Humility Speaks Volumes

I have been talking about humility a lot lately. I think that it has fallen on deaf ears, but it's something I've studied, before as a student of religion, as a leader of men on retreat weekends--I wrote about that here.

I've actually written quite a bit on this blog about Humility. But in the post, above, from March 2014, I'd just gotten out of a committed relationship and returned to Tallahassee to be with my girls full-time. In reading the post, it was very beautifully moving and emotional for me to read, but I just wish I had followed my own advice. Life just sometimes gets in the way. Circumstances and situations arise that take us out of our peace and we become reactive. We often react out of stress or anger or whatever, and we don't always choose humility.

But we always come back to it.

When I wrote that post in March 2014, my girls were 9 and 12. My oldest was about to become a teenager...and my biggest challenge. We went through some rough years while she was in high school and the three of us were living in their mother's townhouse. I remember the most heated exchange we ever had was one night when she was probably 17. She was in charge of dinner, but only as a result of not doing dishes the night before. That was my rule. If it's your night for dishes and you choose to put them off, they are expected to be washed and put away before dinner the next night. On this occasion, they were not. One thing led to another, and I let myself work up a load of steam before she triggered me and I flew off the handle, cussing and slamming a pot of sauce on the floor to make a point. It was an overreaction, to be sure. She left the house saying she couldn't live there with me anymore. Her's was a typical teenager overreaction, but I did not stop her. Before we went to bed that night, me in her bed and her at her best friend's house, we spoke by phone and each of us apologized for our overreactions and our part in creating the drama.

So even in our worst moment as parent-child, we came back to our senses and back to common ground. It takes humility to admit when you are wrong. So even if I didn't model it perfectly at all times, like I wrote that I would on this blog, I hope that they came away understanding that life principal. Being humble with people, especially those you love, can express to them how important they are to you. Like the last act of Jesus for his disciples, stooping down to wash their dusty, dirty feet. Humility that speaks love.

I've made so many mistakes in relationship, too many to count. But I still understand humility. Even when I don't show it, I always come back to it. In situations where I've been wronged, repeatedly, I still find a way back to humility. Even when I know that I was wronged, and I was right to call out the offender, I have humbled myself in order to preserve the relationship. It was a tough lesson that I learned from living with my Dad.

Dad grew up in a home where you had to PROVE you were right on any given topic. His surviving siblings will tell you stories of them taking dictionaries and thesauruses to the dinner table to "win" a debate with their father. They've all told the stories and bear the scars. In fact, James H. Doyle, my grandfather, was nicknamed "Preacher" in high school. No wonder where my Dad gets it. He's never wrong. And don't expect him to admit it, either. But when being "right" comes at the expense of those you love, by hurting them with your judgy nonsense, then what good is being right all the time? Where is the prize for that?

It used to infuriate me when my father would constantly argue with family members over things consequential--politics and religion--or inconsequential, like how to cook something properly. It was always HIS WAY OR THE HIGHWAY! There's only one right way (and perhaps there is for some things) and he's going to be sure to tell you what that is. He was an expert on things, just ask him. Well, no one was willing to bring a Bible, a law book, a medical journal, a dictionary or thesaurus because he'd even argue that THEY were wrong! He was always right.

There is no prize for always being right. Your ego can take the blow of being wrong once in awhile. You might serve the higher purpose of fostering relationship and peace in the home over being "right." But that would take humility. And so I would often challenge my dad, "Are you really wanting to be right on this? Or do you want to have relationship?" Because I could see him pushing away all of those he loved most dearly, over his ego and being right. Aren't those we love worthy of a little of our humility?

It takes humility to give second, third and fourth chances, but you are capable. I found I was until I hit my limit. After choosing relationship over being right a number of times, I had to stop and ask myself is this humility or is it foolishness. So I point blank asked my partner, when is it YOUR TURN to act humbly and choose US over your ego? Will you ever humble yourself and just say, "You know what? You're right. And I love you more than I love being 'right' all the time."

It's not always easy, but it's right.

That was my aim in 2014. Yes, I'm human and I fell short, but I do hope I imparted that lesson to my daughters. I feel that I failed to impart it to my partner. She just shat all over the idea, arguing with me until I gave up and left.

March 2014, meet October 2024.

Pancake Batter

It's probably not good to mix your pancake batter with tears, but that's nearly where I was this morning. And it's got me feeling totally nostalgic. I don't know. Maybe it was the Beatles listening party I attended last night, or listening to Magical Mystery Tour on the laptop this morning, but I nearly spilt happy tears, nostalgic tears into my Hungry Jack Extra Light and Fluffy earlier.

The girls were both taking showers to get ready for school. I had already browned a pan of Lil' Smokies and was allowing the freshly mixed batter to sit and rise (it makes for super fluffy pancakes). As I stood there at the stove in my ex-wife's house, pouring the fluffy mixture into a pre-heated skillet, my mind raced back to the spacious kitchen at 12983 Quarterback Lane where I used to prepare this same breakfast staple on a ceramic top, stainless steel range. My girls were much younger then--Makenna in first grade and MK repeating 3rd (she swears it was second, but I think I remember). Those were the mornings I'd be up early, starting the coffee for my wife and I, packing lunches with love note napkins and mixing that pancake batter. As this morning's first pancake was sizzling on the hot skillet, I reached for a handful of semi-sweet chocolate chips and my eyes were full of happy tears over the years of memories making this same morning treat for my sweets.

As I sprinkled in more than a dozen chocolate chips, I welled up with gratitude for the years I've enjoyed being the girls "special daddy." Sorta like the tears I'm fighting back now. Nothing in all my life has made me as happy/fulfilled as being a dad to two precious girls. I used to walk them three blocks to school on crisp autumn mornings in Indiana. Walking back, sometimes with our family dog(s), I was always wearing a smile...happy in the thought I'd just made the best investment of a lifetime. Now, my girls are much older and I hope they've learned to appreciate the investment. Makenna has always told me that the secret ingredient in all of my cooking is LOVE. And she would be right. The pancakes I made this morning--and every time I've made them on countless school mornings, birthdays and weekends--were made that way. When I told her that as she joined me stove-side this morning, Makenna fought back tears, too. I think she saw the misty emotion in my eyes.

That nostalgic feeling carried over to my trip home from the insurance agency, where I had to make another installment on my auto insurance. Driving up St. Augustine to Madison, I decided to pull in front of the Claude Pepper Building into the loading zone where I used to pick up the girls' mother from work after leaving my office on campus. I worked in that building for a short while, too, so I was well acquainted with the Eatz Cafe' in the lobby level atrium. I wasn't used to the new "check in" procedures, but I signed in and went through new security doors to reach the empty atrium dining area. I purchased some scrambled eggs, breakfast potatoes and sausage gravy for around $4 and sat there eating alone...just me and my memories. The ladies in Tracy's office threw us a baby shower for Merikathryn in that atrium, just a few feet from where I was eating breakfast. That was in 2001 when MK was still Merikathryn and such a cute little baby. No, I didn't cry inside the Pepper Building, but I certainly felt this blog post coming on.

I called Tracy after I had left to tell her of my fond memories. She was tied up in an out-of-town training workshop, so I just told her to read this post when she had time.

Our girls have given us many years of happy memories. MK's adoption 14 years ago still seems like a recent one. Then again, it seems a million lightyears away. As I looked at her this morning, double backpacks, embarking on another day in 8th grade, I was amazed at what a beautiful young lady she has become, seemingly overnight. Well, that does it for this entry. Hope you've enjoyed walking with me down memory lane. :)

Love by example

When I was much younger and thought I had it all figured out, I was asked to give a talk on leaders to a group of men on a spiritual retreat. I used as the basis for my outline a book by Andrew Murray, titled Humility. Based on the wisdom of Philippians 2, this book lays out the simple life matrix of considering others before yourself, of loving sacrificially. And in the case of leaders, I argued, it means leading by example.

As I was making my morning pot of coffee, I was thinking about my girls who lay in their beds asleep, taking full advantage of the fact that it's spring break and they have no reason for which to set their alarms. In all my life, I've never taken to the concept of sacrificial love or employed it as I have with them. Those two precious souls are the lights of my life! I'd do anything for them, short of remarrying their mother. I'd step in front of a moving train if it meant saving their lives. I'd fight off a pack of hungry wolves, take a bullet or hurl myself into a raging sea...but most fathers would do the same.

It was while pouring my first cup of coffee that I had this thought about loving sacrificially and displaying that gift before my girls. Just as any leader would do, blazing a trail with his actions, not only his words, I determined that I would continue loving them by example.

In my doing so, they will not only see and feel what love is, they will come to understand a very key element to life. There are things in this life much bigger than us. Love, for example. Love is a transcendent concept. It is as critical to human beings as the air they breathe. But it is not just a bunch of sentimental ideas meant to make us feel good. It is tangible and real. It is meant to be experienced--touched by all of our senses and not just our hearts. It's more than a bunch of words in a blog or on a greeting card. It's in the mundane details of life, like a simple meal.

My youngest always tells me that the single most important ingredient in every meal I cook for her is love. She's only 9 and she's as wise as the Buddha. It's love.

Love, expressed in such a way that leaves no doubt in the person's mind, is the kind that is lived out daily. It might be secured with frequent confirming messages. "I love you," is something we don't say nearly enough. But it is amplified to soul-shattering levels when acted out in humility.

Back to the men's retreat some 20+ years ago and I'm talking about leading by example. I was telling the men to be the kind of leaders that the author Andrew Murray would be proud to write a book about, men who lead by humility, kinda like the guys who were serving on that retreat weekend as toilet scrubbers. Some of the dorm-keepers on that weekend were accountants, attorneys, sales executives and corporate leaders, yet they didn't think it beneath them to scrub a dirty toilet. And why did they do it? To show the other guys, not just about leadership, but about love.

Thinking back on that this morning, I came to realize that I've been loving my girls by example. I am their pack leader and that's my job. Upon that realization, I searched the web for an image that said "love by example" and the image at the top of this blog post is what I found. I obviously wasn't the first person to think of it, but I'm glad that I did. It's a transcendent concept. And in 45 years on this Earth, I've learned that not everyone gets it. Not everyone lives by the rule of humility, or understands what it means to sacrificially love someone else. I'm reminded by my daughters all the time what that means. And I'm committed to doing my best to love them by example.

Moving forward

It's crazy, sometimes, the path life's journey takes you down. It's never what you expect. It's always ripe with surprise twists and turns. It takes you to some uncharted territories, not just physical proximity, but in your psyche, as well.

These last two and three-quarter years have been quite an interesting part of mine. I've successfully navigated two moves--one almost 1,150 miles--a separation, a divorce, another failed relationship, several changes in employment, the ups-and-downs of life and the melodramatic changes in my attitude about all of it. I can't say that it's been boring. I lived on a barrier island near the boundary to the tropics, played in a rock band, dated a beautiful woman, made trips to the Florida Keys and to Tallahassee to see my girls...there were several adventures along the way, most recently an unexpected visit to Mile Marker 59 on Alligator Alley due to a blown headgasket.

I'm thankful for the experience of living on the beach...a lifelong dream finally realized, if only for a brief moment in time. I fully expect to get back there one day, maybe not to Fort Myers Beach, but definitely to a barrier island somewhere on the Gulf of Mexico. That's what the image above reminds me of--a public beach access to a white, sandy beach somewhere in that vicinity. I will have my toes in the sand and a cold beer in my hand, that's for certain.

For now, life has me landlocked in Tallahassee, where I spent more than 20 years of my life. It's a place near and dear to my heart for three reasons--FSU, where I earned my degree and fell in love with college football, and two daughters who stole my heart, both of whom I adopted there. I'm committed to remaining here as long as they are both living here in the moss-draped armpit of Florida. Besides those three draws to this city, I picked a great time to move back. Springtime in Tallahassee, while incredibly shortlived, is quite beautiful--warm temperatures, low humidity and plenty of fragrant, blooming trees and bushes. It could be a lot worse. I could be enduring yet another feet-of-snow-producing storm in central Indiana. I'll count my blessings in that regard.

I've spent the most time journalling throughout this segment of my journey than I ever have before. Beginning in earnest July of 2012, I have made entries on a near daily basis, filling up a dozen spiral-bound, college-ruled notebooks. While therapeutic for me, it has also allowed me the practice of writing and getting in touch with my feelings. It began, largely, out of my loneliness and needing someone to talk to and has become a much needed and relied upon outlet. I just wish I had started earlier in my life, capturing my thoughts and feelings on things I have experienced the last 25+ years.

I know that I have grown and changed a lot. Still unsure of what I want to do with my life, professionally, I know much better now who I am. I've grown to love that person exponentially. And at the risk of sounding quite vain and conceited, I really love the man I've become. If you knew how completely self-conscious and truly self-deprecating I can be, you'd understand and you'd be congratulating me. Learning to love myself as compassionately as I love others was a huge milestone for me in the last two years.

More than anything, I've put more value on my time with my children, two incredibly gifted girls that were meant to be mine, no question about it. They are daddy's girls through and through. With one of them about to become a teenager, there was no better time for me to re-engage on a daily basis than now. Neither of them are getting any younger, and my time away from them, missing them like a central organ in my body, taught me just how critical they are to my existence here on planet Earth. I need them just as badly as they need me and I'm not ashamed to admit it. The two weeks I've spent with them in Tallahassee, so far, has been very heart-warming and healing for us all.

This journey has surprised me in life-altering ways. I've learned things about myself even in the last month that have amazed me beyond belief. And as cynical and jaded as I tend to be, I am very hopeful for what the next leg of this journey holds. I'm still growing...still learning, at age 45. I'm much happier with myself and much easier on myself than I've been in the past. I still have my days. I can be a very gloom-and-doomsday, self-fulfilling prophet, but I bounce back much more readily than before. My realism certainly helps to balance the dreamer in me and I'm learning to love that counterbalance! Still a hopeless romantic, I'm very guarded these days about my heart...slow to trust, but eager to do so.

Well, before I get any gushier or ultra-transparent, let me end this blog entry here. I could go on, but that is mostly what I wanted to say. This is me moving forward.

A daddy's time

Being a daddy to two beautiful girls is one of the highest honors in the world. I feel blessed to have two daddy’s girls in my life. It hasn’t always been easy being a dad, but it has definitely been one of the most rewarding challenges I have faced.

I’m the kind of daddy who takes time to sit and listen, to snuggle on the couch or in the bed, who notices when a favorite stuffed animal might be on the brink and searches the Internet to find a suitable likeness to replace it.

I was one of very few dads in Fishers (IN) who regularly walked his girls to elementary school or saw them to the bus on days when we couldn’t walk. I was the bus stop dad, standing on Estero Blvd every morning on Fort Myers Beach.

I always found time to invest in my daughters. And even when I wasn’t with them, I was always thinking about them—at work, at the grocery store or ballgame. Even now, when I’m setting up to play another gig on the beach, I’m wondering what they are doing so many miles away. I never went to the grocery store without picking up special items just for them.

I was their personal chef, their Xbox teammate, and their biggest fan. Well, I’m still their biggest fan because I think they are the most precious people on this planet. When I became unemployed, I decided to be a stay-at-home dad for a few years. I determined that I didn’t want to miss a single second of their young childhood. So I was the one who picked my youngest up from pre-school and kindergarten, helped both girls with homework, played hide-and-seek with them inside the house on inclement weather days and genuinely enjoyed spending time with them.

We have a special bond that can never be broken. But the physical distance between us is nearly unbearable. And while the Florida courts are supposed to give both parents equal footing, I’ve been awarded a paltry 54 nights a year with my daughters. Don’t get me wrong. I will cherish every last minute of that time, but 54 nights out of 365?

It wasn’t my idea for my girls to live 400 miles away from me. That decision was made for me. And the courts don’t care what sort of father I was/am to those girls, they only care about financial statements and unfounded characterizations. The best interest of the children wasn’t even a deciding factor, unless you believe like the courts (and most of society) that mothers know best.

This isn’t a knock on my ex-wife or even on the judge who presided over my divorce. It is an indictment of a system that fails great fathers every day. It calls into question state laws that presume to bring equal justice into our courts, but fails miserably all the time.

I don’t mean to sound bitter. I just needed to get this stuff off my chest.

I know or have read about plenty of no-good, deadbeat dads who don’t even deserve the title. I know many more, who like me have gone the extra mile to be an excellent caregiver even when they weren’t the primary breadwinner of their home. But what is more important? The cash I can bring home to my kids or the love, care and investment of time?

I’ve never been deficient in the latter, so why is it I get so little time with them now?

Parenthood's a pleasure, but parenting's tough

If life were easy, I’d have fewer wrinkles, less gray and constant cravings for comfort food would wane. As it is, I’m overweight and graying with new worry lines appearing daily…and my kids haven’t even hit tweener status, yet!

Parenting is the hardest job I’ve ever tackled. It comes with no standard operating procedure manual and yet numerous, new challenges arise everyday. It is a constant high-wire balancing act. I find myself having to be firm, but flexible; reflexive, yet relaxed; the teacher, yet teachable; an able provider, yet always present. I have to draw secure boundaries while trying to encourage independence. And give tough answers softened by tenderness.

Because I was raised by baby-boomer parents whose childhood boundaries were more restrictive, I look for ways to expand boundaries a safe distance for my children. But it is hard to escape the patterns you learn growing up, and it is merely human to react in anger when those boundaries are pushed and tested. To discipline in love and have maximum effect; to find ways to redirect their energy and alter behavior is the most difficult part of the whole job.

I find that I am least effective when I am on a schedule. If I put myself first and the things I want to accomplish in a given moment, then I am less flexible, relaxed and understanding. My patience flies right out the window with the first misstep of my children in those moments. And with one angry word, a glare, a grumble under my breath, I feel as if I’ve undone a multitude of good. Instead of fostering confidence and promoting peace, I sometimes find myself shattering both with a single act and it happens before I even realize I'm doing it. It is worst with my youngest. I guess I’m spoiled now that my children are getting old enough to do things for themselves and assert more of their independence. When my 5-year-old falters, I often lose patience with her quicker than I did even one year ago and it bothers me.

At the heart of the issue, I find that I’m rather selfish. I have very high expectations for my children and a rather short fuse. That is another part of the great balancing act—juggling my desires and theirs, judging which wants I will afford them each day. In the hurriedness of life, I often become a miserly old curmudgeon and bypass perfect opportunities to show them how highly I value them. I want to become more liberal with my praise and learn to bite my tongue when curses want to tumble out instead.

Last night as I was trying to put my thoughts to bed and get some rest, I said a quiet prayer. I asked God for more patience and to help me bring more balance to this position. I know that I have a great job. And while it is the toughest challenge I have and will ever face, I can surely say it is the most pleasurable and rewarding.