It's started. Rachel was blowdrying and straightening her hair this morning - looking in the mirror and posing. It was obvious that she was putting on her prettiest self. As I was watching her, every ounce of my being wanted to hold her and shout into her soul that she is the most beautiful girl in the world - that she was more precious to me than anything - that her interior beauty was the only thing that rivalled her exterior beauty - that no matter what her hair looked like that day or any day - that no matter what life brought her way, nothing would ever change the fact that she is beautiful and magnificent.
In the back of my mind is the tragedy of Amanda Todd. I'm wondering when the messages she was telling herself changed from being beautiful to being something else. I'm praying that Rachel never allows the negative voices to drown out the shouts of her family and friends that want her to know how beautiful and magnificent she is. I'm praying for the right friends - in particular, the right boys.
I'm wondering if that's how God sees me. I'm so concerned sometimes with saying the right things, doing the right things, being 'successful', impressing people, proving to myself and others that I'm worth something - and God wants to shout into my soul that I am beautiful. I am magnificent. I wonder if God's heart breaks for me the way that mine does when I see my kids insecure or hurting.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Faster than a speeding bullet
We were driving back from Long Beach when Kathleen decided to play the Ungame. I dislike that game - because it isn't a game at all (hence the title). It's just a shameless attempt to get grunt-filled guys like me to answer questions about ourselves that we wouldn't otherwise volunteer. To be fair, I really don't dislike it THAT much. I just need to think of it as a "Let's talk about our feelings" time that nothing resembles a game.
During the game, Jordan was asked who his hero was. At 10 years old, that is usually some professional athlete. If he had his pastor's kid hat on, he could've said Jesus. But without hesitation and with complete sincerity, he said, "It's my dad."
If that doesn't instill fear, trembling and a deep prayer life, then I'm not sure what would. My kid thinks I'm his hero. Heroes are people that you want to emulate, people that you admire that are larger than life. Heroes are icons. Superman is a hero. Mother Teresa is a hero. I have a litany of things that I am not good at but wish I was better. I am too insecure, too selfish, too moody, too worldly and too Chris-like to be anyone's hero - let alone someone as precious as my first born son. As touched as I was that he said me, there was a big part of me that wanted to turn around and tell him to aim a lot higher.
Someday really soon, he will find another hero - perhaps more worthy of the title - but knowing teenaged boys, probably not. So I'll just treasure this one in my heart and pray that God's love will be made perfect through my weakness. Through this cracked vessel, might God use me to shape my boy to become the best him there is. Maybe one day Jordan, you'll read this blog trying to understand me better. I'm a complicated mess son - someone that needs Jesus more than I'll ever care to admit in the Ungame. So if there's anything in this hero I want you to see - is that all my superpowers come from God and my natural powers come from a love of you, your sister and your mom that seriously grows by the day. I've told you every day of your life that I'm proud of you - which if you think about it a little bit - means that your my hero too.
During the game, Jordan was asked who his hero was. At 10 years old, that is usually some professional athlete. If he had his pastor's kid hat on, he could've said Jesus. But without hesitation and with complete sincerity, he said, "It's my dad."
If that doesn't instill fear, trembling and a deep prayer life, then I'm not sure what would. My kid thinks I'm his hero. Heroes are people that you want to emulate, people that you admire that are larger than life. Heroes are icons. Superman is a hero. Mother Teresa is a hero. I have a litany of things that I am not good at but wish I was better. I am too insecure, too selfish, too moody, too worldly and too Chris-like to be anyone's hero - let alone someone as precious as my first born son. As touched as I was that he said me, there was a big part of me that wanted to turn around and tell him to aim a lot higher.
Someday really soon, he will find another hero - perhaps more worthy of the title - but knowing teenaged boys, probably not. So I'll just treasure this one in my heart and pray that God's love will be made perfect through my weakness. Through this cracked vessel, might God use me to shape my boy to become the best him there is. Maybe one day Jordan, you'll read this blog trying to understand me better. I'm a complicated mess son - someone that needs Jesus more than I'll ever care to admit in the Ungame. So if there's anything in this hero I want you to see - is that all my superpowers come from God and my natural powers come from a love of you, your sister and your mom that seriously grows by the day. I've told you every day of your life that I'm proud of you - which if you think about it a little bit - means that your my hero too.
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