![]() In the early hours of August 31 my dad passed from this life to the church triumphant. He had been in the hospice unit less than 24 hours. I truly believe he was just ready to go. He had been battling a host of progressive illnesses for four years, he had been in the hospital a good three of those four years. Towards the end he was constantly fighting for air and he was in pain almost constantly. He never wanted to live that way. I think that when he finally made the decision to accept hospice care he finally was able to let go and rest. I will miss him something fierce. But, as I've mourned and missed him already, I realize that there is so much I learned from him. Dad teaching #1: Don't underestimate the value of silence If you ever met my dad you would know that he was not a man of many words. Never one for offering a lengthy discourse, his rule of thumb was that you should communicate what you need in the minimum number of words possible. This, of course, could be frustrating if you wanted to have a deep conversation or really plumb the depths of his feelings. My dad found a lot of rest and peace in quiet or just having music or the tv on as background noise. It allowed him to think through other things while he read the paper or had a cigarette. Silence was restorative to my dad. What it also did was made it so that when he did speak it meant people were more apt to listen because he did so infrequently. He loved John Wayne and Clint Eastwood and I believe he really adopted Theodore Roosevelt's theory of "speak softly and carry a big stick." Silence was not something to fear or avoid. It didn't mean that anything was lacking. Silence was just that, silence. Dad's teaching #2: Silence will often invite others to speak, you should listen. What a dad who loved silence taught me as a little girl was that my dad was always there to listen to me. For a young Robyn there was nothing more inviting than a listening ear. Because of his quiet nature I found myself regularly seeking him out to pour out all of my inner thoughts, feelings, hopes, dreams and fears. He taught me how to shoot pool on the pool table in our basement. I was never very good but I was always asking him to go and shoot pool with me. Dad figured out pretty quickly that it wasn't me actually wanting to shoot pool. What that time meant for me was that he was going to turn on the radio to either country or oldies, he was going to roundly beat me at pool, and while all that was going on, I was going to tell him every thought that went through my mind. We would spend hours in the basement shooting pool. This was what we did when I needed to figure out something going on in my head. Whether it was if I had a crush on a boy at school (don't you know that dad's LOVE hearing about their daughter's love lives), or my complaints about classes, or when I couldn't figure out why my friend and I were having a fight. I could find endless ways to fill the silence my dad left for me. And this wasn't just empty chatter. While he never really gave advice, my dad did listen to what I was saying and he would ask questions or make simple statements, and that would be enough for me to start working through it on my own. Dad just seemed to know that what I needed more than sage advice or a thousand words responding to or dissecting my train of thought was someone who genuinely heard what I was saying and acknowledged my experience as reality. Dad's teaching #3: Timing, while not everything, matters My dad was laid back. He would go with the flow and what my mom or my siblings or I wanted was generally fine for him. But he knew exactly when to use the timing of something to work for him if he needed it to. The favorite story I have about my dad's timing is when he proposed to my mom. I wasn't a glimmer in anyone's eye at this point, so I wasn't there for this, but I heard the story enough. My mom was lying on the couch of her house, sicker than a dog and just absolutely miserable. Dad, God love him, apparently decided that this was as good a time as any to ask her a big question. He got down on one knee next to her by the couch and asked her to marry him. I won't keep you in suspense, she said yes. There could possibly have been a better time to propose but the time he did choose made for a memorable story that is still fun to tell. Dad's teaching #4: Hard-work is important but it can have a cost Dad was a hard-working man. His whole life he worked with his hands at different manufacturing plants. Before that he was in the air force. Before that he loved helping on his dad's farm. Hard-work was important and it was just a part of life. It wasn't something to shy away from and it would build character. Although there could be a cost with hard-work. My dad lost a couple fingers in the work he did. But it never stopped him from continuing to do what needed to be done. My dad didn't work because he wanted to be rich. In fact, my dad would tell me that he grew up poor and he was completely fine always being poor, but that he needed to make sure that he had enough to take care of his family. Dad didn't have a use for tons of money, never understood why people thought it was going to make them happy. He would just as happily wear his jeans until they were no longer covering everything appropriately, and that's after patching with duct tape (a habit my mom broke him of, finally). My dad's hands were rough. You could tell his hands hand been busy his whole life. I remember when I had my tonsils out (and ended up having strep throat during the surgery so I had to stay in the hospital longer), my dad came up after work and held my hand and would rub it and at first I protested because his hands were so warm and rough, but then, it struck me that it was just who he was. That was how I knew it was my dad. Dad teaching #5: It is ok to unapologetically love your pets. If you asked my dad, any of the pets that were ever in our homes were not his pets. They were my mom's or my siblings or mine or my uncle's. Yet, he could always be seen giving them some extra pettings or ear scratches when he thought no one was watching. Dad would try and claim that the animals hated him but in reality they just loved playing with him. It would bring him no end of delight to pretend to scare the cat only to see the cat come right back to do it all again. Finally, after he retired, he got HIS dog. Rosie. She waited for him when he would leave and stayed by his side. She had her dog bed in the kitchen by where he would sit and he loved to spoil her. Rosie became a BIG dog and my dad just adored her. She was his baby and he treated her as such and did so with no care to what anyone else thought. Dad's teaching #6: There are hundreds of ways to say I love you without using those words. As I mentioned, my dad wasn't one for many words. He would tell me he loved me. But there was a plethora of ways he showed me he loved me and others without saying the words. Whether it was telling me to be careful when I was driving anywhere or to keep out of trouble, I knew what was underneath it was his love for me. Quite regularly he would tell my nephew, who received his motorcycle from my dad, "don't do anything stupid on that bike, y'hear?" It might have been something like telling me what to watch out for when going out to do something. You don't need to use the specific words in order to let someone know they are loved by you. Dad's teaching #7: Don't be afraid to dance because of what other people might think I've always been self-conscious. It's not one of my finer traits that I worry a lot about what other people might think. My poor dad experienced this with me most strongly when he took me to a father daughter dance when I was in second or third grade. We got all dressed up, took all the obligatory pictures, and then went to the dance. I was fine as we walked around and looked at decorations and got some punch. As soon as he suggested we start to dance and went to the dance floor, I froze up and started to cry and ran to the girl's bathroom. Well, there wasn't a whole lot he could do while I was in there crying so he just waited outside. When I finally came out and told him through sniffles that I was scared about what other people would say about me since I didn't know how to dance. My dad just laughed and shook his head and told me to not pay attention to other people but to just focus on dancing the way that felt right to me, and then proceeded to let me step all over his feet while trying to dance and making me laugh the whole time. I'm proud to say that there was not a similar incident when he came to my father daughter dance for my sorority at college. We had a great night with no hiding in the bathroom to cry. Dad's teaching #8: Beware of seasickness but also know what causes it So, my great indoors-woman-ness (patent pending) was not inherited from my dad. In fact, he loved everything outdoors, whether it was camping, fishing, sitting out on the porch, going to the farm, digging in the dirt, etc. If he could have spent all his life outside he would have. Yet, somehow he ended up with me.... When I was younger he made the wise investment in a camper, figuring that it was the best of both worlds. You know, my mom and I could still enjoy the luxuries of being indoors while being technically in the outdoors. Now, while I may not like the outdoors, the one thing I did pick up from my dad was a love of fishing. I really enjoy fishing, it might be my introverted nature and the typical quiet that accompanies fishing, but I LOVED going to the lake at the campground to fish with my dad. One day he got particularly enthusiastic and rented a boat to take out on the lake and took my brother with him first. It didn't last long though as they came back because my brother was fighting some pretty extreme seasickness. Well, I decided it was then my turn, but not before we stopped at the little campsite store and bought and ice cream cone. So, my dad is navigating our boat out onto the water and I am eating away at my ice cream cone. About halfway out I pipe up: "Oh no! I must have seasickness!" and promptly continued to eat my ice cream. I had no idea what it meant to be seasick, I just overheard that Scott had it and so it must just be something you get when going out on a boat. Dad loved to tell that story and got the biggest laugh every time remembering the fact that I convinced myself to be seasick mid-ice cream cone. Moral of the story, know what something is before you claim to have it. Dad teaching #9: Swimming underwater works better when all of you makes it under the water What I think was my dad's favorite story to tell about me was how he had to teach me to swim underwater. He would always tell people how great a swimmer I was and how sad he was that I gave it up when I went to high school. He was particularly proud of my backstroke and how graceful it was. Apparently my back stroke was so good I could even beat him in a race. (Which is a feat considering I was about 4' something to his 6'4). Yet, there was one type of stroke that eluded me. That would be swimming underwater. I declared to him that I was so proud of myself because I could finally swim underwater. Of course, being excited for me he asked me to show him. And I would have told you that I showed him the most graceful, lovely, picture-perfect underwater swimming that had ever existed.... Until I came up from under the water to see him doubled over laughing hysterically. Apparently, my beautiful stroke was lacking in the fact that all of me, except for my butt, was underwater. So, there was this upside-down V going along across the pool for all I was worth, butt firmly in the air above the water. This was, unfortunately, not an easy habit to break me of. Dad just couldn't seem to get through to me that my butt was not actually under the water. Finally he had the great idea that there needed to be some kind of incentive in order for me to get my booty down under the water. He started throwing quarters down to the bottom of the pool and telling me to go get them and that whichever ones I was able to retrieve I got to keep. Well, having learned a bit about being thrifty from him, I found my incentive to get down underwater completely and totally. It took a total of about $2.75 for me to learn this skill. Dad teaching #10: A look can say way more than any words you can choose
My mom and dad perfected their punishment routine at home. My mom was the one who would express with words just what you had done wrong, why they were disappointed, what you could have done instead, and what the punishment would be. She is not quite as sparse in using words as my dad. So, we would sit at the kitchen table while my mom informed us of the error in our ways. But my dad never said a word during these times. He didn't have to. Instead, he would stand in the doorway with his arms crossed across his chest and give us "the look." It is hard to describe the look. It was a combination of narrowed eyes, something between a frown and a scowl, eyebrows doing the angry slanty thing, and a posture that says: "you done messed up." Many times if we were acting up he didn't have to say a single word. We would all simply see him give us "the look" and we'd shape up. My mom never understood it, but it was all communicating way more efficiently than any words he could have said. I know there are hundreds of more things my dad taught me through my life. (An honorable mention might be that there is a time and place for "sentence enhancers.") And I hope that one day I can pass on to Lucas, and if we're blessed with baby girl, the lessons of life that my dad taught me and that I can do them with a smirk and smile and a laugh that says, don't take yourself so seriously. What I know for sure is that I will miss him deeply but I know that he is finally free from the pain and suffering he endured and that we will meet again at the great feast. I love you Dad.
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Then, we were potty training Lucas. (talk about draining... wow... he really is a stubborn one) But, hallelujah, thank you Jesus, Lucas is potty trained!!! And then there was just my delightful general depression that, whenever I'd think about writing, would say: "But, you know watching mindless tv and going to sleep early sounds way better, doesn't it?" And, really, it did. Finally, though, things have leveled out and here I am! Just in time to offer my Father's Day rant. I get so frustrated with society's slowness in catching up to the fact that men can be, and are, really good, competent, loving dads. The message that men are either cold, distant dollar earners or goofy, incompetent imbeciles is disgustingly pervasive in the media today. My mom works for drug stores stocking the greeting cards. I used to help her occasionally, and so now, any time I'm in a card department I'm subconsciously checking it out for neatness and also for what the latest cards are that have been put out. Especially around Father's Day, but also in the general dad's birthday section, the theme typically is "hahaha, you try to do things that a mom does, but you're really bad at them, so we're going to make fun of you but make it seem like an act of affection." Seriously, the next time you are in a card department take a look. You get cards like "World's Best Farter." "I think Mom is raising me just fine. Happy father's day." Others that insinuate they might as well just ask mom. You'll see just a couple of images below. And this is just the tip of the iceberg. How are we not offended for dad's at this belittling of dad's abilities to care for their children? What are we doing to the confidence of men who aren't yet fathers when we tell him throughout his life that he will not be able to be a good dad, or at least that he'll never be as good as mom? What are we telling men if we belittle the time they spend alone with their children as "babysitting?" Why, then, should he even try to be a good dad if he's doomed to fail according to what we see in society? In 2012 Huggies put out an ad. Know the premise? "To prove Huggies can handle just about anything, we put them to the toughest test imaginable: dads, alone with their babies, in one house, for five days." From commercials, to comics, to cars, to tv shows and movies, dad's are portrayed as useless, incompetent, lazy, dumb, easily outwitted guys who just aren't anywhere near as good as moms. Think Fred Flintstone, Married with Children's Al Bundy, Shameless's Frank Gallagher, Mike Heck on The Middle who is a good, but distant and univolved dad, Homer Simpson, any kids show on Nickelodeon or Disney, and even on shows like Home Improvement with Tim Taylor, a generally good dad was constantly making messes that had to be cleaned up by mom. It gets really old to see the important place dad's hold in the lives of their children relegated to cheap jokes, absent forgetful fools, or just awful. The question posed by these shows is: "What do we really need dad's for except a paycheck and an outlet for our jokes." Our dad's deserve better. If we want to encourage our sons to grow up to be well-rounded, participatory, engaged fathers (should that be their desire), we have to stop portraying them this way and start showing the wide range of fathering. My husband is an amazing partner in raising our son. I absolutely adore him and I cannot express enough how much it means to me that he wants to be an active, engaged dad to our little boy. In no way whatsoever is he incompetent. He shares the responsibilities of being a parent with me, which means that sometimes when I feel crappy, he does 95% of the child-raising, and when he's not feeling great, I do 95% of the work with Lucas. David has never said no to changing a diaper cause he didn't feel like it, he never put the diaper on backwards, he never dropped little man, never fed him expired food, never forgot him, never confused him for another child. Instead, David plays with Lucas, he makes his dinner, he helps him with learning, he shares in disciplining him, he shares taking him to doctors appointments, comes to his school conferences, puts him to bed and gets him ready in the morning, does 100% of the work if I have to be out of town, and just loves his son. My husband opens my eyes to all the ways that society still doesn't acknowledge the fact that dad's are main caregivers to children. One such way is the absolute lack of changing tables in many public restrooms. That is the trend I am seeing in dads in society. They are not bumbling idiots who don't know right from left. They are confident, compassionate, engaged, and interested parents who don't expect their partner to do all the work of raising the children while they crash out on the couch with a beer. Honestly, this involved, loving father is far more interesting to me than the bad dad ever has been. If we want our boys to grow into dads who work beside their partner in raising children we need to be intentional about portraying them in media and in our homes. That means moms, we need to be ready to hand over the responsibilities and we need to be the number one cheerleaders for the dads of our children. We need to advocate for fair treatment, equal access, and recognizing the needs of our partners for engaging with their children. To all the dads out there - Happy Fathers Day and THANK YOU! Thank you for your part in raising our children. Know that we see you and all the love you show to your littles and we are so happy to have you as partners in this important work!
It's that time of year where mothers are lifted up as the paradigm of all that is good and right and well with the world. Where gifts of jewelry, candy, breakfast in bed, and lavish luxury are touted as the end all be all of honoring and loving the woman in your life who is a mother. It's bumbling dads trying to corral a herd of unwieldy, dirty faced children wearing mismatched clothes with filthy hands into the bedroom with runny eggs, half-dead flowers, and half a glass of orange juice. What they show awaiting the mom in the kitchen is an absolute mess that for some reason will obviously be her responsibility. (This awful, irresponsible portrayal of dads will be the subject of a future post). So, even though I'm supposed to be enjoying this time that is dedicated to elevating me in all my glorious mom-hood.... (And I do mean in ALL my glory and loveliness)... Yeah... See, glorious. So even though this day is lifting the total beauty that is me... This is a very difficult time of year for me. Still. I know. I have a beautiful four year old son. I am in the process of adoption again. We are a family. I am a mom. And yet, on mother's day I still get a twinge of pain in my heart. There is a sadness that shrouds the day for me even with all of my reasons to be joyful. Somewhere in my heart I still mourn for the child that I will never be able to conceive. That child is there... in my heart. There were hundreds of futures I planned which had that child in every scene. That child was real to me. When David and I made the decision that we would no longer seek to conceive, the loss that we experienced was very real even if that child was never more than a hazy, never quite in focus dream. Because that child of my heart lived a thousand lifetimes in my mind. I saw my pregnancy, David resting his head on my belly... the birth. I saw the diaper changes, the late nights, the features that were a mix of David and me. She had his eyes... he had my nose. The poor child had the thickest hair known to mankind. He and I went on our first mommy son date. David and her went to the father daughter dance. David, his dad, and our son had an annual date to see a Steelers game together. My mom, daughter and I sat down and looked through old pictures and laughed. She came down the stairs in her prom dress, ready for this iconic night of her life. We dropped him off at college and said goodbye. I went with her to pick out her wedding dress... David sat with him the night before his wedding and shared a Guinness and the secrets of a great marriage. I watched as she was walked down the aisle by her daddy... I held my grandbaby and told him how happy I was for them... That child was real, as real as any child that has been flesh and blood. And that child had more joy, more careers, booboos, successes and failures, than any one child could have. So, yes, I still mourn the loss of what could have been even while being grateful for all the gifts that God has given us. There is an important quote that helps me at these times. "Your loss is real and your ache is not crazy." I have needed to hear this from time to time as I grieve. There are times that people really struggle to understand how we could possibly grieve someone that never came into this world. Even after explaining it. Even after sharing something that can leave my emotions raw it can still be beyond people understanding. I need to know that I am not crazy if someone else cannot understand my grief. Which means that mothers day, while still being a joyful day, can still bring with it grief, shame, and anger. Grief for what can't be. Shame because I still, at times, feel like there is something wrong with me for being unable to conceive. Anger because it can be so easy for others, because we have to go through hours of education on being parents and adoption even though we've been and done both so that we might be able to adopt.
As I get ready for mothers day I find myself in a difficult situation. I get angry when I think about the gift of God given to women who had been in similar situations. Sarah, Elizabeth, Hannah, Rebekah, Rachel and others all struggled with infertility and God remembered them and provided them with children. It feels really awkward to be mad about God giving blessings to others. I want to know why God gave them that gift and not me. Preaching and leading worship on mothers day in the past has been a mixed event for me. Before Lucas I would be aware of the lump in my throat. The tears that burned at the back of my eyes and the way I would grip the pulpit a little more tightly. Even after Lucas, I still need to stop and clear my throat and blink back some tears, because of my own grief... because of the grief that I know weighs on people in the congregation. Eventually, I recognize that God provides and oftentimes ways that don't look at all like we thought they would. My comfort, then, comes to me through an atypical Scripture passage. Isaiah 43:2- "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you." Wherever I go, whatever grief I experience, whatever anger I feel, I know that I am not alone. My God goes with me, my amazing husband goes with me, my friends go beside me, and even though I may stumble, I'm still standing. For all my sisters who struggle this mothers day, know you are seen, know you are loved, and know that even if you feel broken, hurting, or angry, you are beautiful! |
AuthorI've been Robyn for my whole life. I've been a wife for 10 years and a mom for 5 years. I've been a pastor for about 10 years. I'm still stumbling, but I'm still standing. Archives
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