11/12/2024 0 Comments They are watchingEight years ago, these two boys spent the day at the finish line of the Richmond Marathon waiting for their slow and plodding dad to finish his first marathon.
Boy did they get a lesson in patience that day.... Out there on that course, battling the pains of tackling what was once unimaginable for me, I lost sight of the reality. They are watching. Some days that reality comes with great joy, seeing my marathon finish through their eyes. May what they see lift them to places they have not yet imagined, Lord. They are watching. Yet, there are days, days I come up short of being the man I want those eyes to see, and it is frightening, quite honestly. May their eyes guide them beyond the mistakes they have seen, Lord. They are watching. And yet, here I am, no longer a kid, somewhat like the men my eyes have seen, and in many ways quite the opposite. For it is our hearts and minds and souls that ultimately determine our paths. And our finish lines. But they were there, my kids. They did not quit waiting for a man who did not quit. And they have been here the last several years through some hard times together. And still they have seen, the same, maybe even more, a man who will not quit. And so I don't take it lightly, when I know they are and when I'm completely unaware of it. They are watching. Sometimes us, sometimes our spirit. They are watching.
0 Comments
Elliott and Ian were leaving to go home last night. I walked them out. As they got in Elliott's car, I noticed that one of Elliott's tires was low in air. So I told him to stop and put some air in it on the way home.
Elliott got out of the car and came to inspect the tire with me. He said, "I think it's okay." It obviously wasn't, but in that moment, I knew there was a reason Elliott was hesitant to accept that. So I explained where he could get air on the way home, and how the automated air inflation machine works at Wawa. I told him he should check all of his tires while he was there. Then he said words that broke my heart. He said, "I don't know how to do that." You may be thinking those words broke my heart because he didn't know how to put air in his tire. Quite the opposite. My heart broke because I know how hard it is for someone to admit they don't know how to do something to someone who they fear might see them as stupid for not knowing how to do it. I know the kind of bravery required of "I don't know how to do that." I have become much freer with saying those words these days. I've become much freer in owning that in some of the generally accepted - or projected - gender roles of a man, I have very few of them. I'm not a great mechanic. I'm not a great builder. I'm not a great do it yourselfer. My hands do much better at writing with a pen and waving around when I'm speaking than they will ever do fixing anything. In some of the stereotypical corners of the world, I am not a manly man. But in my world these days, I am quite fine with that. That hasn't come easy, I have wrestled with that most of my life. And it's not a wrestling that serves you well in most relationships. Especially in relationships that require you to work on projects together, that sometimes require someone to fix things, and where those projects might leave you feeling exposed as incapable or inept or broken. Sometimes that's because of the stories the person you're with will tell you, directly or implied; or equally often it's the stories you'll tell yourself because they are the stories you've been telling yourself all of your life. So there I was, looking at my kid on the other side of him saying, "I don't know how to do that." And I said, that's okay, follow me. I led him up to the local gas station, to the air machine, and we put air in all of his tires, which were all dreadfully low. I showed him how to use the air machine, (While also showing him the value of having a Ziplock bag full of quarters in your glove compartment 😊). I am grateful this morning for that experience. So grateful. A simple low air experience was an extravagant step into healing on so many levels. A situation that could have at one time left me feeling less than brilliant was a situation that left me feeling like far more than enough. And a situation that I hope helped me assure one of the most important people in my life that what he knows about air has nothing to do with how I feel about him. A situation that I hope helped build into my son's identity a freedom to say "I don't know how to that" without fear of it making him look like less of anything in my eyes, especially less than a man. Because the truth is, I was far more proud of having a son who could say "I don't know how to do that" than I would have been of a son driving off knowing how to put air in his tire. We are all faced with those opportunities from time to time. An opportunity to help someone without spending a lot of time deciding whether or not they should be able to help themselves. It's what I love most about Jesus, I think. How he was always good about showing up to help the helpless without ever shaming them about their inability to help themselves. Jesus always saw that gap between the helpless and the helper as a chance to show love. As I knelt down putting air in Elliott's tire last night, watching him watch the numbers rise to the right spot on that air machine, that's what I felt, love, love like I've rarely experienced. And I think Elliott felt it too. As he got back in his car he said "thank you". It's not like that's the first time he's ever said it but in that moment it felt like it was. In that moment it felt like love. Love without shame. Love. I imagine the hardest part about divorce is different for everyone. For me, among all the hard parts, the hardest part will always be - by far - answering the internal question, what have I done to my kids?
The question gets planted even before you divorce. There's such a cultural emphasis put on two parents in the home. I helped create that emphasis over the years. And in spite of my own situation, I do still believe that's in the best interest of kids. At least until it's not. And that's the questionable part, isn't it? When does it become not? A lot of people have an answer for that, when in the grand scheme of things there really isn't one. It's always a best guess. But I do know some people believe there is an answer. I certainly had voices in my ear after my divorce suggesting I'd done great damage to my kids in leaving. And when you're already wrestling with those questions, those suggestions do great damage to you, the dad. I've also been fortunate to have many voices since my divorce telling me I'm doing great as a dad. Mainly because those voices see how well the boys are doing. I mean, I myself see that. But for some reason, that's a question that is never going to go away. What have I done to my kids? No counsel. No affirmations. No quiet can quiet that question. But every once in awhile there is sweet relief. And one thing that particular question loves, maybe it constantly begs for it, is sweet relief. Elliott and I were talking about the baseball playoffs Sunday. It was a strange conversation, because in spite of us both being big sports fans, we never talk much about baseball. Elliott said the only baseball players I know are the ones we met when we went to that Washington Nationals camp when I was a kid. He was smiling. I thought about that for a second. That was a long time ago. And yet, there he was, recalling it fondly. Monday morning, I found the picture we took that day of him tossing the ball with Ryan Zimmerman. I texted Elliott the picture while he was at school. I thanked him for the memory. I told him it was good for my heart that he remembered it. Elliott doesn't know the full extent to which it was good. Our kids don't know many of the questions that haunt us. And they don't need to. Yet, out of the blue, it is often our kids who unknowingly bring us the most soothing answers to those questions. They bring us memories that seem, at least in the moment, unscathed by decisions we can convince ourselves our decisions had destroyed those very memories. There are some questions in life that never go away. I'm convinced of that. Probably because for some questions that are no answers that bring complete certainty to effectively kill the question. But as we move on, the questions get quieter. They come at you with less vengeance. With less frequency. And then every once in awhile your kid shows up and tosses you a memory, a very precious and timely memory, that offers you the most certainty you'll ever get a chance to catch. In the end, for this dad, who's spent hours playing catch with his boys, that might be the best game of catch ever. It's certainly the most healing one. Somewhere along the way my "I miss you" wires got short-circuited. Like, it was very easy for people to disappear from my life largely unnoticed.
And visa versa. I never really considered that there might be some part of me that was broken. I guess I always just thought I was cold. Distant. Unattached. All of which sounds much healthier I suppose than broken, even if not completely healthy. All of that changed, though, when my sons came along. I was driving home Thursday afternoon in the pouring rain. It had been a long week. Home sounded inviting. Refuge. But what sounded most inviting was knowing Elliott would be coming over to watch Thursday night football. I had missed him since I was with both of them the previous weekend. My weekend. Divorce gives you plenty of options when it comes to grieving, but without question my greatest divorce grief has been missing my boys when I'm not with them. When it is not my weekend. But what an unexpected gift in the grief. I miss them. I can say that. And feel it. And some feelings may be hard to feel but at the same time they are quite the gift to be able to feel. Because it turns out we don't miss people, their names or their roles in our lives or their titles, but rather we miss the kind of love we experienced in our connection to them that makes it very difficult to live without when it disappears. That is a gift. I didn't go into marriage wanting kids. Or divorce. I got both. It is quite often the unwanted things in my life I learn the most from. The things that become my greatest gifts. I attribute that to God in my life. A God who longs for me to miss him so deeply that I will go searching for his presence even in the unwanted. National Sons Day. I will never miss the chance to celebrate this day. For it is this day, really, that recognizes the chance I was given to miss anything at all. Missing. It's a gift. There we were, me and Elliott, eating cheese pizza and watching the NFL. What a perfect way to celebrate National Cheese Pizza Day. But as we were sitting there, just as peaceful as father and son could be, it hit me how cheese pizza used to be anything but peaceful to me.
From his first bite, Elliott would never eat toppings on his pizza. He wouldn't even go so far as to experiment with them. And it used to drive me nuts. You'll never get anywhere without taking chances in life, I thought. Your brother eats all the toppings, he has the same pizza genes as you, you're just being stubborn and picky and maybe even defiant. Those are just a couple of the psycho-dad raising boys to men thoughts that went through my mind. But his insistence on never adventuring beyond the cheese, I'm embarrassed to confess, could genuinely drive me nuts. But there we were. Me and him. Two guys; two cheese pizzas. And I wouldn't have traded it for all the toppings in the world. It also hit me as I was reflecting on it just how many things there are that used to rob me of peace years ago that rob me of nothing today. Things I used to be anxious about that no longer trigger the slightest worry. Losses I was sure would destroy me that feel more like gains today. People that I used to worry about every thought they had about me that I haven't thought about in years. I had to ask myself, what is stealing my peace today that I won't even be thinking about a year from now? Or even a couple of months from now. What feels like total destruction in this moment that will be a fleeting thought by the next time National Cheese Pizza Day rolls around? I know one thing that did NOT come to mind: Elliott not trying toppings. Eat up all the cheese pizza you want dude! (And when your kid won't try toppings, sit down and enjoy those topping-less moments with him instead of giving a sh*t about it. Just a friendly dad tip). The truth is very little came to mind when I thought about those peace-robbers. Today I feel more at peace than ever because I know my mind is more conditioned than ever to pour mental energy into the things that are going to keep mattering. Things that will keep bringing me peace. Jesus. My sons. Healthy, healing-centered relationships. Writing and teaching. Today, when I feel things start to rob me of peace, I turn to the things that give me peace. Today, when I feel things start robbing me of peace, I start reminding myself that chances are this won't even be a thought in my mind a year from now. A year from now, when I'll be eating cheese pizza with my boy, and being grateful for knowing that what one day robs us of peace can one day become our peace. That's a helpful thing to know, at least if you're searching for peace. I watched him sitting at the edge of the lake, staring out to where his line dropped into the water and down to the lake bed below. It's the nature of fishing, isn't it, staring - wondering what the line might ultimately connect with.
Sure, we have some visions of what that connection might ultimately be, but we never really know do we? The pole rattled a bit and the line tightened. He jumped up and began to reel it in. In those initial moments, the adrenaline taking over, your mind doesn't allow you to much picture what you're bringing in. But the adrenaline does feel like extreme curiosity. It's a catfish. Maybe a couple of pounds. It's a boy. A dream come true. Even if the boy wasn't entirely sure what the dream was. Later in the day, he sends me pictures of catfish caught in that same lake that he'd found online. One of them is 14 pounds. Looks like we've found our fishing hole, we joke. Or maybe, actually, we are not joking. Because he knows what he wants now. The dreaming and wondering come with more clarity once you have a taste of what is possible. Dreaming is magical. Holding for even a moment what that dream might look like come true is a gift magic sometimes hands us while we dream. A beautiful gift. I wonder if we can do that for one another a little more. Show each other what is possible, especially in those places where so many of us have given up. We are staring at the line but don't allow ourselves to imagine that it will connect with anything. It just falls to the lake bed and plops like the end. We don't need to catch a dream there. A simple hint of one will do. A simple hint of what is possible, and we can take the fishing from there. New life. You don't have to be someone's catfish today. What an ugly assignment that would be. But maybe you can be someone's shot of hope. Even if just a tiny shot. I don't think there's anything ugly at all about that assignment. We all do life a little better when we believe something good is coming. Be that reminder for someone today. They are staring at a line waiting for it. In the book of Matthew, Jesus said something that gets more and more profound to me the older I get. He said:
"Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it." When Jesus was delivering this message as part of his sermon on the mount, he was talking to his followers about the path to eternal life. But many who follow me aren't Jesus followers, just as there was a day I wasn't a Jesus follower, and yet, I still think this passage is full of incredible wisdom. Especially in these times. These times, when the distractions in life are endless. These times, when we can walk through a broad gate and see endless possibilities. Only, and I see this a lot these days, what endless possibilities often translate to is a total lack of focus. Endless possibilities that look like chasing material wealth, superficial relationships, and a host of short term pleasures. And what often happens at the other end of those chases is stress and burnout and deteriorating mental health. I have told my boys that indeed, anything may be possible, but very very careful which possibilities you choose. Be very careful how many possibilities you long for. Because I am discovering, even if some days it feels like a discovery painfully late, that it's the small gate and the narrow road in life that leads to health and fulfillment. In a world that's begging us to collect thousands of followers, having a meaningful real life connection with a few is where fulfillment comes from. In a world begging us to do whatever it takes to make millions, it's contributing something helpful to the world that might make pennies by comparison that offers fulfillment. In a world begging us to take supplements and adopt this diet and buy that gym membership, little makes you feel better than a long walk and a good night's sleep. We live in a world of endless possibilities; scrolling past them one after the other on our phones is such real but sad symbolism for this. We live in the land of opportunity, but have opportunities become more thieves than givers of life? The gate is small and the road is narrow that leads to life. And for sure, that truth has spiritual implications that point me personally to Jesus. But it also points me to looking at my day ahead. It points me to considering, am I chasing all that is possible one day to the point I can no longer focus on what is possible today? Am I distracted by all that could be one day or am I focused on all I know I can be today? If your day feels overwhelming, if you're feeling a little burnout and stretched thin, it's possible you've walked through a gate much too wide and you're now trying to keep up with people running on a road much to broad. Maybe it's time to stop. Narrow is the gate that leads to life, and believe me when I tell you, it's never too late to find that gate. 7/10/2024 0 Comments Father and Son playing on the same NBA team, it's one of the greatest life stories everTen years ago, Lebron James posted a note to his father on Instagram:
"you know what, I don't know you, I have no idea who you are, but because of you is part of the reason who I am today. The fuel that I use - you not being there - it's part of the reason I grew up to become who I am." Since then, Lebron never made it a secret how much he valued being a dad. He even went so far to publicly proclaim his desire to one day play on the same team in the NBA as his son Bronny. Well, that desire came true. A couple of weeks ago the Los Angeles Lakers drafted Bronny. When the season begins, if all goes according to plan, Lebron and Bronny will be the first father and son duo to ever share the court in an NBA game. Looking ahead to that moment, Lebron said: "It's probably, when it comes to basketball, it's the greatest accomplishment I’ve ever had. I’ve done it all as an individual, but there’s no greater accomplishment that will be able to overtake me being able to be on the same floor as my son. It’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened.” Here's one of the greatest basketball players to ever play the game, a man who grew up having no idea who is father is, a man with a basketball resume that lists accomplishment after accomplishment, saying the greatest one of all will be playing basketball with his son. There are a lot of opinions out there that Bronny didn't deserve his spot on the Lakers, that his basketball skills don't rise to the level of the NBA. I'm not an NBA talent expert, so I don't really have an opinion on that. But if those opinions are true, it only makes the story all the more remarkable to me. Because if Lebron used his status as leverage to convince a team to draft his son, some pretty remarkable things had to be in place to allow that to happen. The biggest of them, at almost 40 years old, Lebron James had to be in the physical shape and still playing the game at a level elite enough that any team would draft his son just to keep Lebron. I am awed by a man so committed to playing a game with his son that he continue to keep himself in the shape and condition he's stayed in - a shape no other 40 year old NBA player can match - to make that dream come true. A dad committed to being the dad he never had. I hear the word nepotism thrown around. Nepotism is the act of granting an advantage, privilege, or position to relatives in an occupation or field. Well, men who look like Lebron haven't always had the privilege of practicing nepotism. So not only, then, if Bronny truly isn't NBA material, did Lebron overcome historical NBA physical limitations that come with age, he's also overcome cultural barriers that come with his race. I have never been the biggest Lebron James basketball fan, mainly because I grew up watching Michael Jordan and will always consider him the greatest to ever play the game. But that's basketball; this story is life. And who can't love this story? Lebron spent an entire life dreaming at times about what it would have been like to have a dad. Then he turned that dream into a dream of being a dad. And then being a dad who played in the NBA with his son. And now the dream is coming true. I'm not sure everyone grasps how deep the miracle is in this story. There are so many layers of miracle here that I'll actually have to tune in and see father and son play together to believe this is actually a true story and not some creation by Hallmark. Because when it happens, I know I won't be watching one of the greatest sports moments ever, but this dad, who has treasured nothing more in my life than be able to call himself a dad, will no doubt be watching one of the more beautiful life stories I have ever witnessed. And maybe for that moment, for that one very brief moment, I'll be able to forget about Mike There are two extreme ends of parenting, I suspect.
One, you have an idea of who you want your child to become and you then operate under some level of expectation and even insistence that they become that person. Your job as a parent is to keep them on the path to becoming your vision. Two, and the alternative, even if the extreme other end of the spectrum, is you trust there is someone beautiful inside that child, a beauty you can't begin to imagine - or even try to, really - and you do everything in the world to let them know how excited you are to see who they will become. Your job as a parent is to create a sense of safety that welcomes who they are becoming. I don't know if I would have articulated it that way when I became a dad, but I like to think I've subscribed to the second way of parenting. Oh, trust me, there were days when expectations and insistence reared their ugly heads; they were easy fall backs when what my boys were becoming looked like me becoming the victim of a train wreck. In those moments, it's easy to think someone needs to activate the emergency brakes on the train!! Sure, I know, there are some times the train needs braked. But when it comes to our kids, I've come to believe it's better to start with accepting a runaway train. Slam the brakes on that train enough times and you'll slam the brakes on a kid. I spend a lot of time with struggling adults these days who never got to be runaway trains as kids. There have been times over the last couple of years when I've worried about my youngest. By worrying, I mean I've wondered if there shouldn't have been - shouldn't be - more heavy handed, tough love insistence and expectation in his life. But we spent a weekend away together at a lacrosse tournament this weekend and all of that wondering disappeared. At least for the weekend 😊. We got to the tournament a little early yesterday. Ian ran off to the field ahead of me. I stood in the parking lot watching him run off when I heard a voice say, "he's a great young man." I looked around and found a head sticking out the window of a truck. It was Ian's coach. He went on to say a lot of nice things about Ian the athlete, but I couldn't quit hearing "he's a great young man." We chatted for several minutes. Then I went to find Ian. He was sitting on the wet lacrosse field by himself watching the game he loves. And I told him, "your coach just told me something that makes me more proud as a dad than anything I might see you do on that field today, he told me you're a good young man." Then I told him I was proud of him. Here's the thing, when the coach told me that, I didn't think I'm raising a good young man, I said a prayer of thanks for all the people, like that coach, who've been a part of creating safe spaces for that kid to unfold. Too often we let who our kids are becoming be a measure of our parental job performance. And if we have some expectation of who we think they should become, and they are falling short of that, we can quickly surmise we are falling short as parents. And go way too heavy on expectations and insistence, which quite often looks opposite of trusting there is something beautiful inside that kid. I watched Ian play yesterday morning after my conversation with his coach. I didn't cheer, I simply celebrated what I was watching unfold. Sometimes we need to stop the train. I get that. But I don't think stopping the train is our weakness as parents many times. Our weakness is trusting the runaway train is heading to somewhere more beautiful than we can imagine. If we'll just let the train go. More often than we give ourselves grace for, parents, runaway trains aren't warning signs of poor parenting, they are simply signals on the track that frankly our kids are often better at reading than we are. Let them read. This morning, I am beyond grateful for all the people in my kids' lives who create the safe places that welcome all that they are becoming, and for the times in doing so they might feel for a moment they've been runover by a train. Thank you all for taking that hit. Chances are you don't get paid enough for that or get enough appreciation for that. My hope is, that like me, it's rewarding enough to hear - "he's a great young man." In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
Then, God created Adam and Eve. From there, though, came the question. Where does the creation of humanity go from here? God made man from dirt and woman from the man's rib. God could have chosen literally any answer to that creation question, where does the creation of humanity go from here? God chose motherhood. One could reflect on this as I have and see this choice as a God who wanted to create something more than humanity. This was a God who wanted to create humanity as an expression of love and caring and human interconnectedness. Just as we are an expression of God's love and caring and desire for divine connectedness with us. If those were God's intentions, science certainly supports his design. Studies have shown that secure and loving attachments between a mother and her baby predict better outcomes in terms of stress management, social skills, and emotional regulation. Studies show that the responsiveness of a mother to her child's needs and her engagement in the child's learning processes help foster an environment ripe for cognitive growth. And studies strongly show the presence and supportive role of a mother can contribute greatly to the development of resilience. Children who receive consistent, compassionate care from their mothers are more likely to develop the skills necessary to face life’s challenges effectively. Indeed, many studies support the notion that a strong and healthy connection between a mother and her baby is one of the greatest predictors of a child's future wellness. I am a science AND bible guy. It's never one or the other for me. This overlap between God's vision for motherhood and the evidence science lends to that vision is one big reason for my AND. In the aftermath of my divorce, I have said many times, if I had to choose a mother for my boys all over again I'd choose the mother they have. She has always made her role as a mother her highest priority. Because of that, even as much as I've remained an active father in their lives, I know it is motherhood that has lifted them through some challenging years. I know the bond she's created with them, one in line with the loving and caring and connection driven vision of God, has been glue. For it's hard to shake the image of the cross. In the hardest earthly moment of God's life. The creator who declared the value of motherhood looking down at his mother witnessing his murder. And one of God's last orders of business was calling out to his disciple John, please take care of my mother. A bond to the end. A bond founded on the loving and caring and human connection born in a manger. I know my role in my boys' lives is critical. This article isn't to diminish the role a father plays. But I own that no small part of my role has always been supporting their mom's opportunity to be a present mom. I also know one reason their mom has had the freedom to be a present mom is some of the challenges NOT present in her life that ARE present in the lives of many moms. She's never had to worry about access to healthcare. She's never had to worry about access to education. She's never had to worry about access to social supports that lighten the load of the never ending job of mom. We often judge moms for not showing up for their babies the way God designed them to and the way science supports is the healthiest foundation for human development. Maybe when God was designing the importance of motherhood he was also imagining the way we'd all show up to support mothers. And that design didn't include judgment, but policies and practices that give every mother a chance to show up for their kids the way my boys' mom has shown up for them. Being a present mom was never designed to be a privilege. It was designed to be a gift from God to humanity. A gift that would foster love and care and connection all the way from earth to eternity. Every time we turn our back on opportunities to support every mother and every baby in that gift, we turn our back on the natural design of a loving and caring and connected world. It's not often we talk about that truth when talking about the challenges of the world. Maybe it's time we start. No better time than Mothers Day. |
Robert "Keith" CartwrightI am a friend of God, a dad, a runner who never wins, but is always searching for beauty in the race. Archives
November 2024
CategoriesAll Faith Fatherhood Life Mental Health Perserverance Running |