Play With Me, Daddy

“Play with me, daddy.”

I must hear that a couple hundred times a day. Sometimes, I’m ready to play, and it’s tickle fights, wrestling matches, Avengers figures, cars and trucks until we can’t stand it any longer. Other times, I’m not so ready to play, and I try to beg off. If you’re a parent, I’m sure you can relate.

But lately, I’ve noticed something. When Jon says “Play with me”, he’s using the word play in an entire different way. In fact, it may be an entirely different word.

I hear play and I think interaction, me and him using our imaginations to create scenarios and worlds where the toys we use and the time we share transport us together into another place. But it’s a separate togetherness: we each act independently within the game, each one doing what we imagine our characters should do. I think play, and it’s really all about collective yet distinct imaginative effort. Me and him as two.

When Jon says play, it’s less about imagination or collaborative effort. It’s more about him doing what he wants to do while I sit in the same room with him. Sometimes he’ll hand me a truck and tell me where to drive it. Other times he forgets I’m even there. The only thing he really needs is for me to remain physically present; my mind can be a thousand miles away as long as he can still use my arms as bridges and my belly as a mountain. I am another toy for him to use.

It’s ugly, but sometimes I get frustrated by this kind of play. My son has some cool toys, and the idea of just running the same four trucks over my stomach for an hour and a half makes me feel a little…I dunno, bored maybe? I want to line up action figures and trucks and Lego castles and create our own fantastic battles and worlds. I understand on a deeper level what play can really be, and I want to explore that deeper level.

My son, who’s only four, doesn’t get that yet. So he’s content to play at his level, happy to have a few small toys and a daddy who will simply sit with him for as long as he needs. He doesn’t know what he’s missing because he hasn’t learned there’s anything to miss. Developmentally, he’s right on schedule and I have to stop and remind myself that, as his father, I have to work with him where he’s at and gently expand his world a little bit at a time.

I bring all this up because it’s sort of where I’m at with God right now. For a long time, I’ve been content to play at my level, which is to do what I want to do while having the security of His presence. But God’s been gently expanding my world; He’s calling me out into places of much deeper meaning and discovery, not because I’m special, but because He has something He wants to show me. I still want to play with a couple of trucks.

He wants to help me build worlds.

Like my son, I’ve been content to just do my thing. But also like my son, I’ve learned to put my hand into my daddy’s and let Him lead me into something else. It requires trust and faith that He won’t lead me into situations where I’ll be hurt; it requires me loving Him enough to surrender to something that stretches me, pushes the envelope of what I think I can do. And when I find I’m at my limit, He lovingly picks me up into His arms and lets me rest, reassuring me that we’ve done enough for the day.

Sometimes, I worry about what other people might think of what He’s teaching me. But He doesn’t. And I trust Him.

Because He loves me.

Because I’m a Nerd, That’s Why

I’m anxiously awaiting May 3. Not because my son’s birthday is May 1. Not because it will be the first of many glorious summer weekends here in Georgia. Not because I’ll be that much closer to having my babies home for the summer. No, I’m looking forward to May 3 because that’s the official release date for Iron Man 3, the anticipated summer blockbuster starring Robert Downey Jr.

I am, you see, a nerd.

I’m not a hardcore nerd – I don’t excel at the stereotypical nerd things that most people associate with nerd-dom. I would be laughed off of The Big Bang Theory. I would be run out of most comic conventions. I will never pass the official entrance exam for Star Fleet. Heck, I can’t even rattle off half of the characters from the Mos Isley cantina.

But I’m still a nerd.

I like intelligent people. I prefer in-depth conversations on topics of interest to shallow patter meant to make people feel at ease. I would rather debate the merits of what makes a superhero super than the ins and outs of Cypriot banking systems. If you offered me a choice between seeing all of the Marvel hero movies back-to-back-to-back or all of the DC hero movies back-to-back-to-back or the entire first season of Downton Abbey back-to-back-to-back, I’d take three hours debating between DC and Marvel. The Abbey would never enter the equation.

My children are following in my footsteps to a degree. Ella would just as soon watch a superhero cartoon as a Disney princess movie. Jon loves making his Avengers figures battle in the bathtub. And both he and Ella both got into the Cartoon Network series, Young Justice: Invasion. [SPOILER ALERT] Ella even went to the next level of fandom by writing this note of sorrow over the death of Kid Flash in the season finale.

All of this is to say that I’m okay with my nerdness. Not that it’s ever really been an issue for me (okay, maybe at times during high school and college), but as I get older and my nerdiness continues to change, I find that I’m more and more at ease with that side of my personality. Sure, I’ll get into a good theological debate with the best of them, and I love reading about philosophy and other fascinating topics, but just be forewarned that I might drop the Joker into a conversation as a legitimate example of nihilism, or Spider-Man as an example of the power of laughter.

I could go on, but I’m losing focus and my son needs a bath. So I’ll just end it with this meme I created the other day as a way of feeling better about myself. Maybe it will make you feel better about yourself too.

My Daughter’s Salvation

I can officially tell this story now. It’s been killing me for a couple of weeks, but I wanted to respect my daughter and only tell it once she’d had the chance to do so herself. Yesterday, at the close of our church service, during the invitation time, my daughter walked forward and told the church that she had given her life to Jesus Christ, her Lord and Savior. The church then got a good laugh out of her when the senior pastor asked whom she wanted to baptize her: me or the senior pastor.

“You,” she said, swinging a thumb in the senior pastor’s direction. It was a totally unscripted moment.

Which really, if you know my daughter, is absolutely perfect. But to be clear, she didn’t accept Christ yesterday; she did it a couple of weeks ago, during the big Discipleship Now weekend that my students participated in. Every year, around 20 some-odd churches in Gwinnett County and beyond pull together for one massive DNOW event. The past couple of years it’s been graciously hosted by Cross Pointe Church (senior pastor James Merritt) and over 800 students have come for a weekend of music, the Gospel and fellowship. This was my students’ third year participating.

Thus, it was my daughter’s third year participating. That’s what happens when you’re the preacher’s kid – you get to go to every event, regardless of whether or not you actually want to. We try and do our best (Rachel and I) to make it fun for Ella, and she genuinely enjoys the music and the freedom she has to run to the front of the stage and dance or hop around while the music plays. It’s part child’s play, part unfettered worship, and she only gets that chance during youth events like DNOW. So we let her go for the gusto.

Now, the past two years, she’s brought along books or a notepad for the sermon time. She would look up every once and while during the messages, but for the most part, she was more interested in the world of her own imagination than in the world of the Bible. And Rachel and I were okay with that.

See we’re weird – we’ve prayed for Ella’s salvation since before she was born (Jon’s too), and while we’ve always prayed that she would come to Christ while she was young, we’ve never felt the need to push her. Several of her friends have made confessions of faith long before Ella, and while she was always curious and asked plenty of questions (which we answered thoroughly without trying to push her one way or the other) she never seemed all that interested in making a decision herself.

In her mind there were three things she knew: Jesus was God, Jesus was Lord, and saying you believed that meant you had to get baptized, which meant getting wet in public in a very strange pool. Which meant, in her mind: no thank you.

But this recent DNOW changed things for her. She actually paid attention to our speaker for the weekend, the wonderful Clayton King. Clayton is a gifted speaker and an anointed preacher, and something about him – specifically, his humor – grabbed Ella’s imagination. On Friday night, she had her notebook and was doodling, but she would laugh right along with the audience, sometimes just before. Never took her eyes off her notebook, but was still engaged.

She was listening. Clayton had her attention.

So it was that on Saturday night, as we waited for the doors to the sanctuary to open, Ella walked over to me and said, “Daddy, will there be music tonight?”

“Yes, Ella,” I said.

“Well how long til that funny preacher man starts talking? I want to hear him because he’s funny.”

In retrospect, I know why that line struck me so hard, but in the moment it didn’t register. I just thought it was funny that my little girl wanted to actually hear the preacher preach. After years of being dragged to events like this on, she’d finally found a speaker who could hold her focus. It struck me as so funny that, when I realized Clayton King was seated on the row behind us, I made it a point to relate the story to him and introduce Ella. She smiled and waved coyly. Clayton waved back.

The music was great, but when Clayton started preaching, it just felt different. Ella was doodling, but she was sitting next to me, all snuggled up. Usually, that’s reserved for her mother, not me. As Clayton went through his message on the significance of Christ being Lord, I began to feel a familiar sensation. My heart began beating rather quickly. As Clayton neared the end of his message and began his invitation, I suddenly realized something.

I had the same sensation I’d had years ago when I gave my life to Christ. As Clayton continued talking about how Christ must be Lord of our lives if we’re going to be Christians, I began to pray: God, are you telling me I’m not saved?

I mean, I was sure of my salvation, but I’m nothing if not wiling to question things.

That’s when it became clear: it wasn’t me God was working on. It was Ella. And when Clayton gave the invitation to stand up and say “JESUS IS LORD!” if you had accepted Christ as your Savior, Ella turned to me, eyes full of confidence, and I nodded.

And she stood up and said, “JESUS IS LORD!”

I’ve been in ministry now for over 15 years, 12 of them as a youth pastor. In all of those years, that was the single-most precious moment. As someone prone to question whether or not the church still has what it takes to win the world to Christ, God reminded me very powerfully and personally on Saturday March 2 that the Gospel still changes lives, and always will. The church may sometimes limp forward, but the Gospel forever marches on, strong, bold, calling people to realize their sinfulness and Christ’s power to save them.

Ella went down front that night by herself. She didn’t ask me to come with her. And when she went down yesterday morning, it was completely on her own as well. Seven years of prayer for our daughter’s salvation came to fruition in a little girl who chose Jesus all on her own – and was so sure of it that the needed no one to guide her on the journey. She’ll be baptized soon, probably by the senior pastor, and I’ll be sure to post pictures.

Jesus saves. Never forget.

The Birthday Princess

Today is Ella’s seventh birthday, and we’ve been celebrating since this morning. She’s enjoyed some special treats throughout the day, and expects even more this weekend at her birthday party. I guess you could say we spoil her.

But we don’t see it that way.

We’re celebrating her life, which is something we don’t take for granted. Believe me when I tell you that there’s nothing on this earth that makes my heart swell like her slipping her hand into mine as we walk. Sure, the hand that’s reaching out for me has gotten bigger than I’d like to admit, and yeah, my heart breaks to think that I might only have a few more years of such unfettered, un-self-conscious love to enjoy, but it’s still overwhelming to be loved so innocently.

*****

Sometimes when I look at her, I find it hard to remember what she was like as an infant. She’s so much more herself now that’s she’s older that those early months/years seem a blur. To watch her float around the house, dancing to music only she can hear, making up words to songs that only she understands, is to watch my daughter without a filter. To see her as she really is, all the way down to her soul.

When she sits down to draw a picture now, a clear figure emerges – complete with perspective, shading, detail – and fits within a larger narrative picture. She tells you the whole story when she shows it to you, and even gives you a hint of character voices. It’s impressive.

She still sleeps like a wild animal. She’s all over the bed, arms and legs akimbo beneath the covers, breathing so deeply you would think her near comatose. Trying to wake her up on a school day is sometimes like arguing on the internet: pointless and not very productive. Then, on days when she doesn’t need to sleep late, she’s up by 6:20 and racing through the house like a deranged cat.

Talking to her has become an adventure. It’s a combination of her high-level reading skills, ever-listening ear, and decidedly animated friends that produces the first grade equivalent of a Robin Williams stand up, which is to say that she’s hysterical and full of non-sequiturs. What’s really funny is when she throws in an inflection that quite obviously came from someone else – an adult, one of her school friends, her mother – and it sounds like an entirely different person but still fully Ella. And the best part is, she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

*****

She looked at me this morning in the car. We were waiting for her bus to arrive, and she had this funny expression, a mix between sheer joy and hopeless confusion. Finally she looked at me, eyebrow raised and said, “You know I’m only three years away from ten, don’t you? Today I’m seven, then eight, nine, ten. I’ll be practically grown up. And then I’ll be a teenager. You can handle that, right?”

I looked at her and lied. “Sure I can handle that.”

But my heart knew it couldn’t. As much joy as there is in watching my child grow up, I can’t help but feel the tinge of sadness that comes as she passes ever farther away from the little girl she once was. I know I still have a lot more time with her before she starts hating my guts, but the weight of those days, the preciousness of them, makes me wish they could linger a bit.

And then she drops something on the floor, or accidentally spills grape juice on the freshly cleaned carpet and I wonder, “How long ’til college?”

*****

The birthday princess is growing up. The world is slowly becoming hers; I find that instead of her encountering things through my eyes or Rachel’s eyes, she’s seeing things through her own eyes more and more. And it’s a fascinating world to view, even if it sometimes gets a bit myopic (“When can I have a snack again? You said fifteen minutes fifteen minutes ago. It’s been fifteen minutes. So I can have a snack now, right? Because it’s been fifteen minutes. It has. Really. Why is your eyeball suddenly bleeding, daddy?”). Here’s to enjoying the ride through her childhood, to infinity and beyond.

Happy birthday, Princess Ella! Your mommy and daddy love you very much.

Does Every Life Have a Purpose?

I pray a lot over my kids. I pray for their salvation. I pray for them to be healthy. I pray for them to find the right spouse. I pray for them to be safe, be strong, be smart, be kind. But perhaps more than anything, I pray for them to discover and own their purpose for living.

It’s not exactly an uncommon prayer – I can think of other parents who pray the same thing for their children – but it’s an uncommonly strong desire of mine that they find themselves sooner rather than later. I don’t want them walking vacantly through their lives, wondering what they’re meant to do, only coming to discover their purpose and passion at a late age when changing their lives to accomodate their purpose is hard. I say that from experience. I pray for them out of that experience.

But sometimes, if I’m honest with myself, I wonder if every life has a purpose. If everyone is meant to do something with the time they have on earth. I’ve grown up hearing that each life does have a purpose; I’ve made it a point to study the Scriptures that reveal that purpose; I’ve spent hours exhorting people to find that purpose and fulfill their God-given reason for being. And yet still I occasionally wonder: does every life really have a purpose?

If the answer is no, then my prayers for my kids is a bit vain. in fact, if the answer is no, then my life is possibly vain – after all, who’s to say that what I’ve discovered as my purpose isn’t really just my feeble attempt to give meaning to life that’s ultimately meaningless? That my purpose isn’t just me manufacturing something to give my life direction so I could feel as grounded as those people who actually do have a purpose?

This sounds stupid. I know. But I’m getting somewhere with it. Just hold on.

In the end, thinking about whether life is meaningless or meaningful isn’t really a question. I believe, and am backed by Scripture, that each life has a purpose. The ancient Christians believed this too, and built it into the first question of the Westminster Catechism:

Q. 1. What is the chief end of man?
A. Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.

We exist to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. That’s our purpose. Each and every person is meant – created – so God would be glorified. That’s an awesome thought.

And it’s part of what I’m praying for my kids. That they’ll learn who they are in Christ, learn those things about themselves that makes them unique among his creation, and learn how to bring glory to God by being the fullest expression of themselves. Or to be more concrete: that my kids would find those things that they are good at, excel at those things, and bring God glory through the effort.

Jon loves to build. Ella loves to sing. Jon loves playing games and solving puzzles. Ella loves creating imaginary worlds with words and illustrations. Might those interests fall by the wayside as they grow up? Certainly. But they might also be the very things that God gifted them to do in this life, things that – in their doing – will bring God glory that no other person can bring Him.

Does that mean they’ll be famous? No.

But it means they’ll be fulfilled. Which is what I’m really praying for anyway. It’s what I want for my life, and for anyone who walks the face of the earth: to be fulfilled by being who God made them to be. Fathers, poets, politicians, teachers, firemen, soldiers, chefs, nurses, trainers, managers, pilots, preachers, singers, servers, and saints – plus every person in between. All living their lives to the fullest to bring glory to God. 

Does it mean they’ll never encounter hardship or heartache? No.

But it means that when they are tested, they’ll remember in the correct context that God works things out for our good (Romans 8:28), that He uses our life circumstances to help us achieve our purpose – bringing Him glory. See, we tend to take the glory for ourselves, even when we’re well-intentioned. Humility suffers at the hand of prosperity, and life has this way of bringing us back down too earth. It’s unpleasant to say, but all too often God only gets glory when we cannot have it for ourselves. We have to be reminded, sometimes frequently, that the glory belongs to Him alone.

So I pray for my kids. That they’ll learn these lessons early. That they’ll approach life humbly, and with great appreciation for the blessings that carry them each day. I pray that they’ll learn from my life that chasing after God may entail heartache and trial, but it will always produce God’s glory and our greatest joy.

And in typing that, I think I understand why I came to my purpose so late: in order to show my children what it means to live that way.

To God be the glory.