This was a birthday week around our house. Our son David
turned 25. A quarter of a century. Hardly seems possible.
I remember it like it was yesterday though. Christie woke
me up at 4:30 in the morning (Ladies, why is it always in the
middle of the night?) - calm as you please she said, "David, I
think you are going to be a father TODAY."
I wish I could have responded intelligently with something
like, "Oh really, dear, what makes you think so? Are you feeling
all right? Is there anything I can do to make you more
comfortable, sweetheart?" I would LIKE to have responded that
way but in the pre-dawn darkness all that came out was, "Huh?"
Within a few seconds her words had cut through the fog. We
quickly got up, gathered the necessities we had already set
aside, hopped in the car (I hopped, she waddled) and drove to the
hospital - an hour away - wondering all the way what we had
forgotten (nothing, as it turned out).
We had attended natural childbirth classes before the baby
came, so I was able to assist my wife with the breathing
exercises that made labor more bearable for her (for me too,
frankly, because at least I had something to do besides pace the
floor). Then the nurse coming in to check on her progress,
beginning with a look of cool professional detachment then
suddenly, with an ill-disguised air of panic, telling the other
nurse on duty to "Get the doctor because this baby is coming
NOW!" Quickly, I changed into the green scrub clothes, followed
along as they moved to the Delivery Suite, and within a half an
hour, our son was born.
It was an incredible experience. Christie tells me that she
will always remember the sight of me after it was all over -
there in that brightly lighted room, equipped with all the latest
gadgetry that science could devise, was this man with a mask
jumping up and down and yelling, "Hey, hey, hey...That's our
kid...That's my son!" It was marvelous.
When I finally came down from the ceiling, I came over to my
wife's side and pressed my cheek to hers. We were both in tears
from the joy of it all, and together we prayed, "Thank you, Lord,
for this miracle, this new life you have entrusted to us." Then
she said, "This was not nearly so bad as everyone led me to
believe. Let's have another one!" Right!
After a few moments, I stepped over to the corner of the
room where the special warming tray they use to help stabilize
the temperature of new-borns was set up. David was lying there
with those little arms and legs just flailing away in their
new-found freedom. A big fellow - nine pounds, five ounces...a
little horse...no idea where that came from. He was crying.
After all, he had just been through quite a workout himself. I
wanted to pick him up, but I didn't. I just stood there and
looked...and grinned.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
Good! Five on each hand. One, two, three, four, five, six,
seven, eight, nine, ten...yep. Five on each foot. Two eyes,
nose in the middle. Perfect. MY son. Oh, how I loved that
little child!
I confess, I had been a bit scared at the prospect of a new
baby in the house. For a man to become a father for the first
time in his mid-30's is a little late. My mother once told me
that the Lord was very wise in setting things up so people would
have babies when they are young - that is the only time in their
lives they have enough energy to handle them! That worried me.
I wanted to be a good father. Certainly not some gruff old
tyrant who would explode every time the baby raised a whimper. I
was not sure how I would react. I loved him. I wanted to be
good for him.
I was concerned about the cost. Not so much for the pre-natal care and the birth itself - insurance would take care of
most of that. I was worried about all I had heard about babies
born these days costing a family astronomical six-figure sums for
the first 18 years, and then there would be college on top of
that. I was getting ready to start seminary back then - a second
career after years in broadcasting. Christie and I had already
heard the horror stories of young families going off to school
and living on corn flakes for three meals a day because they
could not afford anything else. Then, after seminary, there was
the prospect of a vocation that is not known for its financial
rewards. I loved that little boy. I did not want him ever to do
without because of me. I wanted to provide WELL for him, and I
knew that would mean big bucks. Scary.
I had been worried about my wife. Back then I loved
Christie more than anything in the world. Still do, only even
more today. I knew what difficulties many women have during
pregnancies...ranging from general discomfort to absolute agony.
I did not want ANYONE causing her pain, and would be livid if I
found that someone had. But, this baby... Yes, he caused her
pain, but I loved him anyway.
I was worried about the world into which our child was being
born. We named him David, not so much after me but rather after
the greatest of all the Israelite kings. Our prayer for him was
that, as the David of old, he would come to be known as "a man
after God's own heart." I knew that would be a mighty
accomplishment in modern society where immorality and injustice
are the rules rather than the exceptions. I knew that for David
to live out the dreams we had for him would take something more
than I could give him. I knew he would have his ups and downs.
My hope was that I could be there to cheer him as he reached the
heights or to help him up if he fell. But I knew I would never
be able to handle everything, as much as I might want to. After
all, I loved him.
As I continued to stand by that warming tray and gaze at my
boy, I remarked to the obstetrician (who happened to be a long-time friend of mine) "Do you realize that in about fourteen
years, this delightful little bundle of joy will think I am the
dumbest man alive?"
The doctor replied, "Naw, he seems like a pretty bright
kid...it won't take him that long." Hmmm! It did not matter. I
loved him just as much. Twenty-five years ago.
When Erin came along three-and-a-half years later, it was
much the same. There was the pre-dawn announcement that she was
on the way (the middle of the night again, but five days LATE -
no phone call, no card, no apologies, no nothing, just LATE!!!),
the trip to the hospital, the expensively equipped Delivery Room,
and VOILÁ... there was our little girl.
There was another visit to the warming tray. Again,
everything was in the right place and she was crying her little
lungs out. To be truthful, Erin cried from the moment she was
born for about four solid hours. Needless to say, that was not
the most reassuring sound a father can hear. I began to wonder,
"Is this what I am going to be in for with her?" I had heard
from more people than I care to think about that if their SECOND
child had been their FIRST, there would not have BEEN a second.
We had hoped we would get one as good as David (because he had
been terrific), but I was getting a little worried.
I asked the nurse if maybe the baby might be hungry, but she
replied, "No, that's not the problem...newborns have enough food
in their system to take care of them for three days." I remember
thinking to myself, "Big deal! I have enough food in me to last
for three MONTHS but that doesn't keep me from getting hungry."
As it turned out, that WAS Erin's problem and as soon as she got
some dinner, she quieted down and, as you all well know, she has
been a delight ever since.
There were a number of things that David and Erin had in
common, but one in particular stands out: we loved those children
before we ever saw them. For all those months before each was
born, ever since we had known they were on the way, they had been
special to us...before we knew whether they were a he or a
she...before we knew whether all the fingers and toes were there
(and it would not have mattered anyway)...before we knew anything
about them other than the fact that they existed, we loved them.
You know there is nothing unusual about that. Any of you
who have ever been a parent have experienced the same thing.
But, have you ever thought about WHY? If you have, you know
there IS NO REASON!!! You love that little baby just because it
is yours...period. And that kind of parental love is the only
kind of love I can think of that is TRULY unselfish. Husband?
Wife? Mother? Father? You love them because of something they
have done or can do for you. But it is not that way with your
kids. When you bring them into the world, they have nothing to
offer you except your own personal portion of "blood, sweat and
tears." They are going to cost you a fortune. They are going to
keep you up at night (either feeding them when they are infants
or worrying about them when they get older). They are going to
cause you pain (either the direct pain of the punishment that
children can inflict or the INdirect pain of suffering along with
the pain our kids inevitably feel). Yes, by the time they reach
about age fourteen, they DO think you are the dumbest person
alive. And the list could go on and on. No, we do not love our
children because of what they can do for us; we really love them
in SPITE of what they do TO us. But it does not matter - we
love them anyway.
There is wonderful theology in all that. I remember
becoming aware, as we awaited David's arrival, that the God we
call FATHER feels the same way about HIS children...you and me.
Until my son came along, I had never thought of that. I grew up
praying, "Our Father, who art in heaven..." I read the hundreds
of times God is called "our Father" in the Bible. Perhaps as a
young boy the simile of God as Father did not have the same
positive implications for me as it does now. My own father loved
me, cared for me, provided for me, forgave me when I did wrong.
But he was also the BOSS! He was the image of authority. He was
the one who said, "Thou shalt" and "Thou shalt not" and I had
better listen. You see, he had this ruler that was eighteen
inches long and a quarter inch thick that he called "the
persuader." My thoughts of a kind and loving father were
tempered by what I saw in that ruler. But with the coming of our
David I began to see things from a new perspective. I know that
my Dad loved me, but just how much I did not know until I had a
son of my own. There were no limits to my father's love for me,
but only after I felt the same way toward my own children did I
realize it. And only after I experienced those feelings did I
begin to understand why God told us to call Him "Father."
Think of those words we read earlier in the 103rd Psalm: "As
a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has
compassion for those who fear (or give reverence to) Him." Words
that many of us who were nurtured in the King James Version
recall as "Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord
pitieth them that fear Him." You could really substitute LOVES
for "pitieth" or "has compassion" in the verse and get an
accurate meaning. God loves us like we love our own kids! Not
because of anything we can DO for God, but, frankly, in spite of
all we do TO God. God loves us like a father.
Actually, God loves us even BETTER than that. Do you
remember what Jesus said? "If you, then, though you are evil,
know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will
your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"
Wow!
Does that mean that our every wish will be granted, that all
our dreams will come true? Of course not. My children have
asked me for many things over time that I refused to give. As
much as they might have been convinced that their requests were
perfectly reasonable and the soul of good sense, I knew better.
Some of their heartfelt desires would have done them more harm
than good - so I told them NO...not because I do not love them,
but because I do. And since the wisdom of our Father in heaven
is even greater than our own, we can trust that the divine
refusal to grant all our requests is also for our ultimate good.
I remember an incredible moment during the Olympic games in
Barcelona in 1992.(1) Britain's Derek Redmond had dreamed all his
life of winning a gold medal in the 400-meter race, and his dream
was in sight as the gun sounded in the semifinals. He was
running the race of his life and could see the finish line as he
rounded the turn into the backstretch. Suddenly he felt a sharp
pain go up the back of his leg. He fell face first onto the
track with a torn right hamstring.
As the medical attendants were approaching, Redmond fought
to his feet. "It was animal instinct," he would say later. He
set out hopping, in a crazed attempt to finish the race. When he
reached the stretch, a large man in a T-Shirt came out of the
stands, hurled aside a security guard and ran to Redmond,
embracing him.
It was Jim Redmond, Derek's father. "You don't have to do
this," he told his weeping son.
"Yes, I do," said Derek.
"Well, then," said Jim, "we're going to finish this
together."
And they did. Fighting off security men, the son's head
sometimes buried in his father's shoulder, they stayed in Derek's
lane all the way to the end, as the crowd gaped, then rose and
howled and wept.
Derek did not walk away with the gold medal, but he walked
away with an incredible memory of a father who, when he saw his
son in pain, left his seat in the stands to help him finish the
race.
Twenty-five years of parenthood. I survived, despite my
mother's warnings! Not only survived, but thrived. Our children
are special for more reasons than I could ever say. They have
given us so much, and that includes the wonderful gift of helping
us learn something special about God...that, more than we might
ever imagine, we are really and truly loved.
Amen!
1. Quoted from "Hot Illustrations for Youth Talks", Wayne Rice, 1994
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