Mac has been bicycling without training wheels for about a week now. Until yesterday, I've been right there, physically holding him upright, then jogging, and finally bicycling beside him through the neighborhood.
There haven't been many spills, and--so far--no scrapes or tears! I'm grateful; I really wanted him to have a few good miles of grins behind him before the inevitable major bang-up, bawling, and bandages.
Yesterday, I sent him ahead on solo missions, as I walked with Trevan who was peddling on his own tricycle. I would send Mac to the next cul-de-sac, or around the next bend along the same route he and I had been taking together the past week.
"Okay, Dad. I'll see you later; you're sure proud of me, huh?" His voice fading as he pedaled away, leaving us far behind. It was fun, a neat experience, to give him that sense of freedom, and he was devouring it.
On the other hand, each time as he disappeared around the corner, I was ambushed by all those Daddy worries. And then an SUV would pass us from behind heading toward my unseen son somewhere up ahead. Will Mac stay near the side of the road like I've been reminding him? Will the driver take the turns slowly? Is anyone backing out of their driveway? If anything serious happens, what kind of father am I to let such a green bicycler out of my sight?
This is a part of it, though, of parenting, right? This is the strange balance we play between protecting and removing that protection. We give more and more freedom, let them make decisions, let them take risks with their lives and our hearts, and hope that some of what we've said, that we've practiced with them, will become their own.
They must increase. We must decrease.
And then I thought of our Father. I don't buy into the deists' clock-making-sit-back-and-watch god, nor the everything-is-predestined-and-happens-for-a-reason god. I do believe that--finally--God can weave resurrection and new life, his will for all, from the horrible mess of things. (Mayhem is a part of his medium.) In the meantime, though, our freedom is the risk God takes, freedom to leave him far behind, to forget, to ignore, to hurt ourselves and others even horribly, murderously, or accidentally. These results of that freedom and risk--the anxiety, disappointment, and heartache--are unfathomable to me.
But finally, the long moments pass, and back from around the bend Mac appears with his huge toothless grin. Trevan voices my own relief, "Look, it's Mac. He's back!" Mac's joy and pride are only exceeded by mine. These, too, are some of the results of freedom and risk: joy, success, love, and being alive.
And again, I imagine ours is a fraction of the Father's experience.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Parable: on dividing a penny
In preparation for our new study for our men's group I was reading from Erwin McManus's Uprising book, and--perhaps because I was a part of a teenager lawn maintenance enterprise--I enjoyed this little parable...
"We were probably no more than fourteen years old when my brother, Alex, and our next-door neighbor, and I began our first company, the Roadrunner Lawn Mowing Company. While other kids were getting two, three, or maybe five dollars a lawn, we were a high-end landscaping enterprise. We would hardly even consider a job if it wasn't in double figures... We had held all of our profit to be divided at the end of the summer. Even while buying some of equipment of our own, we were left with several hundred dollars to divide among the three of us.
"Everything was working out smoothly until the last penny. There was one copper cent left to be divided among the three of us. It wasn't that big of a deal until our third partner demanded the penny. He insisted that the last penny was rightfully his. Honestly that penny didn't matter at all to Alex or me--until that moment. Then that penny took on immeasurable value. With almost psychic communication, Alex and I looked at each other and then immediately explained to our disgruntled partner that since we owned two-thirds of the company, that penny would remain in our possession. Our former partner left angrily for his home next door."
When Erwin and his brother told their mother about the conflict, rather than allow this division over a penny, she demanded reconciliation. What would be the "right" answer to this conflict (if any) and why?
"We were probably no more than fourteen years old when my brother, Alex, and our next-door neighbor, and I began our first company, the Roadrunner Lawn Mowing Company. While other kids were getting two, three, or maybe five dollars a lawn, we were a high-end landscaping enterprise. We would hardly even consider a job if it wasn't in double figures... We had held all of our profit to be divided at the end of the summer. Even while buying some of equipment of our own, we were left with several hundred dollars to divide among the three of us.
"Everything was working out smoothly until the last penny. There was one copper cent left to be divided among the three of us. It wasn't that big of a deal until our third partner demanded the penny. He insisted that the last penny was rightfully his. Honestly that penny didn't matter at all to Alex or me--until that moment. Then that penny took on immeasurable value. With almost psychic communication, Alex and I looked at each other and then immediately explained to our disgruntled partner that since we owned two-thirds of the company, that penny would remain in our possession. Our former partner left angrily for his home next door."
When Erwin and his brother told their mother about the conflict, rather than allow this division over a penny, she demanded reconciliation. What would be the "right" answer to this conflict (if any) and why?
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Kindergarten politics
At bedtime, Mac and I talked over the struggles he and some of his classmates are having with a "bully." I do want Mac to feel able to stand up for himself, or for others, to say what's right or wrong, and tell someone when to take a hike. On the other hand, we discussed the dangers of labels and "teaming up" on someone, including a "bully," and making life miserable for him. It's already complicated, even at 6 years of age.
I still remember being on either side of this through grade school. I had my antagonists, and did my share of teasing. Even got sent to the principal's office once for it. Kids will be kids? No, it's more than that.
My high school class is preparing for a reunion this summer and have found that a number of us have died in these past 25 years. Some of them I knew. Some I barely knew. And a few were on the lower end of the pecking order. I look at their names on the list, and I regret that--in most cases--I don't recall taking the 3 or 4 minutes needed to say a kind word or speak up for them. I don't know how they died, and so I'm not suggesting a cause-and-effect thing, that a single sentence of kindness would have saved this or that person's life. Not very likely. On the other hand, it might have cheered someone up, or made a few moments more bearable, or less lonely. I wish I would have done that, at least more often.
I continue to be surprised (perhaps I shouldn't be) over the similarities between adult and kindergarten politics. And, unfortunately, it's all significant, how we treat each other from ages 5 to 95+.
God didn't make us just to save us. One of primary reasons we are here is to care for each other, and for creation. Nothing can fill us more... or make us feel so empty, when we look back and see the lost opportunities.
I still remember being on either side of this through grade school. I had my antagonists, and did my share of teasing. Even got sent to the principal's office once for it. Kids will be kids? No, it's more than that.
My high school class is preparing for a reunion this summer and have found that a number of us have died in these past 25 years. Some of them I knew. Some I barely knew. And a few were on the lower end of the pecking order. I look at their names on the list, and I regret that--in most cases--I don't recall taking the 3 or 4 minutes needed to say a kind word or speak up for them. I don't know how they died, and so I'm not suggesting a cause-and-effect thing, that a single sentence of kindness would have saved this or that person's life. Not very likely. On the other hand, it might have cheered someone up, or made a few moments more bearable, or less lonely. I wish I would have done that, at least more often.
I continue to be surprised (perhaps I shouldn't be) over the similarities between adult and kindergarten politics. And, unfortunately, it's all significant, how we treat each other from ages 5 to 95+.
God didn't make us just to save us. One of primary reasons we are here is to care for each other, and for creation. Nothing can fill us more... or make us feel so empty, when we look back and see the lost opportunities.
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