Waiting for SuperDad

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A friend of mine recently said that she hoped to save her young son from all the many things she’s been through in a given area of her life. She said it in a joking sort of way, but I think she was only kind of kidding.

 

I feel the same way.

 

I wish I could save my kids from certain kinds of pain I’ve endured. When my kids were little, I thought that, because I had asked Christ in my life, I had good reason to believe that they would make the “right” decisions later in life. I knew they’d probably make mistakes, but, overall, I believed that their lives would be characterized by the integrity that comes from a heart that is at peace in the important ways. I somehow believed that God would lead them so as to spare them from life’s silly, humiliating and dangerous pitfalls. I thought that, perhaps they’d be spared because they had been pointed in the “right direction” for the beginning. All this, combined with hard-won wisdom I’d gained through the many things I suffered from make lots of bad decisions growing up, I believed, would be more than enough to get them on the “right track” and keep them there.

 

I was banking on these truths.

Then came reality. One of my kids turned 18, moved out with her boyfriend, and forced me to rethink these beliefs I held. I didn’t sleep well for a few years. I’m not complaining because I now know this kind of thing can be, and often is, part of being a parent. But during my nocturnal vigils I had lots of time to consider a good many things. As for the idea that my kids would benefit from my wisdom, you can only keep sticking your finger in the same philosophical light socket for so long before the resulting shock is too much. At some point I began to surrender.

 

Just what was amiss is back then is still coming into focus. I guess raising children is a lot like faith. They’re both journeys The idea that I had about my kids starting in a “better” place than I did implies that there’s a destination, the same destination, we’re all headed toward. Hmm. I don’t have this all figured out yet, but there’s something wrong with looking at either of these journeys with a Thomas-Brothers mind set. There’s no accurate map for either journey, other than the heart.

 

The notion I held (and sometimes still seem to believe), of saving my kids from the things I’ve suffered, was and is an ill-fated idea for me. It sets me up for more heartache than I have coming when I think this way. And I think the whole thing is fueled, in part, by the evil specter of the dark past. I don’t want to revisit that brand of suffering. Ever. I’d eradicate it from the universe if I could. But I’ll damned if I let my kids go this stuff. It’s natural to want to protect our children. If only it worked that way

 

I guess the thing I’m getting in this muse is that our hearts are somehow wrapped around our children in some kind of invisible force field. I am not sure this entirely healthy either. No one has seen the force field I’m talking about, but we all feel it, don’t we? When our kids fall, we feel it. When they succeed, we soar to new heights with them. They get to make they’re own choices and we share in the consequences. Love never fails. The tricky part is that it sometimes feels like love never quite wins either. But in the end it always does. Love is so much stronger than the funky curveball family whirls at us and it outlasts all of wild hairs.

 

So, here’s to living well and loving deeply, as we workout the past in the present so there can be an amazing future.

 

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