Fatherly wisdom

Back when I lived under my dad's roof, he would have occasion to notify me of life's seasons, particularly that families with young children had to make different choices than at other time of life. Of course, in my infinite, teenage wisdom, all of life was exactly as I was experiencing it and all decisions I made were good ones.

Now that I have my own family and it's got young children in it, boy, was he right. Seasons. They're such an apt metaphor for life. Here in my part of the world we have two seasons: April to September is ReallyHot. October to March is QuiteNice. ReallyHot is taking off and QuiteNice seems like a distant memory and a faint dream. But truth be told, QuiteNice will come again.

Yesterday morning, I melodramatically flopped myself on our bed and announced that I was done with this life season of DemandingDependence. I had been awakened by a mewing child several hours earlier and asked to help wipe a nose. That in turn awakened the light-sleeping sibling. [Gnashes teeth, tears hair.] I could not see out of our season. And honestly, I am probably more often convinced that DemandingDependence is a permanent state than a passing season.

But just the notion of seasons is hopeful and that's despite the fact that we have really long ones here. One recent summer we had 100 days over 100 (or something very close) and somewhere after day 79 it just felt like we would always be house bound and it was always going to be ridiculously hot. But the weather did break, and I did run for a sweatshirt around 80 degrees.

I don't know what it is with my tendency to think thing will "always be this way". I slip in that direction readily. But the metaphor of seasons reminds me that no matter how long and how grueling (or great) a season is, life rolls on and it rolls into a different season.

Broken but not hopeless

In reviewing a lot of children's books over the past year, I've been saddened by the messiness, grossness, the evil that my children need to be exposed to.

Today, I was coloring with my daughter and introduced her to coloring skin. We used a peachy pencil, and a dusty tan pencil, and a brown pencil and we talked about how people had different color skin. And we compared our arm colors, and we talked about other children she knew who were darker than she was. And it was just a fact. To her, it's like daddy has blue eyes and she has brown eyes. 

But we've read a number of books that share about the American history with skin color and how it wasn't so factual. One thing I've been impressed about a number of these books is how exuberant they can be in the face of evil. I'm thinking about books like Hallelujah Flight which tells about an early trans-continental flight by 2 African-American men or Willie and the All-Stars about a boy growing up during WWII who wants to play professional baseball only to be told he won't ever because he's the wrong color.

We've read a couple books about children with limited access to books and the librarians who trek miles to help them. That Book Woman tells the story from the 1930s of an illiterate boy in Appalachia who learns to read over the course of  the visits from "that book woman". The book made me cry. Waiting for the Biblioburro also talks about an itinerant librarian but is set in contemporary Colombia. The burros are charmingly named Alpha and Beto. Our house is filled with books, and our children are unlikely to experience the privation these books refer to. Yet they need to know. They need to know that it's not so easy in most of the world and hasn't been for most of history.

But I also want them to know that their circumstances do not define them. That's something I so value in the children's book genre; they are by and large hopeful. Though these none of these books are grounded in a theology of hope, I think the hope is there because in Jesus there is the truth of hope. In the Easter story, where Jesus dies and defeats death, the darkest hopelessness, hope gets teeth. It's not just wishful thinking. Evil doesn't win the war even if it wins a few battles. 

Our nighttime routine with our daughter is to read a devotional with her, pray some set prayers, and then we ask her, "What can we thank Jesus for today?" Lately, she's wised up and tells us "Everything!" so that we can get it over with and get on to reading a library book. While we do help her unpack what her everything is, I hope she can also see the truth of it, that we can be thankful for everything and in being thankful we are hanging on to hope regardless of the circumstances. 

Praise-alluia

No cystic fibrosis! Booyea!