​Some of you are looking at the picture above and you’re about to scream “honey, I think he shrunk his kid”.  Don’t scream.  It’s an old fishing picture of me and Elliott.  It was taken almost 3 years before yesterday, the day I registered him for kindergarten. 

I’m sure you’re thinking I picked out this picture during a trip down memory lane – a coming to grips journey with the idea that our little boy has outgrown bottles and diapers and naps and all things “pre-” school.  I suppose if there’s anything that says your baby is no longer a baby it’s signing school registration paperwork, forging a relationship and hopefully a very shared interest in the baby’s afterlife.  I can understand if this is an emotional experience for parents.  Maybe sad.  Certainly reflective.  I’ve got to say, though, I felt neither.

Now it’s not like I felt nothing.  But after spending the first day of Elliott’s life wondering if he would ever be a life, and then the next week sticking my hand into a glass cage and rubbing his little head and chest through the assortment of wires that were attached to him, I’ve come to equally celebrate all milestones in his life.  From the little ones like the first time he passed gas and realized his body had the ability to make some pretty cool sounds, to the bigger ones (although to me that first fart was pretty big) like his first steps and his first words and the first night he slept without a rope tied to his doorknob to make sure he didn’t get up in the night.  I don’t begrudge one moment gone by.  I find it pretty cool, really, that a baby staring through an incubator can nearly 6 years later walk through the doors of an elementary school and recite his ABCs and count to 100. 

I am also reminded that I didn’t want to be a father.  Or should I say, being a father wasn’t in the plan I had developed for my life.  I loved kids, but kids require a lot of time and I had some terribly important things going on in my life pre-fatherhood. (although for the life of me I can’t remember what they were, now).  Then along came Katie with her declaration that God wanted us to be parents.  And then along came Elliott.

My look back yesterday, and my look at this picture, wasn’t a reflection, but more an acknowledgement that God really does have a plan for our life.  And even when we spend fruitless hours and days and weeks and even decades tinkering with a plan of our own, only to realize we’re dizzied by the circular path we’ve created for ourselves, God is still patiently waiting to hand us the directions for a new plan.  Yesterday I could help but give thanks for such an awesome plan – an awesome Planner.

When I looked at this picture last night, I couldn’t help but notice Elliott trailing a few steps behind.  Watching his daddy’s every move.  Proud as can be to be carrying part of the gear.  But yesterday as we headed into Henry Clay Elementary School, Elliott led the way.  Just a few steps ahead.  And his dad couldn’t have been prouder to be following him, carrying the paperwork.

I have been reminded over the last few weeks that life isn’t fair. It’s easy to forget that sometimes, especially when you have two healthy boys, a beautiful and supportive wife, and you’ve just started a new job that you absolutely love.  In the good times, we too often allow ourselves to believe we are the creators of our own blessings and that we somehow control how fast and plentiful they flow.  But we don’t.

A couple of weeks ago I started my morning catching up with all of my Facebook friends.  I came across a post from a friend, Skip, who I hadn’t heard much from in a while.  His post simply stated that he missed his son.  I had picked up from a post that previous weekend that his son was home from college, so I assumed he had returned and Skip was missing him.  I thought that was pretty cool of a dad to post that.  But as I read on, I discovered it was more than that.  His son had died in a motorcycle crash two nights before.  More than missing his son, Skip was grieving his passing.

I met Skip nearly twenty years ago when he hired me to work as a counselor at Eckerd Youth Alternatives.  I had only been there a little over a month when I found myself out on a river in South Carolina with Skip, two other counselors, and 10 of the roughest boys I had ever met at that point in my life. 

There is one particular incident that always sticks out in my mind about that trip, and really, it’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Skip.  There was a young man having a particularly hard day, which wasn’t uncommon.  But sometimes these bad days led to kids doing things that put those around them in danger, and they had to be physically restrained.  This young man got to that point, and Skip restrained him.  I don’t remember much about the actual restraint.  But as clearly as I remember anything, I remember that incident when it was over.  I remember that young man breaking down and talking about life without a father.  I remember that boy’s tears.  And I remember Skip’s tears as he held that boy and the two of them stood crying together in front of the rest of us, Skip assuring this young man that life was going to be OK. 

It was on that trip and over the years that followed that Skip helped me find a calling in life.  He helped me discover a passion.  I think if we’re lucky, our upbringing and our experiences and our own personal struggles all come together at some point and we can only hope someone is standing there to make sense of it all.  I was lucky to find Skip standing there for me.

That’s why I wondered when I heard the news about Skip’s son: why God?  I spent several days processing the meaning of life – again.  I was reminded that in the good times, I really give God way too little credit, and in the bad times equally too much blame.  The truth is, though, the world is full of evil and pain.  Whether we give God all of the credit or all of the blame for them – neither are going away, which is exactly why it is in times like these that I feel God strongest and I see the proof of his existence the clearest.

I know there are unbelievers who like to use the tragedy of a wonderful man losing a son he dearly loves as evidence that there is no God, and if there is one, he is a cruel and heartless one.  But to me,  I’ve wondered how on earth I would possibly get through the type of tragedy Skip is dealing with.  And my answer is this: outside of the presence of God in my life, who came to this earth to be crucified so that I might have hope, that I might have a way of dealing with the inevitable tragedies and evil of this world, and outside of his promise that all of our loss in this world is gain in his – it would be impossible. 

I’m praying for you Skip. I often think of the song below when I wonder where God is in my hours of struggle.  It is very appropriate this day.