I often do an end-of-the-year blog post in which I reflect on the year that was. These are often very long, and this year I thought about breaking my reflection into multiple blog posts, one per topic area, to make it all a bit easier to digest.
But truth-be-told, I don’t want to. When I was a teenager, or in my early 20s, I blogged incessantly and shared everything with everyone. These days, I just have no interest. If you, the person reading this, and I are close, then you already know everything. If you’re reading this and don’t know, then we’re not close.
And unfortunately, that’s been one of the major challenges with 2018: the number of people I’m close with continues to dwindle. If I’m going to invest my energy sharing thoughts and feelings with someone, I would like that time to contribute towards building a friendship with someone. Blogging doesn’t do that.
I’m not ready to close this down yet. 2019 may bring some interesting things that I’ll want to blog about. But having a purely personal blog is of less and less interest to me.
What can I say about 2018? My job is awesome, my wife and son are awesome, and God is awesome. And I am growing some friendships through our church, which is great. I’m going to try and make some new friends in 2019; if I want to be close with more people, then I need to meet more new people.
I spent 2018 with some great books. I spent time well caring for my wife and now my son. I invested further in our home. I worked hard and continued to build a fantastic team at Adaptavist. I lost 50 pounds of fat. I don’t think I could have spent 2018 much better than I did. It has been a good year.
When I was in elementary school, I learned about our system of government and its checks and balances. I knew that our democracy had its problems, and we have corrupt politicians and whatnot, but I believed in the system. I think of our government as being resilient, and that as our society and people grow and learn and improve, that our countries policies would too. That’s how we expanded voting rights, and improved equality, and so many other things.
I don’t know what I’m going to teach my son. The next few months and years will determine that. But right now, I see our checks and balances being undermined. The highest court in the land is being stacked with pro-Trump justices, gerrymandering has contributed to Republican majorities in federal and local positions, and now the person overseeing the investigations related to our president has been replaced by a person who is avowedly pro-Trump.
Marching probably doesn’t do a lot of good. At least, not in Springfield. But it is better to do something than nothing, and it gives me the opportunity to write about it. If nothing else, I can teach Simon about why we fight losing battles. It is important that we communicate our ethics, morals, and values.
Before Simon was born, I had the idea to journal regularly so I could look back and relive some of my thoughts and feelings from that time.
But I don’t really enjoy journaling, and I never did it.
And now, I’ve been thinking that I should write down what I’m learning from being his dad. 5 and a half weeks in, and here we are.
I didn’t know what to expect in terms of “feelings.” Would I feel some mystical bond with my son? Would I be overwhelmed with love? My only experience being overwhelmed with love was as a teenager, and on reflection, that had more to do with hormones than mysticism. We feel so strongly when we are younger, and I’m more even-keeled these days.
I find myself enthralled by Simon. I’ll be putting him into his car seat, or stroller, or bassinet, or just holding him in my arms, and I’ll look at him and lose track of time. I can’t identify the feeling there, but he becomes the center of my universe for a brief moment, and all is right in the world.
My priorities have shifted a bit. Hobbies have less pull on me, while resting is even more precious. Simon is sleeping pretty well, and April does most of the getting-up-at-night, but there’s still a lot for me to do. Having paternity leave is amazing, and I really love that I get to spend so much time with Simon here in these first few months.
One night, while lying on the bed and looking into the bassinet to try and decide if Simon needed his diaper changed, needed burped, or just needed the pacifier returned to him, I had the words “my son” go through my head.
And as I reflected on those two words, I felt strongly that I do not own Simon. He is not mine to do with as I will. I do not own his future; he is not beholden to me. Rather, I am his caretaker and teacher. I will do my best to guide him, but ultimately, he belongs to himself.
I have two follow-up thoughts on this.
First, when I became Christian, my conversion included God returning my soul to me. I know that’s throwing out a weird statement without any backstory, but this blog post isn’t about my story, so my apologies for dropping that and just moving on. What was relevant about that moment in the context of this story is that I had sold my soul, and God returned it to me, and I felt it both physically and spiritually. And my response was to thank God and immediately offer Him my soul. And God refused.
He told me that I was created to be me, and that no one owned me. I choose to be part of God’s family, and God gave us free will, which that never goes away. Similarly, Simon is part of my family, but he belongs to himself.
Second, ownership and debt was wielded against me frequently when I was growing up. My parents regularly told me about how I owed them for all the wonderful things in my life. Things like clothes and food and being taken to or picked up from school. Further, they told me that I was expected to pay them back later. Some of this was joking, but often it was said in moments of frustration or angst, and I interpreted it verbatim.
Consequently, I feel strongly about making sure my son knows that he owes me nothing. He did not choose to be born. We chose him. And we choose him over and over. And my job is to provide for him, and take care of him, and provide the best education and examples for him that I can. I chose that job. He doesn’t owe me for doing it.
We have an election today, and having a child hasn’t changed how I vote. But it has given me a new perspective. I feel like I have a new place to stand when examining the world and I how interact with it. More importantly, it is bringing new depth to my theology.
The most important thing I can do in this life is to be holy like God is holy. My aim is to serve Him, and for a long time I thought/hoped that meant being a good husband and a good father. Over the last month, I have come to feel that deep in my soul. Being a good dad means taking care of my son so he can grow up safe and secure, and from that position of safety and stability, learn about and engage with this world. Becoming holy, and having the opportunity to think about and wrestle with that, is so much easier when you have food and shelter and stability. I speak from experience.
So as a Christian dad, my duty is to give my son the opportunity to learn about God and, hopefully, to choose to follow Jesus and work to become holy like God is holy.
I would give almost anything to make that happen. I can’t spoil him, because that’s not good teaching, but I can build a good home for him.
Shouldn’t we be doing that for everybody? Not just kids? And not just our kids? As Christians, shouldn’t we want everyone to have their basic needs met so they have the mental and emotional capacity to engage with the Church and meet God? As a Christian, does anyone owe us anything that must be repaid before we begin the work of providing for them physically and spiritually?
When I think about all the good things I want to do for my son so he can become a good person, my mind turns to how we, as a country, all seem to espouse many of the same beliefs. We want to leave the world better for our children. The problem is, I think a lot of us are only thinking about our children, as in our individual children. And if I only think of Simon, then I am not being like Jesus. Jesus didn’t just think of his biological brothers or family. Jesus didn’t just think of his disciples. His commission is for the entire world.
What about building a good home for the children of asylum-seekers who
have been separated from their parents? What about building a good home
for asylum-seekers coming to the USA? What about building a good home
for the homeless? What about building a good home for minorities
suffering from systemic oppression?
I’m looking forward to taking Simon with us to vote today.
The two political parties in the USA are not the same. Both have problems, but the Democratic party of today far better aligns with Christian morals, ethics, and values. I will continue to vote Democrat to provide a better future for my son and for everyone else’s sons and daughters.
I’ll also keep reading, because that provides a good example for Simon to follow. And we’ll keep talking regularly, and I’ll hold him when he cries, not because my holding him magically solves everything, but so that he knows that he isn’t alone. And we’ll grow and learn and change, because he is changing every day.
And I hope that we’ll make the future better together.
We’re about as ready to have a baby as we can be. We’ve actually been preparing in earnest for a few years now, beginning with buying this house and then trading the truck in for a minivan. There were some major renovations that came with the house, such as repairing termite damage to the floor joists and girders, the wall studs and ceiling beams in the front room, some foundation damage from a tree root… and then we had to get a new roof last summer. Oh, and two summers ago I replaced all the power outlets with ones that have covers built-in so kids can’t stick things into them. But this summer has been really baby-inspired.
Because the nursery is typically 8-10 degrees colder in the winter, we tore off some drywall with the intent of adding insulation to the exterior wall. It turns out that the wall was insulated, but the termite damage had left a gap between the floor and the wall that went straight into the crawlspace. So we insulated and blocked that up.
Put up ceiling fans in the nursery and guest bedroom.
We also did some other constructiony things like replacing a rotting wall on the shed, painting the shed, replacing a column on our front porch, and lots and lots of thinning flower bulbs and spreading mulch.
April has done a ton of reorganization, cleaning, and furniture assembling (crib, bassinet, shelves, etc.).
While exploring the crawlspace to make sure there weren’t any other gaps between the floor and the wall, I found that the ductwork was super damp. The condensation had caused rust, which then led to some small holes in the ductwork. These have now been patched and the ductwork insulated.
We had a vapor barrier installed in the crawlspace to help reduce humidity further and prevent insects from burrowing up into the crawlspace.
The vapor barrier (sheets of plastic spread across the ground and up the walls of the crawlspace and the piers supporting the house, then sealed with tape and tacked to the walls) made it evident that pipes were leaking. Turns out our entire plumbing system was close to failing, so we had it replaced. The galvanized steel pipes were so full of rust, and metal chunks were flaking off because of the rust. Now we have pex everywhere.
Hopefully, the pex will help prevent our pipes from freezing like they have the last two winters. I’ll also be blocking up our foundation vents properly this winter.
After all the construction, we had the ductwork professionally cleaned.
Our thermostat went out, but I was able to get it replaced under warranty. This came with an extra room sensor, so we now have a remote thermostat sensor in the nursery. We also have a video baby monitor with three cameras that we can put in different places or travel with.
Rugs have been shaken and cleaned, floors have been swept, everything has been washed, etc.
April has begun preparing freezer meals so that we have around 2 weeks of food that we can just pop into the instant pot or oven without having to do much prep or thinking.
We acquired a deep freeze so we have room for freezer meals, etc.
After all the construction, we had the house fully treated (crawlspace, attic, inside, outside) for all manner of insects, but mostly spiders.
We’re going to a birthing class on Monday nights that has been tremendously helpful and eye-opening. Tomorrow night, we have a hospital tour. Next week, we’ll install the car seat.
Our friends and family have been so generous and we now have enough baby clothes for probably the first year and a half, as well as plenty of cloth diapers.
So much of this was possible because of April’s parents, and between the support of our family and our network of friends (which, again, kudos to April… she does such a good job of making sure we stay connected to people despite my inclination to never leave the house or talk to anybody), we feel ready. We feel secure and supported. We know that we have people to catch us and help us. And we’ve learned so much from everyone.
I want to celebrate this. We did good. I can’t wait to meet our baby. We’re about 4-7 weeks away!
I think it’s just speaking my language, and I want to tell you all about it, but I also want you to discover it by listening to it twice and I don’t want to spoil it for you.
The beginning of the album is broken-hearted, and it progresses through hope and on to happiness. And the final song begins a capella with the lines:
And it’s hard to write about being happy
‘Cause all that I get
I find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject
And there would be no grand choirs to sing
No chorus could come in
About two people sitting doing nothing
And then I go back to the top of the album and begin again, and I hear:
You were broken-hearted and the world was, too
And I was beginning to lose my grip
And I always held it loosely
But this time I admit
I felt it really start to slip
And choir singing in the street
And I will come to you
To watch the television screen
In your hotel room
I love albums that tell a story, where every song is related, and listening to the album altogether is the best way to hear it.
Florence + The Machine isn’t Christian, but I love her spiritual songs.
Sometimes I think it’s gettin’ better
And then it gets much worse
Is it just part of the process?
Well, Jesus Christ, it hurts
Though I know I should know better
Well, I can make this work
Is it just part of the process?
Well, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, it hurts
Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, it hurts
You need a big god
Big enough to hold your love
You need a big god
Big enough to fill you up
Shower your affection, let it rain on me
And pull down the mountain, drag your cities to the sea, yeah
Shower your affection, let it rain on me
Don’t leave me on this white cliff
Let it slide down to the, slide down to the sea
Slide down to the, slide down to the sea
The USA seems to be in a bad place. What we’re doing to immigrant families and their children is horrifying. I’m concerned about the trade wars that Trump is getting us into. I’m pretty well convinced that Trump has colluded with Russia to subvert our democracy, and I think the GOP is complicit and is shirking their duty to uphold the constitution and hold the President accountable.
But each evening, I step out onto the deck with Willow before bed, and I stand in the soft humidity and look up at the stars while crickets converse, and I enjoy the relative quiet. And I think, maybe it’s all terrible, but right now, here in Missouri, maybe it’s OK? Maybe…
I’m not convinced by that “maybe.” I’m still disconcerted. But I can halfway pretend. My conscience won’t let me go entirely, but I can take some solace in the night and lie to myself for just a moment about global warning, and the rising prominence of Xi Jinping, and our president’s abuse of our allies and our citizens.
I wish I could be convinced by the night sky. I wish I could accept the peace of a still, humid evening in the Ozarks and believe that the rest of the world was like this. But we know it’s not. We know that all is not well, and that our leaders are making it worse.
It’s hard to leave the deck. Even a half a morsel of peace is a relief. I wish that I could make everything better so it didn’t feel like such a lie.
I met a man at church who told me about a motorcycle accident, fractured kneecaps, a fractured elbow, and a broken neck. He was homeless, and these injuries inhibited him from working.
I think he told me these things because they are a core part of his identity.
I have been hurt terribly in the past. And I had a traumatic childhood. I have lately been wrestling with deciding whether or not to write that story. This potential memoir would help communicate my childhood to my own children and maybe help them understand why I have the priorities I have and why I believe what I do.
But the more I think about it, the less certain I am that I should write this. It has been over 16 years since I converted to Christianity. I do not feel near to the person I was 16 years ago. My identity is rooted in who I am today, not who I was back then.
And I often ask myself, “Does this story really need told?” Will it actually help people? I’m not so sure it would.