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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