A Father's Love

I love you more than what I can convey by text or even mere words.

As soon as I typed those words and hit send, it made me ponder some deep things. Will she ever be able to fully weigh the sentiments I just poured out? The words were heavy with meaning. Will she ever understand that, or the depth from whence they came? Maybe if she raises a child and loves it proper. I don't know. I pondered if she truly loves herself. If she fully grasps the concept. Probably not. I was well into my adult years.

One thing I know of sure, she doesn't know the profound impact that loving her has had on me as a person, and as a man.

I know I wasn't fully rooted in the concept when I adopted her. I wouldn't begin the practice of self-love until the summer of her 11th birthday, once she and her mom and sister were getting reacclimated with life in Tallahassee...without me.

But as cliche as it sounds, I didn't even know I had enough love inside to love two other human beings, such as I did those two. Would I have ever cracked the code on loving myself without them? It's hard to imagine. So I cannot possibly overstate the impact that they've both had on my life, my adopted daughters, but primarily Merikathryn, because she was my first.

The text at top is more than sentimentality. It is not the sappy, syrupy derivative of a lonely empty-nester father, though I do miss her dearly (both of them). I miss being a daily presence in their life and them in mine. No, it wasn't just saccharine sentimentality. It came from a depth in me I've only begun to realize and explore, a deep well inside that 2012 untaped.

I'm struggling with words, now. They just don't do the depth of feeling any justice. It really is deep and abiding, a father's love. Mine is no different for my oldest than if she'd been created from my rib, "bone of my bone or flesh of my flesh," as the saying goes. No, I couldn't quite imagine going much deeper. I feel it in my marrow. But how to convey that by text? In words?

I did my best today with what I wrote (this was actually yesterday, when I texted then wrote this post). Words are all I really have. And if texting is technically an action, then I'm loving her actively, as well. But will it hit it's mark? Hard to say. I'm not there to gauge her reaction (and she hasn't texted back in two days...not that unusual...she'll get around to it eventually).

I don't know that her brain is fully developed at 24. What about her sense of who she is? Yes, I shared a part in shaping that person. And I did my best to love her! But I'm imperfect, as a human and a parent. I didn't always display fatherly love. There were missteps, for sure. Heck, there was separation and a divorce. That surely didn't help. But I did to the best of my ability at that time. But does she love herself, I wonder. Can she accept love fully?

These are the questions I cannot answer.

But I can certainly keep letting her know.

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.

Memories with Mom I'll never forget

Just found an emotional letter I wrote to my mom on the day I turned 45 back in 2013. It was a difficult letter to write as we had not really spoken or communicated at all since my divorce was finalized earlier that year. In fact, since my estrangement from my family in the summer of 2012, things were tense between me and my parents. My mom and I had grown distant. This letter was my attempt to begin a conversation that would hopefully bridge the gap between us.

It wasn’t an apology letter or a defense of my actions. I simply told her how I’d been feeling and about how hard it was to go it alone, without the emotional support of my mom or dad. Knowing that they’d only heard one side of the story, I didn’t attempt to counter it, per se, I just tried to get my mom to walk a mile in my shoes. She was upset and hurting for my girls. She grew up the child of divorced parents, so it killed her to see her granddaughters hurting. And believe me, if I could’ve sheltered them from that pain, I would have.

At any rate, mom didn’t see things the way I did. She’d been married to my father for 45 years at that time. She never really thought divorce was an option. I was the third child of hers who went there. I hated that I let our differences of opinion cloud my judgment and keep me from speaking to her. In 2013, I didn’t call to wish her a happy birthday or a happy mother’s day. That guilt was weighing on me so heavy by the fall that I sat down on my laptop and wrote from my heart.

I don’t remember verbatim the phone conversation we had a few weeks after she received my letter, but it didn’t seem to hit its mark. I still didn’t feel that she was hearing my heart or understanding where I was coming from. But, at least, we were finally talking. That was the main thing. My letter had started the conversation.

It continued in the spring of 2014, when after moving to Tallahassee to be nearer my girls, my parents came down to Florida for Spring Break with my sister and several of their grandkids. I took my two girls over to Panama City Beach to visit with them even though their Tallahassee Spring Break had ended a week or two earlier. I sat poolside with my mom and engaged in a very difficult conversation where I tried to clarify some of the points of my letter. Mom was hearing me with her ears, but I still wasn’t getting through to her heart and it was frustrating for me. I nearly left in tears. I did leave my girls with them and return to Tallahassee to resume my search for work. At least, that was my excuse for leaving. I was having no luck reconnecting with my parents on a substantial level and I left there very disheartened.

They brought my girls home before heading back to Indiana that April. In June, I’d receive a call from mom that would bring me to my knees. She called to inform me of her aggressive cancer diagnosis and to tell me that she wouldn’t be fighting it medically. She resorted to prayer and, short of a miracle, was going to succumb to the cancer, and leaving the outcome in God’s hands. To say that I was shocked and devastated is an understatement. It shook me to my foundation. She couldn’t leave me with our relationship still in turmoil, so I determined to get up to Indiana as soon as I could.

Once my girls were out of school, they were able to go stay with their mother who was working for nine months in Colorado. I drove the aging Volvo up to Noblesville, Indiana, and spent six weeks that summer in mom’s basement. That was her literal basement, not figurative. I had begun to work my way out of her figurative basement by then. Plus, her terminal illness, I believe, had her ready to re-evaluate her assessment of me and open to listen with her heart.

That summer of sadness had many bright spots, like the long conversations we shared on her back porch, where I poured out my soul and she listened without judgment. We didn’t always find common ground, but I knew for certain that she was finally hearing my heart. Like I told her, “You’ve known me for 45 years! You know the kind of person I am, the man inside. You raised me. We grew up together.” And so there was much healing that came to our relationship on her back porch that summer.

I left there with my girls in tow. They’d flown in from Colorado to see their Grammy and get the devastating news direct from her lips. It was a bittersweet trip for us all. But I left there feeling so much relief. Years of physical separation and emotional distance were removed and the chasm between us swallowed up by understanding, grace, forgiveness and love.

I will always and forever cherish that summer as a priceless gift bestowed upon me. I was able to follow with trips to Noblesville that Thanksgiving, and three visits to Cicero, where she moved in 2015, before she died. In fact, my daughters and I were at her Cicero home the morning she died following Thanksgiving last year.

I will never, ever regret writing that letter on my 45^th birthday. It was the beginning of a new love between my mother and I and a new chapter in our relationship. I’m so glad I ran across it on my laptop today even though it was difficult to read. I miss you mom and always will. I love that we understood each other on such a deep level. It was a great joy to grow up with you and to be your oldest child, witness to so many of your joys and sorrows. Thank you, God, for the time of healing and reconciliation we shared 2014-15. Rest in peace, Mom.

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.

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.