When I was 22 years old I found myself in an unhappy place. The guy voted "most likely to succeed" by his high school graduating class was now broke, alone, and living in an attic. That was not the life I had imagined for myself at age 18, and I was ready for a change.
Up until then I found the freedom of adulthood exhilarating. I was free to do as I pleased and be who I wanted to be. But, at that moment, my cherished freedom seemed pointless. My life seemed without purpose other than feeding my desires. And, once those desires were met, well, what then? I was drifting aimlessly and in need of a home base. But where was that home base and how would I get there?
Whenever you are lost, one of the best strategies for finding your way is to retrace your steps. So I did. I returned to the days before I was free--when my life was guided by clear rules and my parents were never too far away. What was I looking forward to then? What seemed important to me?
Before I went to college I was certain about three things in my future. First, I knew I wanted an education that would allow me to practice a learned profession. Second, I was absolutely certain I would be the husband of one wife and the father of many children. And third, I believed my faith would provide sufficient light so that I would recognize my proper path. Wealth, popularity, "coolness" never made the list. My early adult experiences, however, had not brought me closer to achieving these goals. Instead I felt stuffed and empty at the same time. You know that feeling Halloween night after you've eaten mountains of candy . . . stuffed, but not nourished. Kind of queasy. You know the feeling. What happened?
My early certainty regarding my future was based on my own ignorance. At eighteen years old, I was smart, but inexperienced. I did not know the limits of my own intelligence. However, as "life happened," I discover more questions than answers. For example, why did I want to be a lawyer? Did it have something to do with my Perry Mason fixation? Or perhaps it was my experiences on the debate team. Was I really prepared to pick a lifelong career?
And marriage. How could I be so sure marriage was for me when I had never even had a serious girlfriend? Living with sisters and a mother cannot compare to sharing your life intimately with a partner. And kids? I had never spent a night caring for a feverish child. I'd never experienced the burden of a child totally dependant upon my provision and protection. Five kids? Really? And, since my parents couldn't figure out how to work out their differences, what made me believe I would do better? Married for life? Was I serious?
And faith guiding my path. After really studying ancient texts and church history, I discovered that many faith tenets preached to me as a child were less inspired by the Holy Spirit and were more a reflection of politics and special interests throughout the ages. Also, I no longer believed that the world was created in six literal days, or that the Bible was inerrant, or that Noah was swallowed by a big fish, or that the Book of Revelation was coming to pass before my eyes. Could I still affirm Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior? Had I become Thomas Jefferson, creating a religion that reflected my personal opinions?
My journey home began after reading some of the works of Soren Kierkegaard. Yes, the father of existentialism, the often gloomy Danish philospher, spoke to me. Kierkegaard recognized that a life lived for physical pleasure would satisfy only for a season. He also saw that rigid adherence to rules and ethical systems ignored our human emotions and our sense of mystery. For Kierkegaard the key to human happiness was faith. He knew that our logic and our senses can only take us so far, because there will always be gaps in our knowledge and experience. We cannot know everything. We're not God. However, at some point, not only in our relationship with God, but also in our relationships with each other and in our life choices, we must make a "leap of faith." Otherwise we will become paralyzed by doubt and indecision. So, the fact that a better career choice might be out there or a more suitable mate might appear, must not stop us from making choices. And, just because the God we cannot see might be a figment of our imagination, does not mean faith is folly. On the contrary, we must embrace our fears and doubts and move forward boldly.
Upon further reflection, I realized my childish sense of calling to a specific vocation, my desire for a partner and a family, and my craving for a relationship with God, were all still important to me. While these choices might seem conventional, even predictable, for me they required a leap of faith. And, finally, after a long journey spent without goals, commitments or plans, I embraced these desires and began to search diligently for a path to find them. The hardest part of the journey for me, however, was taking that first, bold step.
What was my first bold step? I moved. Like Abraham, whose leap of faith required uprooting his household, my journey home required a change of scenery. So I moved to Chicago, connected with family, enrolled in seminary, and started truly listening for the first time in my life.
Since I no longer lived solely for the moment, but instead strived mightily to find direction for my life, new experiences and new relationships took on a different meaning. Rather than the experiences being an end in themselves and people being something I collected, like baseball cards, persons and experiences now served to fill in my life's roadmap. The information I gathered, and the feelings and emotions I experienced, were connected now to my search for meaning and purpose.
It's amazing how your life becomes enriched when you recognize every experience, positive or negative, has value to your personal development--either as a guide to follow or as a warning to avoid. And people also, when you recognize that all are created in God's image, that they have unique perspectives and insights, seem far more interesting than when their value is based solely on their looks, their position, or their pedigree.
Since those early days in Chicago, it's been a remarkable twenty-five year journey. Eventually I got my career, my wife, my family and my faith. But it has come with struggle and pain. At times I am still overwhelmed by fear, and I doubt whether I'm on the right road, but I've learned to live with ambiguity and uncertainty. I've recognized that I will never be sure of anything, but that goodness requires struggle, permanence requires commitment, and that relationships require unselfish attention. If I do not work at my profession, I will lose my skills. If I do not choose to honor my wife, then my relationship with her is damaged. And, if I do not seek to hear God's voice every day, then I cannot expect to find the right path.
It's a relief to find contentment with the home and lifestyle I imagined so long ago. Yet, while contented, the tourist in me still looks out the window and wonders whether there's something "more" out there to discover. Wanderlust doesn't go away that easily. But, to wander now would mean to sacrifice all that I've gained. And, having wandered before, the journey in the wilderness can never compare to living in the promised land, even if the promised land is not everything you imagined. Freedom without responsibilities or commitments will never satisfy me.
While my road home has included many detours, roadblocks, and a few deadends, overall I'm happy with my home and I don't want to leave it for anything or anyone. I'm so glad not to be lost, and I'm grateful for the help of a patient partner, my unending supply of good luck, and a huge helping of God's grace.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Experiential Tourist Gets Lost
A college professor once called me an "experiential tourist." She did not mean this as a compliment. When she said it, I did not understand what she meant. Two years later I knew. She was right. I was an experiential tourist. And, about the time I figured it out, I was so lost that I couldn't find my way home.
The Professor was Diane Lake, a member of the Speech Communication faculty at Drake University. After seeing me in several classes, Professor Lake considered me a smart, but not too serious student. In her mind, my hard work seemed at odds with my demeanor--a demeanor she likened to a person on "a permanent vacation." I was happy, relaxed and cruising through life. She used to tell me if Up With People ever came to town, she'd lock me in a closet so I wouldn't run off with them and drop out of school.
Of course I was happpy. I attended college on a scholarship. My tution was paid. My rent was covered. Meals came three times a day and were of the "all you can eat" variety. I had no worries or responsibilities. On the contrary, being at a university opened a world of opportunities to me. I was free to do as I pleased--and I did. As long as my grades held up, and they did, I bounced from one experience to the next--flirting with ideas, lifestyles and opportunities. For me, college was like Club Med, but without the beach.
"But isn't that what college is all about?" I said to myself as I pondered Professor Lake's comments. Trying new experiences? Self discovery? Fully exploring the marketplace of ideas? Why did being called an experiential tourist sound so distasteful?
Tourists do not have "authentic" experiences when they travel. Tourist destinations cater to the wants and needs of tourists. The sights, smells and visual vistas may be new and exciting, but they are carefully filtered to appeal to the tastes of guests. Yet, lurking outside the gates of most tourist destinations are abject poverty, desperation, and social ills that most tourists never see. And why are they hidden? Because tourists are looking for pleasant experiences, not an uncomfortable exploration of poverty and hopelessness.
At the end of the day, a tourist is not commited to their vacation destination because a tourist ALWAYS goes home. Unfortunately some tourists believe that their one-week visit to Punta Cana gave them some unique understanding of the native people where they visited. Not true.
An experiential tourist can be equally deluded after their "tours". Maybe I looked like a punk at night so I'd fit in at the clubs. Did that make me a punk, especially since during the day I looked like a college Republican? I wasn't commited to a "punk" lifestyle. I met a few punks in my journeys, but I never was one of them. Did I really understand them? Who was I fooling?
What Professor Lake disdained when she called me an experiential tourist was my attitude, not my actions. She did not care that I was trying new things during my young adult years. She was appalled that I believed my dabblings gave me wisdom--that I somehow had gained insights and understanding into the lives of others who were different than me simply by hanging out with them. Yet, despite all my travels, she believed I would always return to the white bread, Midwest, conservative Christian "home" I knew and loved. Eventually I would get married, have children, and work in a job. I was never really committed to an alternative lifestyle or even looking to change my self identity, I was just on a tour. Was she right about me?
I first experienced depression the week I graduated from college. What was I going to do now? The four-year frolic was over and I was devastated. For an entire year after graduation I lived in a daze. I remained attached to college life through roommates and friends, and I bonded with all sorts of "alternative" personalities I met in clubs and concert halls. Still, I wondered, what was I going to do with my life? My hair was already falling out--I knew my youth wouldn't last forever! Was the experiential tourist going to commit finally to following a life path, or would I just flit from place to place, always looking for something new to amuse myself with.
At the time, I didn't know this, but I was looking for a "why" in my life. Everybody needs a "why"--a reason why you get up in the morning. A reason why you work hard, follow a path, make plans and dream dreams. At the time l was embarasssed about my home base. My evangelical Christian roots seemed so conventional, so boring. I was smarter and cooler than my upbringing, wasn't I?
During my travels, I met musicians, gay people, religious zealots and others whose lives were by definition far more difficult than mine. They made conscious decisions to lead lifestyles that were neither easy nor popular. I admired their courage, but did not follow their leads. For me playing the guitar, sexual expression, and Eastern mysticism did not seem worthy of one's total commitment. But what was worthy? My non-stop touring days were wearing me out. I was ready to go home.
But where was home and how would I get there?
Next posting: "The Experiential Tourist Goes Home"
The Professor was Diane Lake, a member of the Speech Communication faculty at Drake University. After seeing me in several classes, Professor Lake considered me a smart, but not too serious student. In her mind, my hard work seemed at odds with my demeanor--a demeanor she likened to a person on "a permanent vacation." I was happy, relaxed and cruising through life. She used to tell me if Up With People ever came to town, she'd lock me in a closet so I wouldn't run off with them and drop out of school.
Of course I was happpy. I attended college on a scholarship. My tution was paid. My rent was covered. Meals came three times a day and were of the "all you can eat" variety. I had no worries or responsibilities. On the contrary, being at a university opened a world of opportunities to me. I was free to do as I pleased--and I did. As long as my grades held up, and they did, I bounced from one experience to the next--flirting with ideas, lifestyles and opportunities. For me, college was like Club Med, but without the beach.
"But isn't that what college is all about?" I said to myself as I pondered Professor Lake's comments. Trying new experiences? Self discovery? Fully exploring the marketplace of ideas? Why did being called an experiential tourist sound so distasteful?
Tourists do not have "authentic" experiences when they travel. Tourist destinations cater to the wants and needs of tourists. The sights, smells and visual vistas may be new and exciting, but they are carefully filtered to appeal to the tastes of guests. Yet, lurking outside the gates of most tourist destinations are abject poverty, desperation, and social ills that most tourists never see. And why are they hidden? Because tourists are looking for pleasant experiences, not an uncomfortable exploration of poverty and hopelessness.
At the end of the day, a tourist is not commited to their vacation destination because a tourist ALWAYS goes home. Unfortunately some tourists believe that their one-week visit to Punta Cana gave them some unique understanding of the native people where they visited. Not true.
An experiential tourist can be equally deluded after their "tours". Maybe I looked like a punk at night so I'd fit in at the clubs. Did that make me a punk, especially since during the day I looked like a college Republican? I wasn't commited to a "punk" lifestyle. I met a few punks in my journeys, but I never was one of them. Did I really understand them? Who was I fooling?
What Professor Lake disdained when she called me an experiential tourist was my attitude, not my actions. She did not care that I was trying new things during my young adult years. She was appalled that I believed my dabblings gave me wisdom--that I somehow had gained insights and understanding into the lives of others who were different than me simply by hanging out with them. Yet, despite all my travels, she believed I would always return to the white bread, Midwest, conservative Christian "home" I knew and loved. Eventually I would get married, have children, and work in a job. I was never really committed to an alternative lifestyle or even looking to change my self identity, I was just on a tour. Was she right about me?
I first experienced depression the week I graduated from college. What was I going to do now? The four-year frolic was over and I was devastated. For an entire year after graduation I lived in a daze. I remained attached to college life through roommates and friends, and I bonded with all sorts of "alternative" personalities I met in clubs and concert halls. Still, I wondered, what was I going to do with my life? My hair was already falling out--I knew my youth wouldn't last forever! Was the experiential tourist going to commit finally to following a life path, or would I just flit from place to place, always looking for something new to amuse myself with.
At the time, I didn't know this, but I was looking for a "why" in my life. Everybody needs a "why"--a reason why you get up in the morning. A reason why you work hard, follow a path, make plans and dream dreams. At the time l was embarasssed about my home base. My evangelical Christian roots seemed so conventional, so boring. I was smarter and cooler than my upbringing, wasn't I?
During my travels, I met musicians, gay people, religious zealots and others whose lives were by definition far more difficult than mine. They made conscious decisions to lead lifestyles that were neither easy nor popular. I admired their courage, but did not follow their leads. For me playing the guitar, sexual expression, and Eastern mysticism did not seem worthy of one's total commitment. But what was worthy? My non-stop touring days were wearing me out. I was ready to go home.
But where was home and how would I get there?
Next posting: "The Experiential Tourist Goes Home"
Thursday, March 18, 2010
The Wall Came Down
"I need my vest," said the message.
Thank God I was home. 11 a.m. and I get a text message from my son. It was his choir tour day and he was missing part of his performance outfit. Mind you, the night before I was very specific: "Have your clothes ready for tomorrow--I don't want to be running around looking for your pants/socks/shoes/tux shirt etc. in the morning." I had forgotten about the vest.
He assured me he had everything located. And, the clothes were clean, pressed and ready to wear. I had no worries . . . until I received the text message.
"We're gonna stop by the house to get it," said message number two. Thank God the vest was hanging in Isaac's closet. I found it quickly. He drove by the house. I handed him the vest. And he was on his way.
Throughout much of this year Isaac and I have been living like bachelors. Clarisa was first in Panama for six weeks, and now is on a spring break trip with Lonelli and Amelia. These trips are possible because I'm home and can shepherd Isaac from school, to activities, to home. Especially with performance date for the musical fast approaching, a concert with Civic Youth Ensemble upon us, and two baseball teams practicing, the boy is busy--and he needs a parent.
Who knew keeping the boy in clean clothes AND making dinner every night, took so much effort! It's not that the work is hard or extensive, it's just there's always something to do for him. I don't believe I fully appreciated Clarisa's "job" until now.
Being a stay-at-home parent reminds me of my days when I worked at the hospital, especially the weeks I was on-call. As much as you were free to do other things when you were on-call, you never knew when an emergency would pop up and you'd need to spring into action. It could happen any time, and sometimes emergencies came up at inconvenient moments. Then, as now, I always answered the call. Kind of like, "I need my vest."
As old as my children get, experience has proven that the "I need you" requests keep on coming. Believe it or not, all of my offspring ask for my attention from time to time--and more frequently now that I'm home.
When I traveled to an office every day, a wall went up. All I needed to say to my kids when they wanted something from me was "I'm at work" and they immediately backed off. Of course, Clarisa never felt that way--and had no problem paging me from meetings to discuss various "domestic situations." But the kids didn't want to bother me at work. No matter the issue.
Now a days, the wall has disappeared--and if I'm slow to respond, they wonder why. What could I possibly be doing that is more important than them? Hmm, let me think about that. I don't think anything is more important these days.
Pity they felt my work trumped their requests. I don't know if I built the wall, they built the wall based on social norms, or they really believed my focusing on work was more important than their needs. I don't know, but next go round, there won't be a wall. I'm not sure how I'm gonna pull it off, but I'm determined. My wife and kids will have non-stop access to me whether or not I'm "at work."
I'm not interested in co-dependent relationships, however. Truth is we often call Isaac the "absent minded professor." He truly needs to be more fastidious about his schedule and keeping his life organized. It's not my job to fix every problem, especially ones he (they) can fix themselves. I do not nuture healthy adults/teens by enabling absent mindedness or irresponsibility.
At the same time, it's nice to be needed.
Thank God I was home. 11 a.m. and I get a text message from my son. It was his choir tour day and he was missing part of his performance outfit. Mind you, the night before I was very specific: "Have your clothes ready for tomorrow--I don't want to be running around looking for your pants/socks/shoes/tux shirt etc. in the morning." I had forgotten about the vest.
He assured me he had everything located. And, the clothes were clean, pressed and ready to wear. I had no worries . . . until I received the text message.
"We're gonna stop by the house to get it," said message number two. Thank God the vest was hanging in Isaac's closet. I found it quickly. He drove by the house. I handed him the vest. And he was on his way.
Throughout much of this year Isaac and I have been living like bachelors. Clarisa was first in Panama for six weeks, and now is on a spring break trip with Lonelli and Amelia. These trips are possible because I'm home and can shepherd Isaac from school, to activities, to home. Especially with performance date for the musical fast approaching, a concert with Civic Youth Ensemble upon us, and two baseball teams practicing, the boy is busy--and he needs a parent.
Who knew keeping the boy in clean clothes AND making dinner every night, took so much effort! It's not that the work is hard or extensive, it's just there's always something to do for him. I don't believe I fully appreciated Clarisa's "job" until now.
Being a stay-at-home parent reminds me of my days when I worked at the hospital, especially the weeks I was on-call. As much as you were free to do other things when you were on-call, you never knew when an emergency would pop up and you'd need to spring into action. It could happen any time, and sometimes emergencies came up at inconvenient moments. Then, as now, I always answered the call. Kind of like, "I need my vest."
As old as my children get, experience has proven that the "I need you" requests keep on coming. Believe it or not, all of my offspring ask for my attention from time to time--and more frequently now that I'm home.
When I traveled to an office every day, a wall went up. All I needed to say to my kids when they wanted something from me was "I'm at work" and they immediately backed off. Of course, Clarisa never felt that way--and had no problem paging me from meetings to discuss various "domestic situations." But the kids didn't want to bother me at work. No matter the issue.
Now a days, the wall has disappeared--and if I'm slow to respond, they wonder why. What could I possibly be doing that is more important than them? Hmm, let me think about that. I don't think anything is more important these days.
Pity they felt my work trumped their requests. I don't know if I built the wall, they built the wall based on social norms, or they really believed my focusing on work was more important than their needs. I don't know, but next go round, there won't be a wall. I'm not sure how I'm gonna pull it off, but I'm determined. My wife and kids will have non-stop access to me whether or not I'm "at work."
I'm not interested in co-dependent relationships, however. Truth is we often call Isaac the "absent minded professor." He truly needs to be more fastidious about his schedule and keeping his life organized. It's not my job to fix every problem, especially ones he (they) can fix themselves. I do not nuture healthy adults/teens by enabling absent mindedness or irresponsibility.
At the same time, it's nice to be needed.
Friday, March 5, 2010
So What About Lent
I get this question all the time, especially from teens: What did you give up for Lent?
Actually, I'm not a big fan of giving up anything for Lent. In the past I have given up many things--smoking, drinking alcohol, sweets, you know the usual deprivations. However, lately my wife and I have agreed that Lent should be about more than temporary lifestyle changes.
If the purpose of Lent is to deepen our relationship with God, then ask yourself, how does avoiding chocolate make me closer to God? Others may say, "Well, Jesus gave his life for us, can't we give up a little something for him?" I suppose, but can you really compare quitting smoking, which is really for our own good anyway, to the sacrifce Jesus made for us?
Typically I find people's Lenten vows either trivial or self-serving. So, we've encouraged our circle this year to "dig deeper" with their Lenten promises. Rather than give something up, add something meaningful to your life: read Scripture daily, write a poem, talk to distant family members. These kinds of activities, meant to bring us closer to God, to create beauty, or to strengthen families, seem more in line with what I believe the season of Lent is all about.
So, what about me? What am I doing differently this Lenten season? Well I decided to add something and give something up. What did I add? Daily prayer by name in support of specific family members. We all need more prayer support, and let me be a prayer warrior for my own circle.
And what did I give up? This came as a bit of a shocker to my Sunday School class at St. Ambrose. I'm giving up gossiping. Not that I'm a big gossiper, but I'm particularly sensitive these days about people talking my business, especially those who know my business from sources other than me! I should not be sensitive, however, if I engage in the same behavior. So, until Easter, I talk no one's business other than my own. Not as easy as you might think.
Happy Lenten Season to all of you. Let me know what's up with you--and whether you've made a promise to God or to anyone else this season that you are willing to share.
Peace.
Actually, I'm not a big fan of giving up anything for Lent. In the past I have given up many things--smoking, drinking alcohol, sweets, you know the usual deprivations. However, lately my wife and I have agreed that Lent should be about more than temporary lifestyle changes.
If the purpose of Lent is to deepen our relationship with God, then ask yourself, how does avoiding chocolate make me closer to God? Others may say, "Well, Jesus gave his life for us, can't we give up a little something for him?" I suppose, but can you really compare quitting smoking, which is really for our own good anyway, to the sacrifce Jesus made for us?
Typically I find people's Lenten vows either trivial or self-serving. So, we've encouraged our circle this year to "dig deeper" with their Lenten promises. Rather than give something up, add something meaningful to your life: read Scripture daily, write a poem, talk to distant family members. These kinds of activities, meant to bring us closer to God, to create beauty, or to strengthen families, seem more in line with what I believe the season of Lent is all about.
So, what about me? What am I doing differently this Lenten season? Well I decided to add something and give something up. What did I add? Daily prayer by name in support of specific family members. We all need more prayer support, and let me be a prayer warrior for my own circle.
And what did I give up? This came as a bit of a shocker to my Sunday School class at St. Ambrose. I'm giving up gossiping. Not that I'm a big gossiper, but I'm particularly sensitive these days about people talking my business, especially those who know my business from sources other than me! I should not be sensitive, however, if I engage in the same behavior. So, until Easter, I talk no one's business other than my own. Not as easy as you might think.
Happy Lenten Season to all of you. Let me know what's up with you--and whether you've made a promise to God or to anyone else this season that you are willing to share.
Peace.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Taco Salad For Dinner
Since my wife continues her sojourn in Panama, I'm in charge of all domestic tasks at our house in Grosse Pointe Farms, including making dinner. My 13-year-old son likes three squares a day. And, while not particularly picky, his palate prefers teen foods (e.g. pasta, pizza) to healthy selections (e.g. grilled chicken breasts). Fortunately, he's normally pretty accepting of my cooking as long as the food is hot, attractive to the eye, and on the table by 6:00 p.m.
Achieved all today--and got a gold star from the boy.
When I announced I was making taco salad tonight, he was initially dubious. I think he imagined something more like a salad and less like a taco. When I explained the concept--taco incredients on top of corn chips, he became more enthusiastic.
My execution was flawless--used ground sirloin (less fat), a good seasoning mix (Old El Paso), fantastic cheese (shredded white Vermont cheddar), and lots of chopped veggies. Started cooking at 4:45; dinner on the table at 5:15; dishes cleaned up by 5:35; on the road to play practice by 5:50. He was happy--not stressed, full of conversation, and helpful.
All in all this was an ideal meal: spent more time eating and cleaning together than me cooking alone.
These days are precious to me. Isaac is my last connection to young adulthood. I want these days to go on forever. I've seen the future with my mother and my grandfather and I like where I am now.
God help me accept my advancing age, because I cannot stop my son from maturing. I cannot make another baby. And the calendar marches relentlessly forward.
While I can imagine a future where grandchildren sit and wait for grandpa to finish dinner--maybe spaghetti and meatballs, maybe pizza, or maybe, just maybe, taco salad--my present time with my youngest son is fleeting. I treasure this time.
May I enjoy every moment with Isaac these next years as much as I enjoyed this evening.
Achieved all today--and got a gold star from the boy.
When I announced I was making taco salad tonight, he was initially dubious. I think he imagined something more like a salad and less like a taco. When I explained the concept--taco incredients on top of corn chips, he became more enthusiastic.
My execution was flawless--used ground sirloin (less fat), a good seasoning mix (Old El Paso), fantastic cheese (shredded white Vermont cheddar), and lots of chopped veggies. Started cooking at 4:45; dinner on the table at 5:15; dishes cleaned up by 5:35; on the road to play practice by 5:50. He was happy--not stressed, full of conversation, and helpful.
All in all this was an ideal meal: spent more time eating and cleaning together than me cooking alone.
These days are precious to me. Isaac is my last connection to young adulthood. I want these days to go on forever. I've seen the future with my mother and my grandfather and I like where I am now.
God help me accept my advancing age, because I cannot stop my son from maturing. I cannot make another baby. And the calendar marches relentlessly forward.
While I can imagine a future where grandchildren sit and wait for grandpa to finish dinner--maybe spaghetti and meatballs, maybe pizza, or maybe, just maybe, taco salad--my present time with my youngest son is fleeting. I treasure this time.
May I enjoy every moment with Isaac these next years as much as I enjoyed this evening.
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