I have lately heard several stories that have just made me hurt.  One of them was a story of a married couple getting a divorce.  The story was one of a long time married couple with several children.  The husband filed for divorce and ran off with his new lover.  Not long ago, I heard another such story. 

Not that divorce is uncommon, but when I hear of dear friends getting separated or divorced, it just hurts.  Sometime perhaps I will explore the theological and Biblical dimensions of divorce, but for now, I would just like to say that in my mind, the biggest reason that the Bible says that God hates divorce is that it hurts people.  I have not heard of a divorce yet that doesn't leave people battered and torn.  Whether we feel that there is Biblical precedence or not for divorce, that to me is not the issue at hand.

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Father’s day is an interesting day. It is a day to remember the fathers of the world—at least in this society here in the West. Father’s Day is a day to recognize the influence, presence, and significance of the male in a family unit—however one would define a “family unit.” This day is also a time of clever marketing to get dad that special “hammer” or lawnmower he has been wanting, or to treat him to a nice meal at his favorite burger joint—all with special “incentives” like 50% off this and or “no tax” on that. Father’s day presents itself with a myriad of choices on what to do for dad. But, the deeper issue is, what is a dad? What does a dad really look like in today’s public sphere? Is dad someone who is relegated and minimized to tools, beer, food, and ties? Or is dad someone bigger than that? Is dad a male or a female?

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My father died when I was four. I grew up never knowing much about him. My mother remarried a wonderful man who adopted me and loved me. I didn't have a burning desire to find out who my birth father was until my wife and I decided to visit Minnesota a few years ago to visit the place of my heritage. Maybe to find Dad.

I'll never forget the experience. Karin and I stayed with my father's older brother, Sam. As you can guess, it didn't take long for Uncle Sam to ask me if I wanted to see photos of Dad, as well as some letters he had written. I quickly agreed.

The three of us climbed up into his attic where all the stuff was stored in an old trunk. My uncle pulled the light on with a string, passing around fading photos, reading letters aloud, and listening to Uncle Sam tell story after story.

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So . . . some big news.

I flew to New York today to do a taping for The View.  It will air this Friday.  It is for a segment about adoption.

 
(Mark and I on the plane from LAX to JFK)

Oh my word.  I am not usually the nervous type.  I AM NERVOUS.

I started thinking today about everything I want to say about adoption.  I started planning the points I wanted to make, and the myths I wanted to dispel, and the realities that need to be heard.  And then I remembered the handfull of interviews I did after the earthquake, and how fast it goes.  And how you think you know what you want to say, but the questions may not give way to the points you've planned, and before you know it they are wrapping up.  And suddenly you and Don Lemon are having a bumbling moment of confusion on live tv because he doesn't realize that my Haitian son isn't a baby, so when he refers to the baby you think he's talking about Karis, so then you explain that the baby came home from Haiti, and then he's confused because he thought your child was still in Haiti, and OH MY GOSH WHO'S ON FIRST?

And The View.  I mean, those ladies.  Who can keep up with them?  My only hope is that I'm just talking to one of them, not ALL FIVE.  Yeesh.

Only I hope it's not Joy.  Because all I will be able to think of is Fred Armisen saying, ""So what? Who cares?"and talking about his brasierre.

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I've wanted to be a psychotherapist since I was in eighth grade. It's what I went to school for, and it's what I've done for the last ten years. I've been licensed and with with the same private practice for ten years. It was a very comfortable place to be. I liked my colleagues, I liked that the job was challenging and cerebral, and I loved that I could set my own hours and work part-time for a decent wage. One of the things that drew me to this career was that I thought it would be very compatible with motherhood. I thought I could see a part-time caseload during Mark's off days, while staying home with the kids.

This worked out well when Jafta was a baby. I really enjoyed going in to work, and the adult conversation was a welcome change to the quiet days at home with a baby. When India came along, it got a little more difficult to juggle. I felt a little more frazzled in session, and really struggled to keep up with returning phone calls and setting appointments during the week. Once I had Karis, I could barely find the time to call back the referrals I got. The few long-standing clients I saw after her arrival were hard for me. I felt like my brain was in short-circuit mode. I just couldn't get my head into a space where I could really be present with clients. I am an introvert, and motherhood was draining any energy I had that I could previously devote to my job.

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When Bridget and I had our first child, little Maeve, I began to consider for the first time what it meant to be a father.  I found my mind returning over and over to two concepts that more than anything have influenced my parenting over the last six years and I hope the next sixty.

The first was an image of a fatherly lion, like C.S. Lewis’ Aslan - good but not tame, with all that such an image might signify. I want my children to see me as the lion of the home and then to see God as the lion of their lives.  More on that some other time…

The second was the word delight.  Every time I think about being a father I think about the idea of delight. I want my children to experience my delight in them just as God delights in me.

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Sometimes as a grownup it is hard to tell the good days from the bad.  Actually, sometimes it is just hard to tell one day from another.  Work smashes into home smashes into faith smashes into life and it all seems to just get lost in translation.  But every once in a while, a good day just sneaks up on you when you least expect it…that is if you stop to think about it.

Tonight, driving home at 8:30, my two year old son Brendan looked over at his six year old sister Maeve, and after finishing a deep yawn and fervent eye rub, put a fine point on things by saying in a tired yet satisfied voice, “Maeve, it was a good day huh.”

My wife Bridget smiled at me and I choked back a tear because, as anyone with two small children can tell you, sometimes we need to be reminded of just how good our days really are.

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The following is something my wife Sarah wrote today, and it brilliantly illustrates what is on my mind.  I probably could not have written this today, but wanted to share her words.

From Sarah's Blog Today, March 8:

Eighteen years ago today, my husband's father died.

It started out like any other day. Phil was a junior in high school, the only child of two incredibly loving parents. Phil's dad, Ed, was the senior pastor at a large, thriving and growing church in Tucson, Arizona. His mom was just about as sweet and kind as anyone you've ever met.

Mom & Dad were in Seattle for a couple of days, teaching at a church where they had many friends, and had lived before. Phil stayed in Tucson. It was a Sunday afternoon. Phil got a phone call from someone his family knew in Seattle. Ed had been in a pretty bad car accident.

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We have some incredible news to share. This is not your run of the mill incredible news. This is over the top, mind blowing incredible news. This is news that has sent us to the moon and back several times over the last few days. Over a year ago, I wrote a blog about our heart for adoption, about how we felt God strongly calling us to expand our family. You can read it here.

So, people, here’s our news: WE ARE GOING TO PICK UP OUR SON THE LAST WEEK OF MARCH. THAT’S FOUR WEEKS FROM NOW. We started the adoption process in October of 2009 and now, just a short 5 months later, we have a court date. If you are at all familiar with normal international adoption processes, this is really, really fast. My husband’s brother’s family waited over two years. Other friends have waited eighteen months.

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On a recent Saturday, I attended a funeral to honor the passing of a friend’s mom. All I knew driving to the funeral was that she died of cancer, and that funerals are almost always sad. This particular day proved the latter wrong.

People say, or at least I’ve heard it said, that funerals bring people and memories together. The strange thing with this funeral is that I hardly knew my friend’s mom. All I wanted to do was support my friend through what has been a tough year. I decided to carpool with four friends, all of which shared the same sentiment: support our friend during this time of loss.

If you Google mapped our journey, it began in New York City to North Jersey to a quick stop at a rest area for gas and coffee and then a straight shot down the New Jersey Turnpike toward Princeton. During our drive, the five of us caught up on life, discussed various current events, commented on the blandness of the Turnpike scenery and then before you knew it, arrived at our destination.

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