Working Family

It’s work day. I only have a couple of days to capture some words and ideas. Ideas I scribble down in a notebook throughout the week in hopes I will remember why they felt so important. As I have been piecing together a book proposal the last couple of months, all of my thoughts center around two words: father and child. I am trying to mount the courage to understand where God and I fit into those two brimming terms, into a relationship where I carry so much baggage.

So on this work day, like a shot of whiskey downed before rushing into some unknown danger, I feel courage rushing through my veins. I am resolved to explore and record some of the most vulnerable places in my inner world: what it has been like to be called son by both men and God. But, suddenly, I am being pulled away. Earlier this morning, my sweet daughter woke up asking not to go to preschool. Then she cries her eyes out as she is dropped off. My wife and I have been mulling over better options for our little girl. These two days a week she is away from home (my “work” days) are getting harder for her.  I am receiving text messages about the unfolding events of the morning, and it becomes clear it is time for a change.

Every parent shares some variation of this experience. A child’s needs push against their parent’s work responsibilities. For me right now, work means trying to plumb the depths of my understanding and experiences as both a child and a dad; I am trying to find connections between earthly experiences and eternal realities. But I cannot bring myself to write about the anatomy of the father-child relationship. My office is too quiet, and the keyboard is too ready for my pecking fingers. So how can I write about fatherhood when my child needs my immediate embrace more than my need to structure a witty sentence?

In its own way, my work is important for my family and me. In the “big picture,” I believe my writing has a positive impact on my family. However, this big picture is hopefully a mosaic of small snapshots showing my daughter that she is safe, loved, and valued more than my writing pursuits. All parents feel the gravity of this balancing acting, and it’s difficult to wade through the guilt and second-guessing of yourself. We all have to make the best choices we possibly can in these small instances. We can only hope that we make enough right decisions in these little moments that create a steady enough foundation for the big ones.

So instead of writing my theories about being a child of God, I’m going to try and do what He does for me. I want to let God’s love for me direct my love for my child. I’m going to stop working and go pick up my daughter. My wife and I will do the best we can to make it work. But today I’m going to take the opportunity to keep my promises to my daughter. To show her how she is both seen and heard by her dad. Because what good is dedicating a book to her if she doesn’t know I value her more than crafting sentences?