Roots and Wings

 The hardest part of writing a story is knowing where to begin. The painstaking labor of wordsmithing; the first sentence is like a first breath. And in this reflective narrative, there is no finality... only the gentle whisper of fluttering wings. 

The greatest advice I've ever received on the subject of parenting was the suggestion that a father's role is to provide two things: roots and wings. 

The underground root system of your tree is widespread and interconnected to a village of voices, cheering and guiding you from your first steps across the living room to your final dance across the stage as you receive your diploma. It's all a dance, really. There's a choreography and cadence in each step. And where there have been missteps and skinned knees - grace caught you. And grace has kept you.

Last week you turned 18 years old. My little buddy... (Jesus, here come the tears as I reflect on the scenes flashing in my memory) trying to keep up with me on mountain hike. You finally stopped and reached out your arms for me to carry you. And the time I heard your heavy breathing and grunting to keep up with my pace as we walked up the property behind our house in North Carolina.

There you were with a hiking stick and messy and hair and runny nose, and I had almost lost you in the PTSD of my own self-destruction. If only I could make up for lost time... I would make it my ambition to cultivate Kairos/Holy Moments in the wake of chronological realities. Quality time over quantity. The blink of presence and the agony of absence. 

I want to tell you that I'm sorry. I am sorry for my contribution to the breakdown in the marriage to mom. I am sorry for not being the man I should have been. I am sorry for letting you down and hurting the nuclear family dynamic. I am sorry for disrupting the otherwise idyllic childhood, and I'm sorry for the confusing example of must have been to you over the years. I live with a tsunami of shame, and I don't want to carry it anymore. 

Because I also want to tell you that I'm proud of this labor of love - to be a daddy to three daughters. I have literally done the best that I could possibly do, given the realities of my imperfections and the limits of shared custody. I forged forward into the rest of my life, marrying Teresa and rebuilding from the ashes. Together we resolved to cultivate a blended family with vulnerable confessions, and global adventures. We sacrificed material possessions for...

Walking in the rain through the empty streets of Versailles, France 

Hiking the Swiss Alps, getting literally lost in the powdered snow drifts

Hang-gliding over the turquoise waters of Cancun, Mexico

Mediterranean Cruise ships, dinners and dancing and foreign beaches

White Water rafting in Alaska, just you and I battling the class 5* rapids

Picking out the fattest puppy in the litter, to named "Jax" 

Solo trip to Chicago to watch Hamilton and focus on quality time with you

Solo trip to Jackson Hole, to snowboard Mountain King Resort - even though you "weren't ready!"

Solo trip to Hot Tugging in a glacial lake in Switzerland at sunset.

Sunrise over Bryce Canyon, handstands in Willow Creek Slot Canyon, hiking The Narrows, cliff jumping in Zion National Park, and a snowball fight in the Rocky Mountain National Park, witnessing "Old Faithful" geyser in Yellowstone, and falling asleep under the stars. 

For 18 years I have stood on the sidelines (as close as I could get) ... cheering my lungs out for you! This is also a metaphor for your strength of character. I have stood at the edge of the driveway waiving my arms like a silly fool as you exited the bus. I have sat on cold bleachers and under the blazing sun. I have shared waves with you in Mexico, and mountains with you in the snow. I have loved every single moment of your formative years...

and the roots are now giving way to wings. 

I changed my mind: The hardest part about writing is not knowing where to begin, it's knowing how to craft the final paragraph. It's the paradoxical agony of holding on and letting go in the same breath. So, I will conclude with love, only love. Please hear these words again for the first time. Unplug the white noise and listen with your heart.

I love you, Ambria. I love the way you choose to trust and walk in faith. I love the way you speak your mind and listen critically. I love the way you worship Jesus in the 2nd row, and the way you look for invisible fingerprints of the divine conspiracy all around us. I love your faithfulness and submission, your integrity to seek the heart of your Heavenly Father and how almost every page of your bible is underlined. I love the YHWH tattoo and fearlessness with which you walk through a Mozambiquan village with the conviction, tenacity, and resolution to destroy the works of the enemy. I love that you are not spoiled or materialistic, placing little value on possession. I love the way you love Jacob (and Tina!) and the depth of your devotion to make choices around a beautiful future. I love our talks, and I even love our silence. 

Because I know that you will come back some day and say thank you. I know that you will someday find creative ways to express your love to your own children. You will probably start a journal or a blog like this, and then - only then- will you realize the infinite depth of a parent's love. It's like a volcano that is eternally active, and a heart that beats with the rhythm of holding on and letting go and holding on and letting go and holding on and letting go...

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"So Long, Farewell... Goodbye"

 Last year you exploded onto the scene with an unexpected celebration of song and dance with the Holland High School Vocal Dimensions. This came as a bit of a surprise to those who only knew of you as the invisible, middle sister. The younger sibling of Mariah. The quiet one. The self-proclaimed introvert who seemed more comfortable in solitude than on a grand stage.

And then suddenly, you had a microphone and a spotlight and hijacked the audience with the charisma of a rock star - full of grace and truth. You seemed as comfortable under the spotlight as you would in the comfort of your own bedroom. You simply owned the performance!

And last weekend you returned in full glory. Now in your final few weeks as a senior at Holland High, you threw all of your focused energy into one last song and dance. This year's Vocal Dimensions was themed "On Broadway", including a celebration of musical performances throughout the years. 

You sang with gusto and danced with confidence and melted the hearts of everyone in attendance! You rocked with the 60's and masqueraded with the roaring 20's and never missed a beat. While the other members of the cast did very well in their own right, it was very obvious that NOBODY could match your stage presence. Your cute little smirk and dimple and stunning profile... you were mesmerizing in a thousand movements! 

The highlight of the performance came while Jacob (your boyfriend of 4 years!) was singing a solo on an otherwise empty stage... when suddenly you appeared from stage left. Slowly you approached him and he whisked you away for a silhouette dance that left us all in a million pieces of sentimentality. The two of you were carried away by a pure and holy love that seemed to synchronize with chorus of all creation... this is what love looks like. This is beauty and trust and vulnerability and effortless and magical.

In the end, the seniors took the stage for a rendition from the Sound Of Music. Each senior said their metaphorical goodbye with a song and a quiet exit from the stage. I knew immediately that there was more to this song than just a performance... You were truly waiving goodbye to hard and glorious years at Holland High School. You were waiving goodbye to the middle school years of being left out from your friend's groups. You were waiving goodbye to the mud and blood and tears of Cross Country, and goodbye to running in the rain chasing a soccer ball down the sideline and hearing your dad screaming in celebration. You were saying goodbye to the politics and the popularity contests and the homecomings and the dances and the dresses and the bleachers where you cheered for your boyfriend as he scored countless touchdowns. Goodbye to the morning coffees he would bring you ever day to school. Goodbye to Dutch Dancing and a Laketown Beach and all of the flashbacks over the years. 

Tears remained, and gratitude - only gratitude. 

Ambria Faith, "I'll be seeing you..."

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Western Michigan University

 Last weekend you had the opportunity to tour the campus of Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. You were delightfully surprised by the experience, and felt like it very well might become your first choice in a myriad of options. When I asked you what exactly you liked about the university, you mentioned the practical realities of having a large hospital in close proximity to the campus, as well as the the city and campus with a lot of opportunities to socialize. 

If you were accepted to WMU, then Jacob would join you in Kalamazoo at the community college near bye. All of this is less than an hour away from us in Grand Rapids... and all of this is why I began to hold out hope that you would get accepted here. 

On Saturday we had the opportunity to take a road trip up to Caberfae Peaks to enjoy a Saturday full of snowboarding. Just the two of us. (You had asked if Adelle could possibly join us, and in a rare denial I declined to accommodate. This time I wanted you all to myself. I realized that you'll be 18 in two months, and I'm literally anticipating you're suddenly going to evaporate). As we drove, you further shared with me the details of your trip to Kalamazoo, and why you're trying not to get emotionally attached because every one of the applicants are stellar students with resumes a mile long. But I know you, and there's nobody like my girl!

And then a few days ago, I flew to whirlwind weekend trip to Las Vegas to visit my college roommates. As the plane touched down in the desert, I switched my toggle from Airplane Mode and suddenly a handful of texts came through. 

"Guess who got into Western!!" on the family text thread...

This was followed by glitter and party hats and all things celebrative. 

I must have inherited my unabashed sentimentality from my mother. I don't know why every little conversation or turn of events makes me tear up with gratitude. As you already know, I read that text and brushed the tears from my eyes... this is the next quarter of your life. The page is about to turn, and I don't want to let go. 

I am really struggling with this. I'm leaning into the discomfort of surrender, knowing that it's my job as a parent to raise you up in such a way that you are fearless in the wake of uncertainty. I can gauge my success as a father by one thing: The spiritual fruit that you exhibit as evidence of your relationship with Jesus. Everything else is secondary and pales in comparison. And for this reason, I can exhale with a deep gratitude that my daughter(s) are announcing and demonstrating the coming of the Kingdom of God to the next generation. 

And so it's official: You are Western Michigan University Brono, accepted into a direct admission into the School of Nursing. You're going to study anesthesiology, and follow your heart into a glorious future. 

And I'm the guy on the sidelines, cheering for you my little diesel engine...

Home Away From Home [Sayulita]

 There is something about the culture in Sayulita, Mexico... the quiet mornings, the sound of waves rolling in and crashing violently on the shore in front of an empty beach. It's all so peaceful! Afternoons on the beach, Jack Johnson playing on your BluTooth speaker, and laying in the sun... trading waves on the rented surfboard, and walking into the surf shops with sand on bare feet. Then we return to Casa Blanca Hotel and shower, get dressed up cute, and pile into a golf cart to ride into town. "DePoy's are here! Crash." The evenings in Sayulita are crazy! Live music and interruptions, sensory overload! The smell of pollo on an open grill, sizzling carne asada, and various concoctions of fruity drinks! When all is said and done, we ride around aimlessly in the golf cart, taking the back roads and getting lost. It is only the smell of "Hot Churros"that can lead us back to the north side, followed by gelato of course. 

It all feels like home. Or at least, a home away from home. It's a familiar place, and a rhythm we know. A chorus we can sing. A past, present, and future memory.

Every day we wake up to check the surf report. In the distance we can see a myriad of swimmers near the shore, and surfers taking turns around the reef.  "What's on the itinerary today?" The answer is always, sunshine and surf and good food. 

This time we were joined by Skot and Carie Lokers, as well as Dwight and Betsy Beal. They added so much charm to the vacation, and it was so fun to introduce them to our happy place! We walked through the jungle (got lost), overrun by massive palm trees and unripened coconuts and dirt trails that fork and split and shhhhh, listen - hear the sound of the waves just west of us! We must be getting close!

On our final day, we took an uber transport to the small fishing village of El Anclote (Punta De Mita). We spent a few minutes bartering with local fishermen to take us out on their boat to see the migrating whales. We had an amazing experience two years ago, and now we have returned with friends. 

Once we got out to the Marietta Islands area, our boat guide nestled the boat into quiet waters. We waited for a stirring, then suddenly: volcanic eruption from the Pacific Ocean! A giant humpback whale leaped from the depths of the salt water, and did a full rotation breach in the air before splashing down right near our boat! This sent all of us eyewitnesses into a collective gasp, as we were literally sprayed with the splashing water around us! 

For the next four hours, we were held captive to the majesty of creation. At one point Dwight led us in the acappella version of "How Great Thou Art!", and then we all went snorkeling for a while...

These days, I am soaking in every minute with my girls. Because I realize that in the next few months, everything is going to change. The next time we return to Sayulita, you will probably be with Jacob and hopefully this will be a place to which we can return for many more years to come. I want to introduce your children and their children to our home away from home. I want to watch the look on your face, as you watch the look on the faces of your children... experiencing the wonder of it all. 

Life is good.

And these are "the good old days."

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