Father’s Day (Part 2 of 2): The greatest lesson of all

It’s too early this morning, but the ache of being awake at this hour isn’t from the lack of sleep, it’s the realization of what this knot in my stomach means as a first-time father this year. I don’t have control.  As a dad, I don’t have any say in what goes on ultimately. Yes, I can send one of mine to his or her room for inappropriate behavior or a poor choice—and this works. They actually listen to me. (I know. They’re young. This won’t last forever.)

I don’t have any bearing on their future however, not in the way it counts, or not in the way I would like.

Some of us like surprises. The thrill of the new day. The unexpected. Me, I want to know. Don’t pull the rug out from under my feet. Let me plan. Let me do what I can so that all goes well, or goes well according to how I see the world—or want to see the world.

Most if not all of you have heard this before, but for first-time readers, I’m a foster dad. What I haven’t shared outright is that technically I am a foster to adopt dad. This means I am not fostering children to just foster them, as some individuals and families do, which is heroic, I am fostering to adopt which means the end goal here is to have the kiddos live with me forever. Officially. As in the ink is dry on some important paper somewhere. Their last name and mine are the same.

A couple of days ago, I found out that this forever plan may not be forever. The children’s biological parents may actually be making progress in their lives and, if this continues, the five here would return to them there at some point. Parental rights aren’t yet terminated. The future is unknown.

I have been yapping a lot about my kids, yes, but this column—this story—isn’t about me. This is for all of us dads and moms. The point I am making in this sleeplessness is that no parent has control over anything. The future is unknown—for all of us.

Oh, I gotcha. This is not a groundbreaking discovery here; this something you parents know. Maybe this is so obvious to you parents out there that you have forgotten it or, more than likely, have just grown so accustomed to it that the fact is barely noticeable. But my stomach is still tight.

In being completely powerless in All The Big Stuff in our children’s lives makes me continue to point to the one with all the power. I can’t imagine NOT praying for my kids. I can’t imagine NOT asking God outright to protect their every move, their every moment. The need for God could not be greater.

If you realize this, or as you realize this, I wanna to do the pastor thing and plug in what I know to be the only solid thing in a shaky world, and that is God. I think I’d be paralyzed in fear without Him, instead of just having a nervous stomach.

And with God, I have people who are talking me off the ledge. I find this beyond valuable. The wise and deep in faith have shared everything I need to hear. Scripture. Encouragement. Understanding. Companionship. And their faith. And their faith strengthens mine.

Being a 2020 Doctor of Ministry graduate doesn’t mean I have a pass to everything godly, an elevation to more knowledge. Like you, I still need others to help me through. Especially now. Amazing Christians who love and know God will keep guiding me through the months ahead. And this is not my want. This is my need.

My want here is that you hear me. Tears in my eyes. Heart thumping in my chest. Just like me, you don’t have control over your child or children. God, however, does. And he wants to hear from you. And you, if honest, can admit you can talk with God more.

Pray to Him. Talk to Him. Do this as often as you can for as long as you can.

God has this. We don’t. And God is love, always love. 

And this, this is the greatest lesson of all.