As we had with Wesley, we had decided to wait to find out whether we were having a boy or a girl.  So the delivery room that morning was filled with anticipation.  When Katie entered the world, I could only weep–we had a little girl.  Holding her for the first time alleviated any fears I had about how much love would be left for her.  God had placed within me more than enough love for both of our children.  And while I loved Wesley, my love for Katie was not greater or less than, just different.

From day one Katie and I have shared the unique bond reserved for Daddies and little girls.  Soon after she began to walk, I remember coming home from an overnight trip.  When I opened the back door and she “toddled” toward me with arms flung wide open laughing “Daddy”, I knew I was hooked.  Today she still does the same thing–every single day.  She is always the first one to greet me at the back door, she is always the one who wants to sit next to Daddy at dinner and read me a story at the end of the day.  She’s my little girl.

To say that I love my children is an understatement.  There is nothing more precious or sacred than the gift of a child.  As parents we have been entrusted with two young lives.  It is a privilege and a great responsibility, and one that we do take very seriously.  If we fail, we fail our children and their children.  If we succeed, their lives will show it.

Some measure success by wealth, fame or even the number of friends.  I measure success by the joy of my children.  There are many things that I’ll never be able to give them, but with God’s help, courage and strength I can lead them to Christ, their hope and salvation–who has more than enough love for all of His children.

My grandmother, on my father’s side, was a Howard.  Mary Lois Howard Smith was born August 14, 1915 and was one of 9 surviving children.  I didn’t know her, she died of breast cancer when I was 6 months old, but I am a product of the choices she made.

My Dad wrote about one of the instances where a seeming misunderstanding changed my life, 24 years before I was born.

When Lois went to the Shawmut Mill to secure a job, she was hired in the spinning department.  When the personnel manager sent her to the job location, she explained to the foreman that she had a friend who worked there by the name of Ruby.  Ruby was from near Lafayette.  As a favor to her, the foreman put her with her friend to learn the job.  However in the confusion of all the noise in the spinning department he had not heard the last name clearly. So instead of putting her near the friend she had intended, he put her with Ruby Oliver.  They became dear friends.  Ruby Oliver was a member of Shawmut Church of the Nazarene.  It was from this bit of divine providence that the Smith family became a part of the Church of the Nazarene.  This event forever changed her life and the lives of her family.

When she was delivering her second son, Lamar, she came close to death.  In those moments she promised God that if he would allow her to live that she would raise her children in the church and for Him.  It was a vow that she took seriously and did her best to carry out.

After the reunion, on our way home we stopped by a little cemetery behind the Center Baptist Church.  There, buried in the back, next to my grandfather, great aunts and uncles and great grand parents was a lady I never knew, but a lady whose choices have shaped my life.  There in that country cemetery I stood at the feet of someone great, someone who didn’t break her promises and gave me something I couldn’t give myself, a godly heritage.  May her memory be eternal.

Who has shaped your heritage?

My father and son at the headstone of my grandparents.

Before I knew him, his hands had reached out to me. I trusted them as a small child helped over a cool stream whose waters were too wide to cross alone. I looked to them to place me at the table before I was old enough to scamper up on my own. And I was patiently taught how to fold them in thanks to the one who is the provider of all. Those hands have consistently demonstrated the language of life, love, discipline, obedience, patience, and compassion.

Through the course of lifetime, I have seen his hands at work in the lives of so many others. Some I knew well, others were strangers, new faces on our journey. Yet together they rejoiced in the birth of a child and wept as a saint passed the worlds. They have shared out of plenty and have sacrificially given out of want. Through a lifetime I have learned to trust his hands.

Then one day I looked down and realized that his hands had become my hands – the creases in my palms, the shape of my fingertips, the veins, the knuckles, even the scars were just like his. At first I was surprised, even amused. Now I’m humbled and honored. For now that I have a son of my own, the purpose of these hands is clear. In them lay the responsibility to care for one who can not care for himself, to teach his little feet to follow the path of those who have faithfully walked before. To forge uncrossable streams and navigate insurmountable obstacles, to teach his young hands that life is a gift and to recognize truth and to see reality through the eyes of another on the journey of a lifetime.

Now with each passing day his hands are becoming more familiar to me. And each day I am reminded to use them as I have been taught, not to try to make my own way in life as if I were left to my own devices, but to faithfully serve as I have been served. To follow the well-marked path of the faithful who have gone before, their hand-prints pointing with singleness of purpose to one unique set of nail-scared hands. The hands of another son who in perfect obedience to his father reached out His hands once and for all.

It was dinner when my son asked the question, “I don’t get it?”  “Get what?”, we innocently asked.  “How did I get Dad’s DNA and Mom’s DNA?” he said.  There was a moment of awkward silence, I put my head down trying not to laugh.  He continued, “was there a blood transfusion or something?”  What happened next is something of a blur.  I only remember explaining that God gave babies to Mommy’s and Daddy’s who really loved each other.  That seemed to satisfy him–for the moment.

The very next day he and his mother were driving down the road when he confidently announced, “Mom, I know about sex”.  “You do?” she said, somewhat surprised.  “Yes, I know there are 3 kinds.”  “Really?” she said.  “Yes,” he said, “There’s boy, girl and sex in the city.”   Needless to say, we have since had “the talk”.

I have 2 incredible kids.  They’re kind, considerate and compassionate, but they’re also brother and sister.  I remember when Katie was just old enough to toddle around, she would sneak up behind her “big brother” and give him a push.  He would cry and she would run away.  While they don’t push each other anymore, she still knows how to push his buttons.

As parents we’ve seen that often their sibling rivalries center around inequities.  You know what I mean; one get’s to go on a date with Mom, an extra scoop of ice cream or 5 more minutes of screen time.  As parents our response to the inevitable dissention in the ranks is to remind them that “life’s NOT fair” which is usually followed by the “it’s your job to worry about yourself” sermon.  (They go hand-in-hand because you really can’t see what’s wrong with others if you’re busy working on yourself.)

Well, I have to confess that at 45 I too get sucked into that “life’s not fair” mindset.  Do any of these sound familiar to you?

• Why did he get the promotion?
• She’s got too many items to be in the express lane
• I’ve waited longer than they have

The reality is that life is not fair and you can’t change others—the way they act or respond to you.  You can only take care of yourself by deciding how YOU will respond.  The truth is that if I spent more time working on me and less time seeing the inequities of others, my little part of the world would be so much better.

The Scriptures tell us to “…fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame”.  If the cross of Christ tells us anything, it’s that life is not fair.  But it can be good and right and holy in spite, or maybe even because, of those inequities.

As is par for the course at the beginning of the year, Wesley, my big 4th grader, came home from school yesterday with a lot of things that needed a parents signature.  But there was one in particular for him to sign that caught my eye.  It was titled, “Student Pledge” and read:

I am responsible for all my actions and behaviors

I will listen, do my work and learn

I will respect the feelings, property, and rights of others

I will be a good citizen by doing what is right, not because I am being watched by adults, but because it is the right thing to do for myself and others.

After reading this it occurred to me that us “big people” should claim this pledge for our own.  I think the line that stands out for me is the first one, “I am responsible for all my actions and behaviors”.  Wow!

What’s your favorite line?  How would your life change if you claimed the Student Pledge for your own?

Home Again

But I think the thing that is most intriguing to me about airports are the interactions – the elderly man pushing his wife in a wheelchair, the Jr. High girl’s tearful good-bye and the toddler who’s not going to let go of Grandma’s hand.  But today, my most memorable interaction was the sight of a little blonde girl and bright-eyed boy coming down the jetway to Mom and Dad.  Why was that my favorite?  Because today it was my kids who came home!

What’s your favorite homecoming?