Family
I Sayed it!
Lost Lake has been our family favorite since Marm introduced it to me shortly after we were married. All of the kids have grown up on its shores, and innumerable adventures and escapades there have dotted our family timeline.
This pristine lake is a magical place where no boat motor touches it. It’s water is crystal clear and COLD if you venture in too early in the season. Mt Hood towers as its backdrop and it’s encircled by beautiful Pacific Northwest forest and fauna.
There is camping, hiking, fishing, swimming, and boating with various non-motor options. The best for me however, is snorkeling. Almost from the first time I saw the lake I wanted to snorkel in it. I had never snorkeled before, but I did here. Boy howdy, did I snorkel here! (More on that in future posts.)
In the earlier years when the kids were small I would spend hours in the water finding crawdads. I would search up and down the shoreline poking under the rocks in the shallower warmer water, or dive down as far as 20 feet to overturn a log on the lake bottom. It was here on the bottom that the monstrous leviathan dwelt. I would bring back the best prizes of the dive and show them to the kids. They would clap and cheer, squeal and run up to see them more closely. They wanted to hold them, but would scream and run away when they wiggled their legs at them. Once I caught one that was as big as a small crab. No fish story here. It was huge. I had a serious aversion to getting pinched by that big boy. No… thank you!
One summer we stayed a full week in the cabins during our family vacation. Like usual we were all spending the day together down along the beach in one of our favorite spots. The water had warmed nicely from the weeks of summer sunshine and I was out snorkeling around in search of the elusive creatures.
While the kids were playing on the beach, Annie and Aaron kept looking into the old metal coffee pot where we housed the captive crawdads. Annie was five and Aaron was almost three at the time. They kept taking peeks at the two or three wee beasties that were all meshed up together in a churning ball of pincers and antennae inside the pot. They were obsessed with them and couldn’t leave them alone.
While they were taking their peeks in the pot, Annie had been trying to get Aaron to say “crawdad”. For whatever reason he would not or could not say the word. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, he mumbled his toddler version of it.
He looked up with the biggest, sweetest grin on his face and shyly proclaimed with glowing three-year old pride, ”I sayed it!”.
That was it for us. That was the moment of the day. Everything else paled in comparison and those three words have been immortalized in our family ever since.
“I sayed it!”
Yes son, you surely did “sayed it”.
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But for Bethlehem…
Bethlehem. A small obscure town from antiquity chosen to play a starring role in God’s masterpiece: Peace on Earth.
Christmas means different things to different people. Not a new thought, nor original. Our nation has granted us this privilege of difference, or as some would insist, the right. The conflict between sacred and commercialized Christmas has been a mainstay in our culture. I have witnessed each side insisting on their viewpoint, often demanding they be heard like a child insists on getting their own way. This “shouting in the rain” is part of our heritage as a nation. We get to choose. We get to be heard. It’s almost as if the cessation of conflict would be abhorrent to us, undemocratic in some measure. We have the right to be different so we insist on it almost naturally.
We all have seen abuses on both sides. Things done in the name of “rights” and things done in the name of “Christ”. Just because we say it is in the name of something doesn’t make it so. And just because we say it louder doesn’t make it more true. I think we justify ourselves by doing this. We enable ourselves through this deception to actually do harm. Then… we play the democracy card to put the final stamp of approval on it
This is who we are as a people. We fight. We insist. We claim our rights. We push our agendas. We scramble to make a way to live our lives the way we see fit. We hurt others who disagree or get in the way We make laws to force people to comply. We shout down the opposition. We make things “politically correct” by way of the masses to ensure our dominance. We neglect, belittle and bully. We hate. We say, “This is our right.” We even do all of this over Christmas.
It’s sad to me, but not unexpected. After all we are people. This is what we do. We shouldn’t be surprised that when left to our own devices this is the best we can come up with to function. Left to ourselves we will only be as good as “we” can be. We have nothing else other than ourselves as a resource.
As a nation we are a mere two hundred something years old. In the vast span of man’s history this is nothing more than a blink of the eye. We are powerful. We are self-sufficient. We are self-governing. We are self-based. It’s in the constitution. I get my way. I have my rights. I am my own master. It’s what we do and who we are as a people.
As a family who does celebrate Christmas, we have never separated the sacred from the secular. We have enjoyed both sides of this event. There is nothing like watching the kid’s faces as they come into the room and see the presents around the tree on Christmas morning. We love gathering together on Christmas Eve and reading the Christmas story from the Bible. There is both a Christmas tree and manger scene in our home. We use wrapping paper that has Santa and the Three Wise Men on it.
I think about all our divisions and rights to things as people. I think about our abuses. I think about us being “self-made” It would really make me sad, and hopeless…but for Bethlehem. The answer to the questions, “Is this all there really is to life?”, and “Are we really alone in the universe?” have already been answered before we asked them. This is not all there is….there is: Peace on Earth. There is Bethlehem, and we have never been alone.
Merry Christmas to all of you and your families.
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About Balrogs and Daughters
In-laws. There’s a word.
In this instance I am referring to my daughter’s spouses. As loving and dutiful parents we pray for the wonderful people our children will someday marry, God willing. We ask Jesus to “grow em up real good like”. The thing is…there is no guarantee. There is trust that the Lord has heard our prayers, not a small thing, and the understanding that He has our kids best interests at heart. Again, not a small thing. Still we as the parents are not in control of these events. A lesson better learned sooner.
Being the dad I was used to my wife having that mama-bear-thing going on when some misinformed person actually had the audacity to take on one our kids. Big mistake. Huge! What I never expected was what I felt when my daughters were more than just serious about a guy. The hidden papa-bear-thing awakened unexpectedly from the deep. Picture the balrog in the mines of Moria from The Fellowship of the Ring and you begin to get a glimpse.
Before I go any further, however, please allow me set the record straight. Both of my daughter’s husbands are amazing men. I love them both dearly and for two main reasons: 1. They are exceptional men of honor, and 2. They love and treat our girls well.
None-the-less…it still took some time for the taming of the balrog.
Ever see the movie Father of the Bride? I have because I have four daughters. I felt just like George Banks did.
“Dad! I met a man and we fell in love and we’re getting married.”
Says who? thinks the balrog. Never mind my daughter Annie was an adult successfully living on her own for a few years. (Don’t confuse the issue with the facts.) Oh, and Abbey, she had been dating her fella for years. No surprise there. Still, there was the balrog with his protective low growl simmering just below the surface; watching and waiting patiently.
Oh I was all smiles and lighthearted for sure, but I was eyeing these men like a hawk. I was ready to bring down the fire whip if needed.
As it turned out there was no need. Darn it. That could have been really fun. Instead, I found myself liking both these gents immensely. Totally different in personalities, totally different in temperaments, totally different in interests and hobbies at certain levels, yet both perfectly suited for our girls. They were the direct answer to our prayers in an overwhelmingly big way.
Annie married Tristan, and Abbey married Tom. Tristan took the family by storm, while Tom took the slow and steady approach to winning us over. Both have succeeded unconditionally. We couldn’t have better sons-in-law if we growed ’em ourselves.
Now there are four men in the family and the odds are shifting to a more even playing field. It’s no longer just Aaron and myself holding down the male side of the family fort. We are four strong with opportunity to be six someday.
I do feel for the men who want to marry Amber and Amy in the future. I think there may be four low growling balrogs circling below just waiting for an opportunity to rise from the depths. I wonder if these yet-to-be-known fellas have ever heard about balrogs and daughters?
It’s a good thing they are in our prayers.
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Fun Stories for Children at Bedtime
I know I have mentioned it before in at least one previous post, that bedtime with the kids when they were little was my gig. I was the one to steer them through the pre-bedtime checklist. Jammies on, teeth brushed and flossed, drinks, fluoride rinse, potty, the story, kisses and hugs, and ended with the good night prayer.
Once Amber and Amy were grade school age a new tradition was born. We still continued with the standard pre-bedtime checklist, but the story time change dramatically. I began to make up a new story each night for them.
The setting for the story remained the same, and so did the main characters. Night after night I would take them on a new adventure with these cute bedtime friends.
“Daddy tell us a new story tonight”, they would plead.
“Okay, but you have to get ready before we start, so hurry”, was my usual reply. This of course sent them scurrying to get the checklist finished asap. I loved the leverage the story time had on their motivation. Admittedly, I took extreme advantage of it. For sure I used it as a bribe more times than I can remember.
After they had finished the checklist the three of us would plop down on their bed together and they would eagerly wait for me to start. Sometimes the wait was too much for them because I was too slow.
“Start the story Daddy! You’re taking too long,” they would moan.
“I’m trying girls, but I have to think of a new story and I haven’t thought about this at all today.”
“Hurry please. Start the story, we’re getting bored.”
Oh, the pressure.
Once I started they snuggled in closer to me and were all ears. I would take them to their favorite and familiar spots. They would find their best story buddies up to their necks in trouble, or in some adventure too big for them to handle. Sometimes it became unbearably dangerous and they thought something scary was going to happen.
“Maybe I should stop since you’re so worried?” I would ask.
“Nooooo! Don’t stop now,” was their big eyed answer each time.
Over the three years I told these stories they began to change, to morph into something different. Even though the main characters and setting stayed the same, I would introduce a mystery character. I would use vague descriptions about this mystery character throughout the story. Small clues that would reveal their identity. The girls had to pay close attention if they were to guess who it was once the story was finished. These mystery characters could be anyone. They could be a real person, a movie character, a book character, a cartoon character, a Bible character, a family member, a pet or animal, literally anyone.
The stories had become interactive now. After the story ended they could ask me all the questions they wanted to. Only questions with yes & no answers were allowed. Each of the girls was granted only one guess at the mystery character’s identity. If they both were wrong, I would win the game and tell them the answer. If one of them figured it out and named the character correctly, they won the game.
Sometimes they asked a gazillion questions and still never figured it out. Other times they asked one, two, maybe three questions tops and nailed it right off the bat. I remember times that I thought I had the perfect character that neither of them would ever figure out, only to have them guess correctly after one solitary question. How rude!
Other nights when I was especially tired I would pick the easiest character possible only to have them trip over it forever, or never figure it out at all. Maybe they knew my game and played me instead. They are very bright girls after all.
No matter who may have been working whom, these are moments I will never forget. They will always be a part of our bedtime memories together when they were little. It was just last year when Amy came up to me and asked me to tell her another story. She’s a high-schooler, and still wanted to hear another one.
I would love to tell you all about them, really I would, but I won’t. I’m writing them down for my grandkids, and maybe for others too if you will. After all, everyone can always use fun stories for children at bedtime.
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When Matters of the Heart Collide with Matters of Principle
Straight up: Parenting is hard.
Years ago Dr. James Dobson penned a book entitled “Parenting Isn’t for Cowards”. An apt title to sum up the reality of helping our kids navigate their growing up years. All we want for our kids is that they be happy, healthy, mature, productive adults who are capable of leading their own lives successfully. For those of us in the Christian community we want all of the above, and most importantly, a vital relationship with Jesus himself. So…
What do I do when one of my core principles is challenged by a serious matter of the heart from one of my kids?
Abbey had successfully finished her 8th grade year and was in the 1st quarter of high school. All of her academic life had been spent at the same local Christian school. Her two older siblings had graduated from this school and she was the next in line to do the same. I was a teacher at the school and would spend 10 years on staff there. I wasn’t prepared for what was unfolding at the time. Abbey was miserable. It wasn’t the school itself, but the circumstances that surrounded her at the time.
With the exception of one close and dear friend who attended the school with her, she was basically alone and her situation seemed impossible. All of her other peers were attending the local public high school and that’s where she wanted to be. This is a common challenge with privately schooled kids. The ol’ grass is greener thing. At the surface this looked much the same. It wasn’t.
You’d have to know Abbey in order to know why this was so different. Of all of our five kids Abbey was the one who never fought us over things. No fits. No tantrums. She told us once that even though she disliked taking naps when she was younger, she did it because that’s what we asked her to do. Who does that? Right? Abbey did.
At the time all of this was happening Abbey was involved in an active and productive youth group. Meeting together was not just a social time for these kids. This particular group was hungry for Jesus and his Spirit. They were passionate about serving him, and they did it together as a group. They were a true spiritual force. These were the peers at the public high school, and the reason she wanted to make the change in schools.
Four of our kids have been home-schooled to one degree or another, and all five of them have attended private school at some point. The challenge for me was my world view about education. Simply put: I see Jesus in all education. Unfortunately, much of the Christian faith has been removed from public education by virtue of the law of the land, or its interpretation. This left little room for me and my world view.
I was torn. Abbey didn’t want to go to the public high school because of some shallow reason. She wanted to go where she felt she would thrive spiritually because of her peer group. This was a watershed moment for her and I was feeling the full weight of the crossroads I faced.
Oft times we parents are required to hold the line in the face of our children’s contrary preferences. It’s here that matters of principle outweigh the matters of selfishness, immaturity, or desire. Our collective experience and wisdom are supposed to guide us through these moments. Mine was failing me, or so I thought at the time. The decision should have been simple, clear-cut, rudimentary. It wasn’t.
I won’t lie to you about what I was feeling then. Right or wrong I was worried about how it would look if I let my daughter go to the public high school. I wondered what my colleagues at the private school would think of me. I wondered what members of the board for the school would think. I wondered if my reputation as a believer would become suspect, or tarnished in some way. Would I be perceived as wishy-washy in my beliefs, or faithless. All real concerns I had to face; all applying their own pressure to the situation. I was praying for wisdom and guidance. This was my daughter here, not a new car or refrigerator. This really mattered.
It wasn’t too long and I got my answer. It didn’t come as a lightening bolt or any such similar experience. It came in remembering what our priorities were in raising our kids. What matters the most is what is best for each child individually. So what was best for Abbey in this situation? Was it Christian based education? Was it a matter of doing what her siblings did in the past? Was it about my peers and their possible opinions of me? Was it about my principles? Not this time. This was about Abbey and how to help her flourish. Setting everything less important aside, the decision was simple after all. Abbey needed that passionate peer group where she was thriving in so many ways. That’s what really mattered, so we transferred her the next quarter.
Parenting is hard. It pushes us. It stretches us. It makes us grow up if we let it. One of the hardest things for me to catch on to was remembering what is most important when matters of the heart collide with matters of principle. Need I say it?
Curls & Capes 