Tag Archives: youth pastor

Fits, Fights, French Fries and Father’s Day

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Reader Discretion Advised: The following story is true. The names may have been changed to protect the innocent. If you feel you are acquainted with the players, please keep this information to yourself so as not to spoil it for other readers who might have enjoyed thinking it was their own family. Some of it may, or may not, be written in first person just because this writer likes to keep things interesting. Happy Father’s Day! 

Sunday church with three boys is exhausting, exasperating and simply draining. Getting them ready for Sunday School would be a big enough job: prying each one out of bed over and over again, breakfast three different times, foraging for lost socks, shoes or even underwear (clean underwear), and separating them from each other when their sleepy attitudes turn to in-your-face fist-fights…this is Sunday morning.

We had TWO Sunday services each week; one at 10 a.m. and the other at 7 p.m. This made for a very long day for parents that were youth pastors with many responsibilities. To say our stress level was high would be an understatement.

Now, our three boys were not angels. Blond hair, blue eyes and smiles that would melt even the grouchiest heart, they were still all boy, through and through. They liked to wrestle, they loved sports and they lived to antagonize each other. In this particular story their ages were approximately 12, 6 and 1 1/2.

It had been another long day, but a good day, in the house of worship. We had about a 20 minute drive home and it wasn’t unusual to stop sometimes at a fast food restaurant for a snack and drink for their ride back. It was winter and I opted for hot chocolate, The Sweetheart got his usual Dr. Pepper and the boys each had a French fry and drink to themselves. They were taking turns feeding The Baby little bites.

Then it began. I don’t remember what the squabble was about, I just remember it wouldn’t stop. Whining, picking, poking, telling on each other, taking someone’s toy, grabbing someone’s French fry, and it went on and on. I had turned around in the van and spoken pretty stern to them but it started right back up again. We were all tired, stressed and “over it”.

Then it happened. The Sweetheart (affectionately coined because of his gentle nature and heart of goodness) jerked the van over to the side of the road and put it in park. I had flashbacks to my childhood of trips to Florida with four stair-step Brady Bunch look-alikes (or wanna-be’s) in the back seat and floorboard of the car. My dad would stop the car along the road, halfway through the Great Smoky Mountains, and say, “If you don’t stop it, I’m gonna turn this car around right now and we’re going back home!”

Yeah, sure you are! But back then gas wasn’t approaching $6/gallon…he might have done it!

The Sweetheart jumped out of the van and the bickering came to a halt. He grabbed the sliding door handle and threw it open so hard I thought it would go flying behind us. It became deathly silent inside the vehicle and little blue eyes were wider than dinner plates. This father, who was crazy about his boys and had the patience of Job (okay, I’m stretching that last part, he was a NORMAL dad) was grabbing French fries and child-size Cokes and pitching them over his head as fast as he could go. Bags, wrappers, entire drinks untouched were taking a trip down the grassy knoll faster than a speeding bullet.

I don’t remember hearing anything from Son #1 or, amazingly, from Son #2. I do remember The Baby in his innocent, sweet dutch-y, not-quite-2-yet voice squeak out, “My Fwee Fwies, my Fwee Fwies!”

I was holding on to my hot chocolate for dear life.

Silence.

Complete Silence.

The Sweetheart returned to his driver’s seat, there was a slight whimper from the child car seat but no vocal sounds of any kind coming from two that had lived longer on the earth.

Reminiscent of the three Taylor boys of Tim the Toolman, these three hesitated to repeat that story for several years unless they were sharing with a trusted neighbor over the fence, but once they were out on their own it was free game, just like everything else.

The Sweetheart?  He is a great sport, hey, he didn’t throw out the kids, just French fries! He actually did feel bad about the littering and returned to the scene of the crime, unbeknown to the rest of us, and picked up the actual trash. He’s cool like that. (Disclaimer #2: The following picture is about eight years old, perfect for this story, and the subjects may or may not be related to the actual events that took place many years earlier.)

Fits, Fights, French Fries & Father's DayOn this Father’s Day, almost 30 years later, we want this dad to know we wouldn’t trade memories like that for anything. He gave selflessly, loved big and worked long hours to provide for his boys and their home and a lesson was taught that day that the boys wouldn’t soon forget and it was much louder, and more effective, than being grounded, sent to your room or a swat on the behind.

This is a weekend set aside to let our dads know how much we appreciate them and all they have sacrificed for us. For being there, for loving, giving and especially for listening. You are blessed if you had a dad in this category.

But what if you didn’t have a dad like that? What if your story is completely different and your childhood was abusive or your dad just didn’t care, didn’t take the time? Maybe he was distinctly absent from your life altogether. Perhaps you don’t even know his name.

And days on the calendar set aside to honor someone that you just don’t feel like honoring are, well, simply hard.

If you don’t have a father figure in your life like that, and this is a difficult weekend for you, know that your Heavenly Father can be all of those things to you and more. The 23rd Psalm says it best when it declares, “The Lord is my Shepherd…I have all I need.”

Jesus can heal the hurt and  confusion from your childhood and replace it with His peace and joy.

And, if you are a dad yourself? You do NOT have to repeat the pattern that was walked before you but you can give your own children a different life, a better upbringing than what you had by patterning your life after Jesus Christ.

If you dread Father’s Day because of infertility, my heart goes out to you.

Just like Mother’s Day, this day set aside in June to honor dads is especially trying for those who want to be parents but have not been able to enjoy that blessing as of yet. It is easy to tell you to be a father to a child who needs one, become a Big Brother or involve yourself in activities in your church or community. Those are definitely all good things to do and will enrich your life in so many ways.

But this weekend, it is just hard. It is hard to understand the “why’s” and to answer the questions in the back of your mind. Did you know that God hasn’t forgotten you and your wife? That yes, there are some families who never receive the answer to this prayer that they truly desire. Those are things we may never understand, but God does and He is able to heal that broken heart and replace that emptiness with a joy that can only come from knowing the Savior. I pray you and the one you love find that healing today.

If your father is no longer living, my sincere condolences in your tremendous loss. May your heart and mind be flooded with memories that remind you of him and his love for you.

Thank you to the all of the dads out there that are being DAD. As the saying goes, anyone can be a father but it takes someone special to be a dad.

Go be DAD to your kids and try your best not to throw FWEE FWIES out on the highway.

Kingdom2

You might also enjoy Stuff my Dad taught me…

Gray Hairs, Cap Guns, and Duct Tape

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67875_534407129903065_1626337972_nI have mischievous boys. If you know them you probably think this story is going to be about number two, the impetuous, and sometimes dangerous, Kristopher Ryan. But this time you would be wrong. Kyle was the oldest, he was always on the lookout for Kristopher, and someone had to be. It wasn’t that he was a tattletale, but he could be that too, he just felt it was his job and duty to keep him safe. They were more than five years apart and that seemed to bring out not just the older brother, but almost a father figure in Kyle. He took it seriously and it saved Kristopher from many a catastrophe.

But then there was the sweet and innocent number three, Korey Ross. He never got into trouble. He didn’t go looking for it, especially in his younger years. He was too cute, too adorable, and too doted upon by his brothers to do anything wrong. There was another five years between Kristopher and Korey so there again was the protector syndrome. We didn’t plan on that but it sure worked out well.

But sometimes they used him when it was for their convenience. Like the time Kyle, Kristopher and their cousin, Jeremy, duct-taped Korey to the wall. Literally, up off the floor, to the wall! Poor kid, I came down to the basement and there he was a foot and a half off the floor. They had totally duct-taped his whole body to the wall. Some of it was not to his clothes either, so he was not a happy camper when it came time to start ripping that sticky gray stuff off.

We were youth pastors when the boys were young so they had about 25 teenage brothers and sisters. This gave us a host of babysitters and provided them with tons of attention. Kristopher and Korey were definitely spoiled. Needless to say I was a busy mother of three; frazzled, and always on the run. This is my excuse for what happened on that sunny spring day when Korey was almost expelled from elementary school…

I had gotten in the habit of taking the youngest two to school in the mornings so they didn’t have to ride the bus and it gave us a little more time. One particular morning as they hopped out of the mini-van we said our good-byes and away I went. After I left the school, I stopped at the grocery store for a few items and hurried back home. As I was getting my bags out of the van I noticed Korey’s cap guns were not on the middle seat where they had been when we got in the vehicle on the way to school. My brain started working very quickly and I began to feel sick.

We were just about six months past the terrible Columbine tragedy in Colorado. And I suddenly realize my first grader has put his beloved toy cap guns in his backpack to show his friends! Panic set in as I ran to the kitchen to call his school. We had direct lines to the teacher and I knew that if I called and explained that Korey had them in his backpack BEFORE he ever took them out, that everything would be ok.

Unfortunately his teacher did NOT see it that way. She wanted to make a public example out of my six year old. She was practically yelling at me through the phone and said she and Korey would meet me in the principal’s office where Korey would be “dealt with”.

I just couldn’t believe this was happening. I understood things were delicate and that is why I had called to stop this before anything did cause any misunderstandings. Was it really necessary to put an innocent little boy through public humiliation just for wanting to show his friends his toys? And he hadn’t even gotten them out!  Korey had played Cowboys and Indians ever since he could walk; he loved John Wayne and anything western. He was a little boy.

As soon as I arrived, the secretary ushered me into the principal’s office and she offered me a seat. She told me Korey was on his way with his teacher. I said I understood that the teacher was going to make a big deal out of this. And the principal said, “No, she is not. We do not make public examples of children, or adults.” This wise woman saw this for what it was. She thanked me for calling the school when I realized what had happened. She then very softly told Korey that we cannot bring to school anything that even “looks like a weapon”. And he understood that. She was my hero. I honestly think that teacher saw an opportunity for publicity because she just kept telling me on the phone, over and over, “we are going to make a public example out of him”. But regardless, it was handled appropriately, and I was thankful and did not hold any hard feelings; we got along great the rest of the year.

Of course I had a long talk with Korey, and with Kristopher, about how times were changing and how we had to be careful in the world today. And I am sure we cannot fully understand the pressure teachers and administrators are under, my admiration for all of them remains the same.  They are under a lot of stress, and even more so today, than we can imagine, and I didn’t want to be guilty of putting any more pressure on them. They are all heroes. I realize she could have had a bad day, I do not know what caused her to want to overreact but thankfully an even wiser principal was in charge.

This post wasn’t for debate about toy guns. It was about mischievous little boys and the mothers who survived them. That one aged me a few years and cost me several gray hairs. Korey cannot take credit for too many of them but he can brag about that one. Or not.

Kristopher on the other hand….have you heard about the one where he called the police to our house when he wasn’t even two years old? Another day, another story…

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