possible. 8 months after that, Calo called me and offered me the job again, but then pulled the offer because I wasn't licensed yet. Another log on the fire, keeping the dream burning in my heart. The week after I received my official license to counsel professionally, I reached out to Calo. As I write this, I'm sitting in that dream.
Bear, this morning I dropped you off at Dogwood Elementary. We walked through the lunchroom so you could grab some cereal for breakfast. As you do most every morning, you grabbed the 1% milk, a spork and the cereal of the day. Apple Jacks today. But as you do every morning, you skipped the graham crackers and the fruit and grabbed the juice cup. You're reading better than anyone in your grade. You're super social. Today we had to wait for your amiga Alejandra so you could walk together. All sorts of kids call you by name when we walk in every morning. Earlier this year, you got an award and a medal from your teacher for being Proactive and doing what you know is right. You're so driven and your success is truly your own. You follow the rules and expectations like a roadmap to the Promised Land. You're teacher told us a few weeks ago that she thinks that you're "exceptional" and will be recommending you for the gifted program at the end of the year. I'm most proud of you when you are flexible though, because I know that it's hard to deviate from the plan in your head. You're A LOT like your mom in that way. We play Uno in the evenings after your brothers are in bed, and you're still sleeping in our bed. I love it when you snuggle your whole body into the curve of my back. I don't like it when you sprawl out and hog the covers. You're super sweet w/ Boone and sometimes struggle to include Boss. You and Boss are very different people. I pray that you grow to appreciate those differences and develop a deep and lasting friendship. If that's not the case on down the road when you read this, then get over yourself and make it happen.
Boss, you bring me such great joy. 2 1/2 year old Boss is like a force of nature. Watching you is like watching a grizzly in the wild fishing for salmon. You are wild and untamed and pure of heart. You talk so much more now than you did before we had your adenoids removed and tubes put in your ears. No ear infections anymore either. You sleep like a machine, 12 hours straight, every night. No muss, no fuss as long as you have your "binket". You still have a scar on your right cheek from Rocket the boxer pup who found a new home a few days after you got that scar. It was equal parts him biting you and you constantly picking him up by the face/leg/ear. Maybe one day we'll have a dog. You love to do "the hotdog dance" from Mickey Mouse Ahouse". You consistently ask for "sobydink" and "wogurt". I most love when I walk in the door from work and am greeted w/ a running, screaming "DADDY" and huge hug. I don't like the only 5 second window between when your mom cleans up toys and you get them out again. You love doing whatever Bear is doing, much to his annoyance and you're super sweet w/ Boone. I'm so excited to see what kind of boy-teen-man you become.
Boone Ransom, aka Boone the Spoon. Man, what a joy you are. You just turned 1 last month and your first few steps last week. You might be the most efficient baby communicator of the three. We never have a problem knowing what you want/need. It may also just be that your mom and I have really honed our parenting skills over the past 5 years. Sorry Bear, we probably made the most mistakes w/ you. Boone, you're always good for a smile, and you're the kind of cute that knows that you're cute, which is trouble. You crawl around the house w/ a spoon in your hand 75% of the time and you loooooove the boobie. Our special time together is when you let me feed you half of my oatmeal and yogurt in the mornings. I also really enjoy the look of panic in your eyes when I start walking towards your room w/ you at bedtime, because you definitely don't want or need to go to bed, even though you fall asleep within 30 seconds. I'm really excited to get to know you more and more and watch as you discover this wonderful world.
Your mom likes it here I think. She definitely misses the friends that she made in Tulsa and the church that we went to. But I feel so strongly that we made the right choice. So much of life in Tulsa revolves around doing. People find so much worth in what activity their kids do, what school they go to. It's just a lot of pressure. In Tulsa, I couldn't leave the house without running into someone I knew, but everyone was always so busy and spread out that you never could really do life together. Our hope in moving to the Lake is that we can slow down and enjoy each other. That I can do work that I love, that you can play in the yard and have adventures in the woods. That mom and I can have space to paint the canvas of your childhood with quality time and adventure. That you could have a life outside of tv and video games and sports and all the things that people try to fill themselves up with to try to feel full. I hope that we can connect w/ nature in a way that leads us closer to the Lord. I hope that we can kayak and hunt and fish and golf and do whatever we want but in a way that gives us life.
We bought a huge house with 3.5 acres so that you three can have room to grow into the mighty men you've been created to be. We hope that it is big enough. We hope that we are strong and patient and wise enough. I hope that I get to be here long enough. It's just a week and 3 years ago that my dad died at the age of 64. I cry almost every time I think about getting that old, because I want to be for you guys what my dad couldn't be for me. That's why I'm writing these things to you. I want you to have a glimpse of my headspace at this point. It will be 30 years before you can maybe understand, and I've realized that time is just one more thing that I can't control, so I write while I can.
I love you boys with my whole heart.
Dad
Well, a tremendous amount of life has happened since I last wrote to you. It's 2 days before Thanksgiving 2016. I'm sitting in my office at Calo in Lake Ozark, MO where I've worked for the past 6 months. Three years ago, I sat in a Career Counseling class and wrote down my dream job. I wrote about working in a beautiful setting doing residential treatment w/ a team that I could collaborate w/. I wrote about doing work w/ families. I wrote about having some pressure but not too much and doing long term, intensive work, not just the typical hour per week sort. 2.5 years ago, I found out about Calo after a colleague had interviewed here. I applied and was offered the job but turned it down because it wasn't enough money we thought. The dream was still there though. I left excited about the future as I drove back to Tulsa w/ almost 3 year old Bear and 1 month old Boss in the back. I went back to Tulsa w/ a knowing that I had to leave my job at Believers Church and focus on being home and being a husband and dad as much as possible. 8 months after that, Calo called me and offered me the job again, but then pulled the offer because I wasn't licensed yet. Another log on the fire, keeping the dream burning in my heart. The week after I received my official license to counsel professionally, I reached out to Calo. As I write this, I'm sitting in that dream.
Bear, this morning I dropped you off at Dogwood Elementary. We walked through the lunchroom so you could grab some cereal for breakfast. As you do most every morning, you grabbed the 1% milk, a spork and the cereal of the day. Apple Jacks today. But as you do every morning, you skipped the graham crackers and the fruit and grabbed the juice cup. You're reading better than anyone in your grade. You're super social. Today we had to wait for your amiga Alejandra so you could walk together. All sorts of kids call you by name when we walk in every morning. Earlier this year, you got an award and a medal from your teacher for being Proactive and doing what you know is right. You're so driven and your success is truly your own. You follow the rules and expectations like a roadmap to the Promised Land. You're teacher told us a few weeks ago that she thinks that you're "exceptional" and will be recommending you for the gifted program at the end of the year. I'm most proud of you when you are flexible though, because I know that it's hard to deviate from the plan in your head. You're A LOT like your mom in that way. We play Uno in the evenings after your brothers are in bed, and you're still sleeping in our bed. I love it when you snuggle your whole body into the curve of my back. I don't like it when you sprawl out and hog the covers. You're super sweet w/ Boone and sometimes struggle to include Boss. You and Boss are very different people. I pray that you grow to appreciate those differences and develop a deep and lasting friendship. If that's not the case on down the road when you read this, then get over yourself and make it happen.
Boss, you bring me such great joy. 2 1/2 year old Boss is like a force of nature. Watching you is like watching a grizzly in the wild fishing for salmon. You are wild and untamed and pure of heart. You talk so much more now than you did before we had your adenoids removed and tubes put in your ears. No ear infections anymore either. You sleep like a machine, 12 hours straight, every night. No muss, no fuss as long as you have your "binket". You still have a scar on your right cheek from Rocket the boxer pup who found a new home a few days after you got that scar. It was equal parts him biting you and you constantly picking him up by the face/leg/ear. Maybe one day we'll have a dog. You love to do "the hotdog dance" from Mickey Mouse Ahouse". You consistently ask for "sobydink" and "wogurt". I most love when I walk in the door from work and am greeted w/ a running, screaming "DADDY" and huge hug. I don't like the only 5 second window between when your mom cleans up toys and you get them out again. You love doing whatever Bear is doing, much to his annoyance and you're super sweet w/ Boone. I'm so excited to see what kind of boy-teen-man you become.
Boone Ransom, aka Boone the Spoon. Man, what a joy you are. You just turned 1 last month and your first few steps last week. You might be the most efficient baby communicator of the three. We never have a problem knowing what you want/need. It may also just be that your mom and I have really honed our parenting skills over the past 5 years. Sorry Bear, we probably made the most mistakes w/ you. Boone, you're always good for a smile, and you're the kind of cute that knows that you're cute, which is trouble. You crawl around the house w/ a spoon in your hand 75% of the time and you loooooove the boobie. Our special time together is when you let me feed you half of my oatmeal and yogurt in the mornings. I also really enjoy the look of panic in your eyes when I start walking towards your room w/ you at bedtime, because you definitely don't want or need to go to bed, even though you fall asleep within 30 seconds. I'm really excited to get to know you more and more and watch as you discover this wonderful world.
Your mom likes it here I think. She definitely misses the friends that she made in Tulsa and the church that we went to. But I feel so strongly that we made the right choice. So much of life in Tulsa revolves around doing. People find so much worth in what activity their kids do, what school they go to. It's just a lot of pressure. In Tulsa, I couldn't leave the house without running into someone I knew, but everyone was always so busy and spread out that you never could really do life together. Our hope in moving to the Lake is that we can slow down and enjoy each other. That I can do work that I love, that you can play in the yard and have adventures in the woods. That mom and I can have space to paint the canvas of your childhood with quality time and adventure. That you could have a life outside of tv and video games and sports and all the things that people try to fill themselves up with to try to feel full. I hope that we can connect w/ nature in a way that leads us closer to the Lord. I hope that we can kayak and hunt and fish and golf and do whatever we want but in a way that gives us life.
We bought a huge house with 3.5 acres so that you three can have room to grow into the mighty men you've been created to be. We hope that it is big enough. We hope that we are strong and patient and wise enough. I hope that I get to be here long enough. It's just a week and 3 years ago that my dad died at the age of 64. I cry almost every time I think about getting that old, because I want to be for you guys what my dad couldn't be for me. That's why I'm writing these things to you. I want you to have a glimpse of my headspace at this point. It will be 30 years before you can maybe understand, and I've realized that time is just one more thing that I can't control, so I write while I can.
I love you boys with my whole heart.
Dad
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
My Sons
My sons-
For the rest of my days, this is how I will call to you, my children. Three boys, three strong men. Men of courage, compassion and wisdom. Men who stand and fight for truth and justice, who love with their whole hearts and who fear God.
A friend of ours came up to your mom the other day and told her that she believed that God was giving us three sons because the world is in desperate need of godly men. This could not be more true. Every day, I work with the broken, the hurting, the hopeless. But none of us is born this way. We are born with endless potential. They say that ignorance is bliss, that it is better to not know what you don't know. The more you live life, the more you will know pain and suffering, because that is the truth of life. Life is tragically beautiful. We experience joy and sadness both. This will always be the case.
I was mowing the yard today and I happened to glimpse the neighbor a few houses down doing the same. I thought, how silly we must look, walking in a line, pushing this machine that cuts the grass that begins to grow back the second it is cut, then turning and walking another line. How silly to manicure and tame that which cannot be tamed. Continuously working to control that which will always seek to be wild. Then I thought, well isn't this what we do with cutting our hair and eating and sleeping? Isn't everything in our lives an exercise in futility, like hamsters on a wheel, or soccer moms on a treadmill? Isn't everything we do just an attempt to make ourselves more appealing to each other so that we don't have to be alone? We strive and scrape and claw to be enough, to be ok. This is an eternal hole, one that only Jesus can fill. Mental health and spirituality are my fields of work. Both are about seeking to find rest. I'm here to tell you boys. Jesus is our only rest. That's it.
I love you boys.
Dad
For the rest of my days, this is how I will call to you, my children. Three boys, three strong men. Men of courage, compassion and wisdom. Men who stand and fight for truth and justice, who love with their whole hearts and who fear God.
A friend of ours came up to your mom the other day and told her that she believed that God was giving us three sons because the world is in desperate need of godly men. This could not be more true. Every day, I work with the broken, the hurting, the hopeless. But none of us is born this way. We are born with endless potential. They say that ignorance is bliss, that it is better to not know what you don't know. The more you live life, the more you will know pain and suffering, because that is the truth of life. Life is tragically beautiful. We experience joy and sadness both. This will always be the case.
I was mowing the yard today and I happened to glimpse the neighbor a few houses down doing the same. I thought, how silly we must look, walking in a line, pushing this machine that cuts the grass that begins to grow back the second it is cut, then turning and walking another line. How silly to manicure and tame that which cannot be tamed. Continuously working to control that which will always seek to be wild. Then I thought, well isn't this what we do with cutting our hair and eating and sleeping? Isn't everything in our lives an exercise in futility, like hamsters on a wheel, or soccer moms on a treadmill? Isn't everything we do just an attempt to make ourselves more appealing to each other so that we don't have to be alone? We strive and scrape and claw to be enough, to be ok. This is an eternal hole, one that only Jesus can fill. Mental health and spirituality are my fields of work. Both are about seeking to find rest. I'm here to tell you boys. Jesus is our only rest. That's it.
I love you boys.
Dad
Monday, January 19, 2015
MLK
Hey boys-
It's January 19, 2015. Well this weekend was interesting. I picked up a stomach virus from a client and woke up three or four times Friday night just in a pretty bad spot, lots of vomiting, runs and such. I think I actually busted a blood vessel from puking so hard. Saturday, I was pretty much in a zombie state, and by Sunday, felt better but with some residual effects. Sunday night was when Bear got sick, waking up in the middle of the night vomiting all over everything. Apparently when you're 3 1/2, that stuff sneaks up on you. It was a long night during which your mom demonstrated her superior ninja mommy skills, remaining calm and collected while Bear was puking in one toilet, I was fixed on another and Boss was laying in the crib crying from being woken up.
Luckily, Monday was a day of rest. Though for some I don't think it was so restful. We just laid around the house watching TV and movies and trying to corral Bear's periodic yaking with a red rubbermaid bowl. About 4 p.m. Bear was quite expectedly passed out on the couch. We took you to bed, and maybe an hour later, you were having a night terror, which is way more common than I would like. Eventually, Bear and I ended up on the back porch sitting on the swing that hung at my childhood home. The swing I painted with my mom, the swing I held girls' hands on, the swing that was once fixed in mid air during a crazy violent wind storm. The same swing where I would take you when you were an infant and couldn't sleep. It was a half breath ago, but now you're legs hung down next to mine, your head no longer on my chest, but on my shoulder. I was struck by several thoughts. The ache of fatherhood being filled by that simple moment. The pace of time. The oncoming beautiful storm that will be your life. The bullshit injustice that a baby can't have peaceful sleep when there is plenty of nightmare to go around in the daytime. (It was in this moment that I had a breath to reflect and was inspired to write to you today)
Particularly on this day, a day of honor for a man with the courage to stand up against injustice. Its interesting to live 50 years removed from the Civil Rights movement of the 1960's and yet it feels like race issues and social inequality are so prevalent in media and in conversation, or so absent in conversation. Black men are so often in the news lately for being mistreated or killed by police officers, it seems like nothing has changed from then. I hope so deeply that you'll read this in 20 years and being astounded that these were the battles being waged in our world. But I also know that on this earth, until the Kingdom breaks forth, there will always be injustice, always pain, always evil and death seeking to blot out the joy and good and pure and life from this world. My prayer for you is that the scales of your hearts and souls will tilt heavy towards life. That, in the summarized words of Mr. Rogers (at least according to Google), that you would have eyes that find the good, that find the hope, that see the helpers and not the hurters. It can often feel pointless to stand up against the ever coming flood of darkness in this world, but when we stand rooted in the love of Christ, and we do all we can to stand, and then continue to stand firm, we remind the world to hope for more than just impending despair, we help keep the vigil during the dark night until the Redeemer comes. A lot of times doing community mental health work, it feels like society is set up so that some will always win and some will always lose. It's the daily story of the boy and the beach and the starfish. Sometimes we can barely make a difference, but a difference made cannot be unmade. My belief is that you have both been created to make a difference, and though at this point it seems that you're only purpose is to make me far too comfortable with bodily fluids and far more patient than I ever believed possible, I know that you're lives will count for something. The measure of that something depends on the eternal perspective and will of the Father, and also upon your willingness to submit to that something. Be diligent my sons, to carry the gifts and burdens that you have been given and carry them will all the courage and strength and patience that you can muster. You are my boys, but you are also the sons of God, if you are led by the Spirit (Romans 8:14-15) which you are wether you know it or not.
I love you with my whole heart and I cried at least 3 times writing this one.
Daddy
P.S. This was written while listening to an album called Loma Vista by Family of the Year, the two best tracks I think are Hero and Find it
It's January 19, 2015. Well this weekend was interesting. I picked up a stomach virus from a client and woke up three or four times Friday night just in a pretty bad spot, lots of vomiting, runs and such. I think I actually busted a blood vessel from puking so hard. Saturday, I was pretty much in a zombie state, and by Sunday, felt better but with some residual effects. Sunday night was when Bear got sick, waking up in the middle of the night vomiting all over everything. Apparently when you're 3 1/2, that stuff sneaks up on you. It was a long night during which your mom demonstrated her superior ninja mommy skills, remaining calm and collected while Bear was puking in one toilet, I was fixed on another and Boss was laying in the crib crying from being woken up.
Luckily, Monday was a day of rest. Though for some I don't think it was so restful. We just laid around the house watching TV and movies and trying to corral Bear's periodic yaking with a red rubbermaid bowl. About 4 p.m. Bear was quite expectedly passed out on the couch. We took you to bed, and maybe an hour later, you were having a night terror, which is way more common than I would like. Eventually, Bear and I ended up on the back porch sitting on the swing that hung at my childhood home. The swing I painted with my mom, the swing I held girls' hands on, the swing that was once fixed in mid air during a crazy violent wind storm. The same swing where I would take you when you were an infant and couldn't sleep. It was a half breath ago, but now you're legs hung down next to mine, your head no longer on my chest, but on my shoulder. I was struck by several thoughts. The ache of fatherhood being filled by that simple moment. The pace of time. The oncoming beautiful storm that will be your life. The bullshit injustice that a baby can't have peaceful sleep when there is plenty of nightmare to go around in the daytime. (It was in this moment that I had a breath to reflect and was inspired to write to you today)
Particularly on this day, a day of honor for a man with the courage to stand up against injustice. Its interesting to live 50 years removed from the Civil Rights movement of the 1960's and yet it feels like race issues and social inequality are so prevalent in media and in conversation, or so absent in conversation. Black men are so often in the news lately for being mistreated or killed by police officers, it seems like nothing has changed from then. I hope so deeply that you'll read this in 20 years and being astounded that these were the battles being waged in our world. But I also know that on this earth, until the Kingdom breaks forth, there will always be injustice, always pain, always evil and death seeking to blot out the joy and good and pure and life from this world. My prayer for you is that the scales of your hearts and souls will tilt heavy towards life. That, in the summarized words of Mr. Rogers (at least according to Google), that you would have eyes that find the good, that find the hope, that see the helpers and not the hurters. It can often feel pointless to stand up against the ever coming flood of darkness in this world, but when we stand rooted in the love of Christ, and we do all we can to stand, and then continue to stand firm, we remind the world to hope for more than just impending despair, we help keep the vigil during the dark night until the Redeemer comes. A lot of times doing community mental health work, it feels like society is set up so that some will always win and some will always lose. It's the daily story of the boy and the beach and the starfish. Sometimes we can barely make a difference, but a difference made cannot be unmade. My belief is that you have both been created to make a difference, and though at this point it seems that you're only purpose is to make me far too comfortable with bodily fluids and far more patient than I ever believed possible, I know that you're lives will count for something. The measure of that something depends on the eternal perspective and will of the Father, and also upon your willingness to submit to that something. Be diligent my sons, to carry the gifts and burdens that you have been given and carry them will all the courage and strength and patience that you can muster. You are my boys, but you are also the sons of God, if you are led by the Spirit (Romans 8:14-15) which you are wether you know it or not.
I love you with my whole heart and I cried at least 3 times writing this one.
Daddy
P.S. This was written while listening to an album called Loma Vista by Family of the Year, the two best tracks I think are Hero and Find it
Thursday, January 1, 2015
2014
They say that the New Year is a time to start over. A natural transition point that supports new life, new goals, a setting aside of the past. Really its just Thursday. One day off before working again tomorrow. And though I'm trying to let go of my some of my over sentimentality and excessive expectation these days. I do think its a good time to write and reflect some. 2014 was a tough one in a lot of ways. It was my first full year without my dad. I missed him a lot on certain days, and in unexpected ways. I lamented his loss while watching sports, pretty much any time I had to deal with my mom, and on moments where I wanted reassurance that things would turn out ok or when I wanted to celebrate some victory. I transitioned out of vocational ministry and along with that lost a chunk of community and prayer space and just a general time to reflect during the week. Working full time as a counselor has proven to be tough, just in terms of having the capacity to sit with people in their stuff and then come home and engage with family. It's also been tough learning to really really seriously trust God with finances and believing that he has my back, never leaving or forsaking me. I've had to learn to remove the burden of others' happiness from my shoulders, especially your mom's happiness, and just do the best that I can with what I've got. I went through several mini seasons of anxiety and depression this year, and had to rediscover my place in the world in some ways (still sorting through that one). I had to choose less in order to gain more, to choose simple to gain time with who matters. I had to let go of several clients that I cared deeply about, for a variety of stupid reasons. I had to take on an let go of the patriarch role in my family. I had to learn how to navigate fathering two very different boys. There was a moment where your mom and I had a fight, because she felt like I just didn't care about her or what she needed in the months before Boss was born. And to be brutally honest, I didn't. It's hard to muster compassion and consideration for others when all you really want is to crawl into a hole. After that conversation, I felt something lift. I was finally able to say out loud what I had been carrying. And I felt lighter. I shared my story of grief at a Holy Saturday service, I took some time to go out into the woods, hunting and backpacking, finding stillness and exhaustion.
Haley became a lifelong member of our family this year, she was just around at pretty much everything: in the delivery room with Boss, bringing Chipotle and snacks in the hospital room, at every holiday, and randomly at lunch in the middle of the week because she had no money. She broke my heart and tested my grace, but also continues to win me over with her insight and vulnerability. She and I are linked by our mutual loss, journeying into truer versions of ourselves each day. We went to Colorado in August, to get away after resigning from the church, and it continues to be a place of rest and peace for me. I went turkey hunting for the first time and fell in love with the stillness and anticipation. I acknowledged the true pain and joy of life and death on Christmas Day, visiting a ct and my mother, then coming home to soak up the goodness of a 3 year old opening gifts and sharing with others. I went and sat with my dad in a cemetery outside a dying town, with his best friend who he hid from out of shame, and of course, Bear peed on the side of a gas station. I found new focus for my career, and was given vision for the future in a way that both stirs anticipation and forces me to wait and trust on God rather than chase the "great white buffalo". I let my health diminish as I tried to cope with SO MUCH transition. I struggled to find discipline in little things like eating and sleeping, and exercise. I found freedom in allowing Afton to be responsible for her own happiness. I feel like I've been pruned a lot this year. Sitting here, I've realized how much I've neglected the Word, and prayer. I've neglected finding quiet space to spend with the Father. I bet this year would've been easier had I been quicker to draw near, but I also know that hard times test your devotion and faith, and cool the fires of devotion and discipline. That doesn't mean that love is dead, just that it has to wriggle its way free from the shit pile of circumstances to breath freely again.
The greatest part of 2014 was meeting and knowing you Boss. You are such a gift. You are simple, and strong. You sleep something like 14 hours a day, cry when you're hungry and fuss when you're tired. You love to laugh, and also intimidate grownups with your steely stare. I love walking into the room and watching you get excited to see me, and I hate leaving a room and hearing you cry because I didn't pick you up. I'm so anticipating watching you crawl and walk, and begin to talk this year; to begin to know you as a person and begin to discover the unique man that God crafted you to be. I am so convinced of God's purpose on your life. There is none like you in all the world, though you are like me in so many ways.
Bear, you have so capture my heart this year. You finally decided to start using the toilet full time, which is a big blessing. It provoked a bit of anxiety for me, waiting and giving you the space to do things in your own time. You are so your mother's child, with a plan and a timeline all your own. I was so proud of you the night that I asked if you wanted a pull up on and you said "nope", and that was the last time I ever asked. Anything you set your mind to do, you accomplish. You are strong in heart and will. Watching you as a 3 year old has been one of the great joys of my life. To watch you master the English language and inventing your own words like "lasterday" is so fun. You communicate your thoughts and feelings better than a lot of adults I know and I'm so excited to see you blossom as you begin PreK this Fall. You are a sponge, and you will accomplish mighty things this year. It's an honor to love you and to be loved by you.
For me, this new year brings anticipation. I am getting a sense as I write this that the questions of 2014 will begin to be answered in 2015. I believe that the debts we have will begin to be paid, that the loneliness will give way to robust friendship, that the grief will give way to full joy. Bear will turn 4, Boss 1, Afton 34, and me 32. I will move ever closer to finishing my license, taking my exams and accruing hours. I'll get my health under control, develop discipline in fitness and nutrition. I'm excited to see what God has in store. I'm setting a goal to walk 2 million steps and do 10 thousand pushups. That averages to about 3 miles per day and around 30 pushups per day. Seems like a little thing, but for where I am right now, its a good start. Sometimes all we can do in life is start new, and hope for the best.
I Love you both,
Dad.
Haley became a lifelong member of our family this year, she was just around at pretty much everything: in the delivery room with Boss, bringing Chipotle and snacks in the hospital room, at every holiday, and randomly at lunch in the middle of the week because she had no money. She broke my heart and tested my grace, but also continues to win me over with her insight and vulnerability. She and I are linked by our mutual loss, journeying into truer versions of ourselves each day. We went to Colorado in August, to get away after resigning from the church, and it continues to be a place of rest and peace for me. I went turkey hunting for the first time and fell in love with the stillness and anticipation. I acknowledged the true pain and joy of life and death on Christmas Day, visiting a ct and my mother, then coming home to soak up the goodness of a 3 year old opening gifts and sharing with others. I went and sat with my dad in a cemetery outside a dying town, with his best friend who he hid from out of shame, and of course, Bear peed on the side of a gas station. I found new focus for my career, and was given vision for the future in a way that both stirs anticipation and forces me to wait and trust on God rather than chase the "great white buffalo". I let my health diminish as I tried to cope with SO MUCH transition. I struggled to find discipline in little things like eating and sleeping, and exercise. I found freedom in allowing Afton to be responsible for her own happiness. I feel like I've been pruned a lot this year. Sitting here, I've realized how much I've neglected the Word, and prayer. I've neglected finding quiet space to spend with the Father. I bet this year would've been easier had I been quicker to draw near, but I also know that hard times test your devotion and faith, and cool the fires of devotion and discipline. That doesn't mean that love is dead, just that it has to wriggle its way free from the shit pile of circumstances to breath freely again.
The greatest part of 2014 was meeting and knowing you Boss. You are such a gift. You are simple, and strong. You sleep something like 14 hours a day, cry when you're hungry and fuss when you're tired. You love to laugh, and also intimidate grownups with your steely stare. I love walking into the room and watching you get excited to see me, and I hate leaving a room and hearing you cry because I didn't pick you up. I'm so anticipating watching you crawl and walk, and begin to talk this year; to begin to know you as a person and begin to discover the unique man that God crafted you to be. I am so convinced of God's purpose on your life. There is none like you in all the world, though you are like me in so many ways.
Bear, you have so capture my heart this year. You finally decided to start using the toilet full time, which is a big blessing. It provoked a bit of anxiety for me, waiting and giving you the space to do things in your own time. You are so your mother's child, with a plan and a timeline all your own. I was so proud of you the night that I asked if you wanted a pull up on and you said "nope", and that was the last time I ever asked. Anything you set your mind to do, you accomplish. You are strong in heart and will. Watching you as a 3 year old has been one of the great joys of my life. To watch you master the English language and inventing your own words like "lasterday" is so fun. You communicate your thoughts and feelings better than a lot of adults I know and I'm so excited to see you blossom as you begin PreK this Fall. You are a sponge, and you will accomplish mighty things this year. It's an honor to love you and to be loved by you.
For me, this new year brings anticipation. I am getting a sense as I write this that the questions of 2014 will begin to be answered in 2015. I believe that the debts we have will begin to be paid, that the loneliness will give way to robust friendship, that the grief will give way to full joy. Bear will turn 4, Boss 1, Afton 34, and me 32. I will move ever closer to finishing my license, taking my exams and accruing hours. I'll get my health under control, develop discipline in fitness and nutrition. I'm excited to see what God has in store. I'm setting a goal to walk 2 million steps and do 10 thousand pushups. That averages to about 3 miles per day and around 30 pushups per day. Seems like a little thing, but for where I am right now, its a good start. Sometimes all we can do in life is start new, and hope for the best.
I Love you both,
Dad.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Daddy Tears
Hey there boys!
It's 10p on a Thursday night. Everyone is in bed, Boss in his rock and play, Bear and Momma in my bed as is customary these days. Bear, you really hate being alone. Boss, you don't seem to mind much when it comes to sleeping. I'm sitting at my desk, listening to a band called The Head and the Heart. They're pretty great. It's been about six months since I wrote, and I feel bad about that, because I want this to not always be so dramatic. Some days I just want to say hi. But this year has been tough. A lot of life and work has left me feeling emotionally drained, and sometimes I don't feel like I have the capacity to sit down, and type out something meaningful and inspiring. Sometimes, I just want to numb out. But I realize as I'm writing this that what the people in my life need is not someone who is always strong or always inspiring, not always the best, most polished version of me, but just me. As i lay in bed tonight, I was making fun of your mom and then I realized something tragic. I can't ever remember my dad crying. Like, never. See for the last 10 years or so of my dad's life, I think he was depressed, and severely for the last 3 or 4 years of his life. After he lost the house, his body just sort of shut down and he seemed to age extra fast. My 64 year old dad seemed 100 years old. I asked him once about how he shut down and essentially he told me that he did it to protect everyone from unnecessary anxiety. He was selfless, but foolish and proud too. None can bear the weight of life all alone. We are only as strong as those surrounding and supporting us.
So I'm 31, working as a counselor for a really ridiculously poorly run agency. Money is tight, stress is high, but life is good. Worry has become a regular part of my life, which is a weird experience. I wasn't always so anxious. Maybe its that for the first time, I feel like I have something to lose. I have people counting on my consistency and care to make their lives healthy and stable. I'm a dad, like for real. I'm two people's parent. Most of what I see everyday at work is the effects of fatherlessness. Its ugly, and it breaks my heart. Next Tuesday, Nov 11 will mark one year since the last time I talked to my dad, like really talked to him. It was one of the most important conversations of my life, and it lasted just a minute. Six days before he died, I knelt down next to his lift chair and I told him how proud I was to be his son. I told him that all of the good things in me, I learned from him. I learned strength of character, compassion, humility and hard work. I learned to keep my thoughts to myself and listen to others. I learned how to be funny, and how to not laugh at my own jokes, just incase they bombed. I told him that I knew that he felt like his life was a failure because he worked as a pizza man and because he lost his house, but that a tree is judged by the goodness of its fruit. And that the fruit of his life, his kids, was so good. Now that I think of it, he may have gotten teary that night, but he certainly didn't cry. Luckily for you guys, you're dad is a pretty great crier. I've already cried like 3 different times just writing this. One of the most important things I have learned in my journey into manhood is the importance and power of vulnerability and humility. Hopefully you grow up looking up to your ol dad. Maybe I'll even be your hero for a time. As you enter adolescence, you'll begin to see the wrinkles and cracks of humanity in me. You'll see all of the ways that you don't want to be like me, all of the ways you can improve the quality of the Nordean man. And that's good, you're supposed to do that. That's how we grow. My great hope is that both of my sons will be better men than I, that they will be their own men, but great men. One thing that I ask you to hold onto though, is that tenderness and willingness to cry.
In the world you've been born into, tears are like kryptonite. Some mystical evil that weakens us and saps us of all of our super strength. But tears are the most powerful and natural expression of that great gift that God gave us in emotion. Emotion ill expressed can be reckless and destructive, but knowing what you feel, allowing yourself to feel it and expressing it in the appropriate way is the mark of emotional maturity. All men feel grief and sadness, embarrassment, frustration, hurt and disappointment. Not all men find ways to express it apart from hitting something. I didn't always. There is a filing cabinet at my mom's house all dented to hell from the frustrations and hurts of my high school and college years. But you my sons, you will see me cry. You'll feel the wet warmth of my tears as I hold you in your grief. You'll see me at church as the Lord cracks off the crustiness of my heart. You'll probably be embarrassed, you'll maybe feel I'm weak. But if you could only know the great strength of my tears. They hold all of the love in my heart, all of the hope, all of the joy. They hold every bit of my shame and regret. They hold my weakness, and they make me mighty. Know that you are loved, and that its ok to get red-faced, snotty and just downright indignant if you need to. Let yourself be held up by your friends and family, be present in the pain and let yourself feel, really feel, even when its hard. Because my sons, life has great joy and great sorrow to offer to you, and its all really good and really hard, but its all important. You can't only feel the good all of the time. And you won't always be sad. But know that you are loved by me and by the Almighty Father. We both weep with you in joy and sadness, and let every salty drop remind you that you belong and you'll be ok.
I love you both with all I am,
Dad
PS. Ben Howard has this song called "Oats in the Water" that is so so cool, and I played it several times while writing to you.
It's 10p on a Thursday night. Everyone is in bed, Boss in his rock and play, Bear and Momma in my bed as is customary these days. Bear, you really hate being alone. Boss, you don't seem to mind much when it comes to sleeping. I'm sitting at my desk, listening to a band called The Head and the Heart. They're pretty great. It's been about six months since I wrote, and I feel bad about that, because I want this to not always be so dramatic. Some days I just want to say hi. But this year has been tough. A lot of life and work has left me feeling emotionally drained, and sometimes I don't feel like I have the capacity to sit down, and type out something meaningful and inspiring. Sometimes, I just want to numb out. But I realize as I'm writing this that what the people in my life need is not someone who is always strong or always inspiring, not always the best, most polished version of me, but just me. As i lay in bed tonight, I was making fun of your mom and then I realized something tragic. I can't ever remember my dad crying. Like, never. See for the last 10 years or so of my dad's life, I think he was depressed, and severely for the last 3 or 4 years of his life. After he lost the house, his body just sort of shut down and he seemed to age extra fast. My 64 year old dad seemed 100 years old. I asked him once about how he shut down and essentially he told me that he did it to protect everyone from unnecessary anxiety. He was selfless, but foolish and proud too. None can bear the weight of life all alone. We are only as strong as those surrounding and supporting us.
So I'm 31, working as a counselor for a really ridiculously poorly run agency. Money is tight, stress is high, but life is good. Worry has become a regular part of my life, which is a weird experience. I wasn't always so anxious. Maybe its that for the first time, I feel like I have something to lose. I have people counting on my consistency and care to make their lives healthy and stable. I'm a dad, like for real. I'm two people's parent. Most of what I see everyday at work is the effects of fatherlessness. Its ugly, and it breaks my heart. Next Tuesday, Nov 11 will mark one year since the last time I talked to my dad, like really talked to him. It was one of the most important conversations of my life, and it lasted just a minute. Six days before he died, I knelt down next to his lift chair and I told him how proud I was to be his son. I told him that all of the good things in me, I learned from him. I learned strength of character, compassion, humility and hard work. I learned to keep my thoughts to myself and listen to others. I learned how to be funny, and how to not laugh at my own jokes, just incase they bombed. I told him that I knew that he felt like his life was a failure because he worked as a pizza man and because he lost his house, but that a tree is judged by the goodness of its fruit. And that the fruit of his life, his kids, was so good. Now that I think of it, he may have gotten teary that night, but he certainly didn't cry. Luckily for you guys, you're dad is a pretty great crier. I've already cried like 3 different times just writing this. One of the most important things I have learned in my journey into manhood is the importance and power of vulnerability and humility. Hopefully you grow up looking up to your ol dad. Maybe I'll even be your hero for a time. As you enter adolescence, you'll begin to see the wrinkles and cracks of humanity in me. You'll see all of the ways that you don't want to be like me, all of the ways you can improve the quality of the Nordean man. And that's good, you're supposed to do that. That's how we grow. My great hope is that both of my sons will be better men than I, that they will be their own men, but great men. One thing that I ask you to hold onto though, is that tenderness and willingness to cry.
In the world you've been born into, tears are like kryptonite. Some mystical evil that weakens us and saps us of all of our super strength. But tears are the most powerful and natural expression of that great gift that God gave us in emotion. Emotion ill expressed can be reckless and destructive, but knowing what you feel, allowing yourself to feel it and expressing it in the appropriate way is the mark of emotional maturity. All men feel grief and sadness, embarrassment, frustration, hurt and disappointment. Not all men find ways to express it apart from hitting something. I didn't always. There is a filing cabinet at my mom's house all dented to hell from the frustrations and hurts of my high school and college years. But you my sons, you will see me cry. You'll feel the wet warmth of my tears as I hold you in your grief. You'll see me at church as the Lord cracks off the crustiness of my heart. You'll probably be embarrassed, you'll maybe feel I'm weak. But if you could only know the great strength of my tears. They hold all of the love in my heart, all of the hope, all of the joy. They hold every bit of my shame and regret. They hold my weakness, and they make me mighty. Know that you are loved, and that its ok to get red-faced, snotty and just downright indignant if you need to. Let yourself be held up by your friends and family, be present in the pain and let yourself feel, really feel, even when its hard. Because my sons, life has great joy and great sorrow to offer to you, and its all really good and really hard, but its all important. You can't only feel the good all of the time. And you won't always be sad. But know that you are loved by me and by the Almighty Father. We both weep with you in joy and sadness, and let every salty drop remind you that you belong and you'll be ok.
I love you both with all I am,
Dad
PS. Ben Howard has this song called "Oats in the Water" that is so so cool, and I played it several times while writing to you.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)