On the way to school every day, I ask her what she is most looking forward to in the day, and I enjoy hearing her answers. It’s usually P.E., or Art, or Recess (–unless it’s Pizza Day, then it’s Lunch!) This usually springboards into conversation around other things, and often silly things with lots of laughter, for the rest of the ride, while she doodles in the condensation on the car window. We pull up to the quaint “red-barn-designed” schoolhouse, the courtyard deep in snow, as she’s unbuckling her seat belt. It’s warm in the car, but cold air is about to fill it. I place my hand on her and pray for her before she gets out of the car. We kiss and hug, and then she goes running off to the school entrance. This is our daily routine.
I almost always watch her (through the smiley face she’s drawn in the window’s condensation) bouncing in her pink coat with her backpack slung over one shoulder until she gets all the way into the school. And I feel a certain tinge of multi-dimensional pain—part of which is knowing my time with her is limited.
Being my daughter’s father is the greatest privilege and responsibility of my life–and I only have one shot at it. I pray that God help me do it well… that I listen to her heart… that I notice & discern what is going on with her, that I can hear behind her words, that I may listen intuitively to her life, that I notice and learn from my mistakes, that I apologize, that I may be an appropriate filter against culture, etc., etc..
I get emotional thinking about her & how quickly she is growing up. She is 9 (and a half!). She has spent those years under my roof and within my care, and she has essentially 9 more years to go before she trades her room here at home for a college dorm.
Of course, I want her to go off to school, grow up, be independent, have a wonderful life, pursue her dreams, succeed in her endeavors, marry a strong, kind, adventurous, courageous, and caring man, etc. These are some of the things for which I am preparing her. But I don’t yearn for her to leave soon. 9 years has gone by at light speed. The next 9 will go by at least as fast.
I think about these things often when I drop her off to school in the morning.
There are various kinds of pain in the mosaic of parental love that are difficult to convey and difficult to appreciate outside of the context of being a parent. It is a wonderful and beautiful kind of pain, filled with an eternity of hope for the well-being of this child, knowing there is pain I must let her experience, pain I must protect her from, and pain I can’t protect her from. In any case, her pain is my pain. I’m easily reduced to tears and prayer as I contemplate her and how much I love her. I don’t think a daughter can ever know the depth of her father’s love. I want the best for her and I want to raise her as best as I can, but I ultimately look to God’s involvement with her in who she’s becoming and for the brightness of her future.
And then there’s something about having kids and watching them grow up that emphasizes how fleeting time is–like water flowing through my hands that I can’t keep from slipping through. Remaining aware of this helps me to “lock into” her more, to be truly “present” with her when I am with her. When I’m locked into her, I forget about time. And though it passes, the sand continues to flow through the bottleneck, the hands on the clock still move clockwise, the earth still turns on its axis and revolves in its orbital path, time stands still when I’m truly locked into her. It’s in these moments I imprint the best of myself on the timeline of her heart and she leaves her mark on the timeline of mine. The more of these marks there are and the closer together they are, the tighter our bond, and the more healthy emotionally she is, and the more prepared she is to navigate through life.
I savor this pain to which I refer. This kind of pain is merely love spelled differently. I’m grateful to feel it. It promotes a certain sobriety that motivates me not only to responsibility for her, but to take advantage of (and a strategic approach to) my years with her that pass like seconds.
I know a girl who puts the color inside of my world.
She’s just like a maze, where all of the walls continually change.
Fathers, be good to your daughters.
Daughters will love like you do.
Girls become lovers, who turn into mothers.
So mothers, be good to your daughters too.
On behalf of every man looking out for every girl,
You are the god and the weight of the world.
So fathers, be good to your daughters. (John Mayer)
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I wrote the above with my first born in mind during the winter of 2008. Fast forward to now, after a whole host of personal, career and life changes, and my youngest—my second daughter—just turned 7 in May.
What I wrote in regard to my oldest daughter conures up all the same for my 7 year old as well. However, I’m now more seasoned in life and as a father at 55 than I was in my 30’s. I’ve learned much more about myself, about my daughters and about parenting—about leadership, really. I’ve done many things well and I’ve also done many things I’ve had to apologize for and there are many things I wish I would have done differently. Such is the journey of learning, growth and transformation—at least in as much as one is intentional about these things. I love my daughters and I’ve continued to learn from them. Perhaps it’s kids who, in some ways, raise their parents.
I have a question I’ve set to pop up on my calendar every Friday: “Where can I be more intentional as a father?” It’s a good question to consider. I have a number of things I continue to do in answer to this question and the question is a good reminder.
In light of Father’s Day coming up, I’ve been thinking a bit about fatherhood in general. Father’s Day is a holiday about honoring fathers. I’m all for this. But I’m more inclined to be grateful for the privilege of being a father and to honor the responsibility, my responsibility, of being a father. Being a father is challenging. Being a good father is often difficult. It takes much effort and intentionality to continue becoming better. And become better, we must. Leaders often think about what they are building. This is important. However, if we are fathers, perhaps more importantly, we need to think about “who” we are building. So fathers, I lay this before you for your consideration. It’s for my consideration as well since I am still growing. Who are you building? How can you become a better father to your kids? Where can you be more intentional as a father?