all wiped away.

All wiped away. In the blurring winds circling in and out of days, blowing chaotic and careless, rest gets lost in the reach, in those breaths drawn in deeply and in tears that cut paths across dry cheeks.

I laid easy under a clear sky yesterday.  For hours, just floating in and out of thoughts as gentle waves reached and recoiled.  The sound whispered hypnotic abandon.

Rest alludes us.  Always seemingly ahead waving empty in mirage heat while finding escape in the details of life and circumstance.  We don’t rest.  What we do is recharge to catch up and prepare for whatever’s next.  We give regular pause when day gives way to night, but our minds race and unravel, our dreams reveal and recover and our hearts crave true belonging.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

...from racing ...from wanting ...from sinking ...from spinning ...from being lost ...from being apart

Rest lies real in the divine.

“I will give you rest. ...you will find rest for your souls.”

Wake up to start again.  Our hearts paused only to resume once more.

Yes, rest alludes.

Even the happiest and most well kept individuals recharge, at best.

Our sin, all the wrong that takes residence in our heart, the imperfections we tolerate, the energy in wondering of what more, these bear more weight than mere happiness and resourcefulness.  Our souls search for more.  Something that will appease the unrest residing in every existing minute.  Are we enough?  Are we right?  Are we okay?  

Can we truly ever rest?

Truth is, the soul quenching rest that quiets all fear innate and intrinsic is otherworldly.  We are incapable of such now.

We feel it in moments when we gaze at the sky or give honest observation to natural beauty.  All else fades, including time passing, and rest passes close by.  There, we unhinge from this life and feel the warmth of eternity and how much grander it is than all of the choking cares of now.  It is magical and deeply invigorating.  But rest, as in reprieve,

There will be a day when grace concedes to glory.  Rest will truly come then.

When worries wean and fears exist no more, when struggle ends and doubts prove empty, when the last redemptive stroke is made, in a day perfected by God’s glory, rest will be the inheritance of those clinched to grace today.

Ahead, pulling us forward.  Kingdom come.

The sky yesterday expanded in such unending, new beauty.  I felt as though I could look into forever and be found in each floating cloud.  I laid on my back in the sand next to my oldest daughter and together we spied eternity, not in clouds rolling gently but in time slowing between us and words together wondering.

Still echoing in her words and heart, “Why did mom die?” “What will life be like?” “Where will she rest when her thoughts run?”

There will be a day when all that once violated her heart, eroded her innocence and kept me up worrying, will forever fade in the glory of God.  Until that day somewhere ahead, we live in his Kingdom come here and now.  We find rest now amidst all wrong.  That rest in founded and supported continual in our residence established in God’s glory in a indescribable day to come.

All wiped away as night gives way to day, warm and new.  Rest in that tomorrow today.

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."   (Matthew 11:28-30, The Message)

"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. 10 Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. 11 Give us this day our daily bread, 12 and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. 13 And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. (Matthew 6:9-11)

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a parenting must.

Once again, deeper there on the trail crowded by overgrowth and choked by dust, I felt the responsibility in each of their little vulnerable steps.

“Dad, I can’t.” “Trust me, you can.  Just put your foot right where you feel my hand.”

A few minutes earlier, we came to a small clearing right off the trail that gave glimpse to a waterfall.  The sound of water rushing.  The cool of mist hanging in air.  They had to see it.  The beauty of nature demanded attention.  Between us and the sight to behold, a small rock face and a ledge to balance on.  With little thought of anything going wrong, I started down the rock face determining our path.  The descent, not much more than 20 feet, a bit precarious for their little legs and tense hearts, but necessary to see the waterfall completely.  And in my mind, they absolutely had to see it.

I am father to three amazing little daughters.  They have no other parent now.  Just me.

I have little idea of how to raise daughters on my own.  All the shifting intricacies and suddenly swelling emotions.  I second guess myself and hesitate at least a handful of times most days.  They cry huge girl tears which fall unexpectedly and unpredictably.  I worry.  What’s wrong?  Before I can catch up and figure out what’s going on, they’re done.  The moment behind them.  Tears get lost in laughter.  And they talk way too much by my account.  Don’t get me wrong, I love hearing them talk about the day, their experiences and how they are seeing the world, but sometimes our conversational thresholds are very, very different.

Being dad rests as a huge responsibility in each day and decision.  So much more than ever before or imagined.

Together, we crash landed onto the shores of life now and new.  The wreckage of the life we knew still ablaze and in sudden disarray.

“DAD, you’re here!!!” they yelled with excitement.

Leaping hugs ensued as they engulfed me with energy building during the week we were apart.  For a moment, I was raptured back to the world I knew when they would run to greet me as I returned from work.  That world and the loving memories of it vanished with the words that followed.  “Where’s mommy?” asked Elizabeth, our oldest daughter.  “When is mommy coming home from the hospital?” asked Chloe, our youngest with anxious excitement.  I could not even swallow to say something.  This was so much more terrible than I could have ever imagined.  Emily, our middle daughter, was quiet.  I could tell she knew something was wrong, very wrong, as she backed into the shadows of her heart trying to not be part of what was happening.  My heart crumbled and quaked inside of my chest.  They had no idea yet exactly how dark the day was and how different their lives had become.  As their daddy, the one person walking this Earth set to protect them, their words were like someone violating the sacredness of our family, our togetherness.  It felt as though someone stabbed me in the heart with the dullest knife, maybe a spoon.  And I swear I could see life dim a little in their eyes as they saw the loneliness present in  mine.

“Let’s go outside.  I need to talk to you, girls.”

That is how this together started; me and the three of them.  A conversation about death and tragedy, what’s no more and unknown ahead.  Together, in the middle of two very different days, all sinking and me trying to keep our heads above water rising.

Before their mother’s death, we were five together.  Life was tamed by love and dreams to chase after.  In so many countless little ways, life laid out far less complex and with comforting ease.  Life made sense.  God existed always measurably good.

I never imagined living life as a single parent.  So much responsibility.  Most of the time, details slip past me and dates fall through the cracks.

Here’s the thing: parenting is much more privilege and much less about responsibility.

It has to be.  Otherwise, you’ll raise robots, rebels or aging dependents.  It is not your responsibility to make your kids succeed in life.  It is your privilege to lead them along treacherous paths and be a part of revealing the panoramic ahead.

Responsibility is a to do list, a weighted must; a burden lacking discovery, heroism, courage and love.  Your kids will always remember moments you lifted them, times you saved them and whispers of greatness planted in the soil of their little looking hearts.  The scariest thing I’ve ever had to do as their dad was let go.  Responsibility hangs heavy in weighty apprehension.  Do this.  Say that.  Allow this.  Never that.  Responsibility will keep you running to little fires with an always leaking bucket of maybes and overreactions and weak second guesses.

I can no more save them than I can myself.  I had to let go of responsibility as priority in parental definition.  It is a parenting must.

More than father to my three little beautiful daughters, I am a son made to belong where I shouldn’t by a forever loving Father who just does not quit.  Loosening my grip on responsibility as king didn’t make me less responsible, but more responsive to their growing needs.  The privilege of being dad to Elizabeth Marie, Emily Anne and Chloe Grace opens me to lead them wherever life turns and towards the women they will soon one day be.

We inched down the rock face, my hands and words guiding each step.  Together we took in the view and felt the mist lightly spraying about us.  We shared a small victory, their little hearts grew stronger and I learned more about parenting in that moment than most others before.

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the gospel, giggles and cuss words.

“...and it was even grosser and uglier than that.  The Bible says that he was beaten so badly, to the point that he didn’t really look like himself anymore.” We sat on the floor of our living room surrounded by enough chocolate and candy to satisfy a little army of children.  The sugar rush seemed to take hold instantly mixed with the releasing anticipation of Easter morning finally arrived.  My kids, as I imagine most kids, light up with excitement and a particular joviality belonging only to a few days positioned throughout the year: birthdays, holidays and the onset of summer.  I absolutely love it, too.  They are particular little celebrators who like to take in the moment and deliberately ease into the cause for grande occasion.  Routines, habits, traditions, all honored and revered in their little hearts.  It makes my heart sometimes rushed by responsibility and dampened by ‘reality’ slow to their pace and come alive similarly.  No rushing through presents or traditions or out of what they’ve waited as patiently as they can for.  

I especially love these moments with them.  Our time together in memories creating and lasting forever.  They’ll look back to our time together, when it is no longer just us, from a time ahead when they are doing the same with their own little families and draw from our experiences happening now.

And in the midst of celebrating holidays, all excitement, anticipation and happiness involved, I make sure to plant deeply and water the cause for such spectacle.  I try my best, at least.

This particular Easter morning we woke to skies clouded and rain falling, presenting the perfect opportunity.  After getting through the exhilaration of our morning egg hunt where no nook or cranny inside of the house was out of bounds or off limits and them finding new fishing poles laid out as family gifts next to their Easter baskets, we sat, ate more candy and talked a bit longer than usual.

“Easter is all about grace, God making everything wrong with us right and okay.”

Even though my daughters are young, they understand more than I often give them credit for.  This time the morning rested lazy and easy.  Rather than oversimplifying our conversation, I read more than two chapters straight from my Bible as they sat nearly spellbound despite sugar rushing through those little veins of my own.

They asked about the gory punishment inflicted on Jesus, sat still both captivated and horrified by the details of crucifixion, wondered aloud why people were so mean to him and wanted to know what happens when they do wrong ...if they keep doing wrong.  We’ve talked about grace before, but our morning conversation then presented a more concrete understanding.

A seed planted now being watered.  I pray roots dig deeply into their hearts and fruit of understanding and grace, action and choices, hangs ready on their growing branches.

“God wants you, and everyone, to go to Heaven.  That’s why he allowed Jesus to die for us, even though he knew we’d all make mistakes and do wrong.”

Grace :: favor rendered by one who need not do so; exemption; a reprieve.

I want them to understand grace deeply.  An infinitely important goal determined in my life as father to my little girls is to establish grace and acceptance in their lives.  I never want God misunderstood in their minds and unaccepted in their hearts as a distant judge somewhere in the sky just waiting for them to mess up.  He's right there in our mess.  He wants all to have heaven.  All to receive grace and everything wrong with us right and okay.

Grace and acceptance will mature only as I continue cultivate the soil of their hearts and nurture their stretching branches that will bear and hold fruit.  I think of parenting as I think of my own heart.  A garden needing constant attention.

As questions slowed and our conversation widened, my oldest asked, “What about bad words?”

“You know, the ‘sh’ word and the ‘b’ word,” she knowingly stated. “Gotcha.  And the ‘f’ word, right?” “Whoa, NO!!  That’s horrible, dad!!!”

Funny how kids zero in on what they deem the most important.  Not murder or cheating or stealing or lying, but bad words.  This is why I love these times so much.  They give time for their hearts to readily open and just pour out.

“Those are just words used to mean bad things.  The words themselves aren’t bad.  It is the way we use them and how we use them.  It all starts in our heart.  The words don’t matter as much as why and how we use them.”

So to further teach them, we read from Matthew 5:22 and talked about the power of how we use words.  To top it off, I said one of the cuss words my daughter alluded to out loud.

Deafening silence, eyes wide and jaws agape.

For me, parenting sometimes requires slight risks and complete honesty.  To ensure they understood why I cussed out loud, we briefly looked up the meaning and definition for a couple of the words.  They learned that those words actually do have real meaning, but due to misuse and bad intentions, those words hold bad meanings.  I explained that I don’t use those words because of how they are commonly used to mean bad things and because I simply do not need to, there are far better words to use.

My aim in this teaching was deep and far reaching.  It was a matter of beginning to set right understanding in their hearts, that Christ died for them specifically and grace redeems their hearts affecting their actions.  Not the other way around.  All too often, the mistake of our actions making us acceptable to God lingers and holds prominence over grace freely given and capably finding.

The only way to grace is through the mess.

“Any questions, girls?”

They looked at each other for a moment and then simultaneously burst into infectious giggles.  It will stand as one of the best conversations we’ve had to date.

be parenting.

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“What does kindness mean?”

My question hung in air between us for a bit as they knew exactly why I was asking.  Most nights seem to require at least a quick emotional melt down right before bedtime.  With consistency, it’s as if my announcement that bedtime has once again arrived is received by their ears much differently than my rather practical intent.  The message somehow jumbled and transmitted to their brain, “hurry up, fight, argue, instigate, you’ve only got a few minutes left in this day!”  

Little exception to this every evening phenomena.  Someone is bound to lose the race up the stairway.  No fewer than three times a week does one of them rush upstairs to lock the bathroom door leaving the other two pounding hard demanding in.

Some times tears happen, too.  Actually crying is relatively normal and at times, a rather dominant expressed emotional response.  Perhaps if someone uninvitingly rearranged the dolls I had taken 5 minutes out of my schedule free day to set up at a tea party in my room, I’d crumble into tears and pieces too.  Or maybe if my little sister didn’t really understand the pretend scenario that I instantly created, details lacking and changing, I’d take it deeply to heart and fall apart.  “You just don’t get it, Dad.”  My thought, “thank God I don’t get it.”  We’d be a fiery mess of emotion and tears if I did get what they get.

Maybe it would be weird if at least one of the girls didn’t have a good cry at some point in every day.  What amazes is how quickly those tears can dry.  They dry fastest when they get what they want.

I love my daughters and am utterly committed to loving them just as completely as I know how and can learn to.  But even with the assistance of my mom interpreting their often indiscernible emotion code, I’m lost in those little moments when tears fall quickly and emotions blare out.  I’m just not that emotional of a person.  Especially when I look at the array of quick emotions they can shift through.

I know that they love each other, too.  Siblings fight and argue as a natural part of establishing who they are and working through life as they grow into it.  As a man, I imagine it might be easier to break up a physical squabble between boys.  But I don’t have boys.  I am fathering three girls who only have a dad.  I’m learning how to relate and find my pace with them in these emotional times.

So back to our bedtime question, “What does kindness mean?”

“...love.” “...nice.” “...happy.”  (One guess at who this last response belonged to.)

“All good answers, girls, but not fully right.”

“Awwww!” said the one who answered ‘happy’ as she rolled around on the bed only half invested in the question.

“Kindness means being kind.”

One of the most important things to me as a father is teaching my daughters not simply about life, but precisely how to live it.  I want them to be thought of as kind because they are kind in the way they act and treat others.

Rightly connecting the information with behavior and action is the key that unlocks them.  Otherwise, I reduce myself only to an authoritative voice.  A parent’s place and opportunity in the child’s life is not merely authoritative, but more so as teacher and guide.

If I want them to be, I must be.

“So what can you do tomorrow to be kind to someone?  Pick someone, one person, who you will be specifically kind to?”

Their little responses were as seedlings opening up in the soil of their growing hearts.  Learning to live, to be, in little ways.  That defines and validates parenting for me.

down the trail.

[gallery link="file" columns="5"] Same mistake ...again.

Words, emotions, actions, all lit by the heat of the moment.  Right there.  Right in front of us both.  Regrets pile high once dust settles and calm returns.

Losing sight of who they can be and how to get there with them easily falls victim to all busy schedules, sticky details and chunky events of life unfolding. She lied again.  Again.  

Didn’t she learn from the last time I punished her and raised my voice emphatically?  Apparently, what I say does not matter enough to direct her to making the right choices.

What else would be the cause? She doesn’t respect me anymore.

Standing there looking back at me lying again.  In her eyes rest a distance.  I’m not getting through to her.  Control her every more and response.

“Stand up straight when I am talking to you!”  “Don’t you walk away from me!”  “Sit still, right there.”

In the immediate, I am blinded.  Nothing behind or ahead hold value, only now right there in the heat of the moment.  And there I lose touch with her.  That is the reason a distance rests in her eyes standing there looking back at me.  We stand apart in two different locations, a gap ever widening.

As a single dad and only parent to my three little daughters, I have become much more insecure.  With all of my heart, I only want them to grow healthy and robustly from little girls to young ladies secure in who they are and into loving and wise mature women set on a purposeful course in life.  The fear of not getting them there tangles and trips me.  The fear is now.  It is all I see.  And that is precisely the problem.  I react quickly and out of context losing sight of my ultimate desire.  In quick reactionary parenting, I am just being bounced between little details isolated and void of the overall beauty and full potential holding instead of seeing those little details as not isolated but parts of the whole and opportunities to get her there.

A few months ago while racing down a single track path through a wide open prairie on my mountain bike, I severely misjudged a turn.  Over the handle bars and through the air I tumbled landing squarely on my head and sliding through the dirt and dry grass on my back.  In the adrenaline rush, I popped right back up to my feet.  Everything blurry and spinning.  My stomach tightened and knees weakened as I reached for the ground both signs of a concussion.  After a couple minutes, I climbed back on my bike, cracked helmet and bleeding, for three more miles to finish the course.  The wreck and the injuries incurred were my doing.  One of the most dangerous things to do while mountain biking is to look down right over your handle bars.  In doing so, you miss what is right ahead.  The path is only right there, but there is so much ahead.  And you need to see the whole path ahead to anticipate response.  Turns, logs laying in path, roots, creeks, switch backs, hills and more all ahead on the course.

The danger of looking only right at the moment is to get lost in the immediacy of details unfolding and forget all ahead.  Life holds only immediate value.  Preoccupied and controlled by the moment only, you are left to only reacting.  Life is about much more than flinching, wincing and reacting.  So is parenting.

When I stare into the moment and lose sight of who she can be and will be, all ahead fades into the distant forever.  Both of us sink into a moment rushing, emotions running high and now bleeds like forever.  In this way exactly, parenting shares a parallel with mountain biking.  Life intersecting life.  Truth pedaling and parenting.  In both, eyes must lift out of moments heated and sticky and stay fixed ahead.

I am learning to securely parent my three little daughters in looking down the trail, anticipating response and proactively participating rather than waiting to react in moments and details.