A Labor of Love

I love to "knock stuff out"! I'm not referring to going Muhammad Ali on someone. I love to get stuff done, even if it requires ignoring everything else. I guess I'm a stereotypical "guy" in that sense. My knock-it-out tendency came out big time while I built my kids a backyard play fort a couple of weeks ago. I did eventually finish it, but much patience was required and interruptions, of course...lots of interruptions to clean boo boos, get water, get Dora Band-Aids for boo boos, potty breaks, diaper changes, feedings, and snuggles after Dora Band Aids for boo boos were applied. Whew. My kids taught me/reminded me that nothing great was ever built in a day, and in my case, 7 days and still counting (I'm still putting on the final "touches").

I had to continually remind myself, particularly when I was feeling exasperated from being interrupted for the millionth time, who I was building the fort for. Was it for me? To satisfy my own personal carpentry goal? Or was the purpose to gratify the desires of my kids' hearts and to provide some moments of peace for their mother? Oh, yeah, that's right...it was about them!

Now, rather than climb on our furniture and hang on our house's door handles, my little squirrels get to climb and play to their hearts' content on this...

 

Granted, I had a blast busting out the power tools and going Jesus on this thing, even if my hand looked a little beat up 150+ screws later...

Although, I'm not sure if Jesus had access to a Ryobi hand saw. Nevertheless, every time my daughters broke my concentration and needed something or when Eden wanted to be my "special helper" or when Avery wanted to pretend to hammer something, it brought me back to what the heart of this project was all about: connecting and bonding with my kids and blessing them with an experience with their daddy that hopefully they will never forget.

Love is a Verb

As the parent of a new born and two toddlers under the age of four, it feels as though it is all hands on deck 24-7. Even when I am sleeping, I am on call. For me, lack of sleep equals edginess. Some people are amazing at keeping their cool when they lack rest. Not me. I struggle with patience even when I have a solid 7-8 hours of rest, let alone 4-5.

Yesterday Eden and I began building a play set for the backyard, and at one point she decided to grab a 3' 2x4 and swing it above her sister's head. Needless to say, I freaked a bit when I saw that, especially since, at that moment, I couldn't physically redirect her because I was holding one of the 8' walls of the play set. She wasn't heeding my original instructions in that moment and someone could have been seriously hurt. My edginess intensifies if my oldest is being overly obstinate (which she tends to be quite often). I was surprised, because in the midst of reaching for the "panic button", I calmly told her to put the blunt object down, far away from her sister's beautiful face.
I am excited about building this play set with my daughter, but am reminded that it's going to take a lot more patience today as we continue together. There's part of me that wants to go it alone. It's easier. I don't have to wait five minutes for her to reach into her pouch and pull out a screw or display patience as the conversation plays out:

Daddy: "Ok, big assistant, grab the metal bracket over there (nodding with my head toward a variety of hardware and tools strewn on the ground nearby because I'm holding the heavy wall).

Eden: Where?

Daddy: There.

Eden: Here (holding up the pencil).

Daddy: Eden, that's a pencil. You know that. The metal bracket is to the left... No, the other way... Go up... Now over...

Eden: As she hands it to me, "Daddy, what is metal?"

Patience is a process. I keep telling myself that I can do this. I feel like Nicholas Cage's character in The Family Man, "You ran with the bulls in Pamplona. You jumped out of an airplane over the Mojave desert. You can do this!"

Paul the Apostle reminds me of what love is...it is kind, gentle, selfless, and more than that, it is patient. If asked, most parents would not hesitate to say that they dearly love their kids, but I wonder if many of the same parents would admit to lacking patience. So, if I love my children so much why do I struggle with patience? Isn't patience supposed to be a fruit of my love? And then it dawned on me...Paul's not referring to the ushy-gushy, feel-good tingly love. He's referring to agape (Greek translation) love...the love of action, the verb version of love.

My children have taught me what it means to live out my love for others on a daily basis. Though I stumble, though I fall, I will never stop striving to patiently walk with my kids.

The Lion in Spring

Ari Nathaniel is my name
Pooping, eating, and sleeping is my game
I arrived on a lazy Sunday afternoon in a hurry

Thanks to me, my parents' sight is still a little blurry
I was born April 29, 2012 at 4:01 PM
The nurse thought I was so pretty, how could I be a "him"?
For cameras I do quite a bit of posing

I weigh in at 6.8 lbs, but that’s without my clothing!

It comforts my mom and dad to know friends and family care

And for keeping all 5 of us in their prayers...

My Kids Call G-d "Daddy"

Orthodox Jews leave off the "o" in G-d when they spell His name in English because they consider His name so holy that you cannot even spell it. How do I know this and what does it have to do with my kids? Well, besides the fact that I have some Jewish friends, I also teach World Geography at a public middle school. We just finished a unit on the Big 3 religions in Jerusalem, comparing Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. Teaching about what different monotheistic religions call G-d got me thinking about what my own children call Him.

Ever since she could pray, Eden's called G-d Abba (Hebrew for "father") . This is cool on multiple levels. First, she came up with the name on her own. Katie and I never called G-d Abba before Eden started. Second, where did she get it from? We've always talked with our kids about the belief that G-d resides in the hearts of those who invite Him to be there. I guess something clicked in her heart one day and she connected with her Abba in a special way and started calling Him her Daddy. Finally, the fact that she started calling G-d the same name Jesus used for Him while on Earth is just plain awesome.

Whether it's God, G-d, Adonai, Yahweh, Allah, Elohim, Jesus, or even Abba, Eden has taught me that what a person calls the one true Diety is less important than the way they connect with Him in their heart and how well they live out the tenets of faith.

Asking for Forgiveness

Any parent who's actually parented will tell you that there are those days of dealing with your children when you feel like the situation brings out the worst in you as a person. Afterwards you sit back and ask yourself, "Did I just say that to my child? Did I just react that way?" It's easy in those situations to feel shame about a poor choice. It's tempting to ignore the feeling, try to sweep it under the rug, and in the end remind yourself that you're human and that you make mistakes as a parent. Although I do feel that recognizing the areas we wrong our children are important, it is even more important to humble ourselves as parents and seek our child's forgiveness when we do wrong them.

My children have taught me that there is never a bad time to seek their forgiveness for a mistake I made as a parent. I did this the other day with Eden. She was giving me major attitude on her way to time out. I erupted inside. My irritation with her bodacious audacity had me floored. I didn't feel it at first. I just reacted. I should have stopped and waited. Usually when I do this I can think more clearly, move past the initial reaction, and make a better decision after consulting with Katie, but I didn't this time. Why? Well, my pride was hit. How dare she talk back to me, even if she was being obedient and marching her little tush to time out! I am her father and I deserve her respect! I still believe I was right in thinking that last line, but I went about reacting to it in the wrong way. Eden didn't get the best of her father that day. She got the worst because I missed an opportunity to shepherd the heart of the treasure God entrusted to me.

Times of childish disobedience are ripe with the opportunity to teach our children about vital life-principles like truth, love, kindness, and forgiveness. It is hard to do this when we're consumed with ourselves and in the process of our anger and pride, we can easily cause our children to become angry with us. As St. Paul wrote, triggering your child's wrath is not the wisest choice: "Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger by the way you treat them. Rather, bring them up with the discipline and instruction that comes from the Lord" (Ephesians 6:4). When I let pride derail me it switches the tracks of my spirit and then I start heading toward anger.

Eden said she forgave me and those sweet words were like a salve to my spirit! I believe going through the process God has taught me something and that the next time that a situation like that arises I won't be so quick to "pull the trigger" on my pride. As we always say to Eden, "Asking forgiveness means you'll work your hardest to not repeat your actions the next time." God help me!

My Son the Little Mermaid!?!

My son is still 6 weeks away from making his grand appearance (Well, hopefully. Katie's been having major Braxton Hicks--that's pre-labor contractions for all the obstetrically-unaware out there.) and he's already teaching me important lessons.

Most parents are big on the naming process. We've never fought about names like some parents-to-be. We've been fortunate in that sense. Katie and I really enjoyed coming up with Eden and Avery's names, and we're pretty big on meanings. Our children are an extension of us. As parents, we feel it's vital that their names carry a spiritual significance beyond a few letters strung together.

We loved that Eden Rene's name meant "paradise reborn". Avery Kate was a bit trickier. Depending on what link you click off of Google's search you could get "pure wisdom" or more commonly "elf ruler". We like the former more than the latter. Although, if we're honest, the latter is kinda cool, too, especially when she prances around the house, donning crown and wand (sometimes a stick--whatever works).

We love the name Ari'el for our son. I know what you're thinking, "This dude's gonna name his son after the Little Mermaid!? His boy will be scarred for life." Believe me, the thought crossed my mind, too, over a bed of Sebastian's, "Under the Sea". The more Katie and I think about it, though, the more we'd like that to be his name, regardless of the stereotype.

Ari'el is spelled the same as Disney's underwater princess but the pronunciation is different. Other than the über-protective, Jamaican-accented red crab, characters in the movie pronounce Ariel with a long "a" sound (air-e-l). Ari'el is pronounced with the "r" sound (r-e-l). There's also a bit of a pause at the apostrophe. Ari--el. In Hebrew El means "God" and Ari means "lion". I love the power in my son's name. Regardless of all the rationale we've come up with, his name reflects a background we believe Ari will come to represent; it feels right to both of us.

What's more important in the long run? Ari's 3rd grade teacher mispronouncing his name and the class having a bit of laugh or Ari forever seeing his full name written and hopefully taking pride in the meaning?  Besides, in 10 years "The Little Mermaid" may be so outdated no one will even remember the characters. Oh, wait, I forgot about remakes.

Just Dance

I've loved to dance ever since I was kid. The Michael Jackson concert-for-one memory is probably fonder for me than my mom. Now, I'm not the personality type that will start a circle at a party and show off any moves, but I love to dance with my wife at weddings or when Damien Rice finds a way to sneak his way out of our home's speakers. Lately, though, Damien and Norah Jones have been replaced by Tchaikovsky, and Eden and Avery have stolen the dance floor.

Eden was bitten by the ballet bug this past Christmas. Avery followed her big sis and now both are smitten. Sure, they were dancing before. Bob Marley and Two Door Cinema Club were favs, and we'll still throw on some hip-hop mixes every now and then, but this is different. Their passion for dance has skyrocketed to a whole other level thanks to our Russian comrade.

I'm not sure how much Swan Lake my earlobes can handle, but does it really matter? My kids' hearts (and bodies for that matter) are fired up about something wholesome, healthy, and rewarding.  When I watch their little arms flail wildly or their short, skinny legs attempt a running air splits, my own heart soars and my soul rejoices. I've asked myself before, Why is dance so fulfilling--whether I'm watching my kids or even participating with them (Yes, I'll often play the part of Baryshnikov, but I don't do tights)? I think dance frees the soul from worldly inhibitions, the things kids could care less about. The worries about bills or health issues seem to lift like newly-inflated balloons. Cares of the world are drowned by the noise of laughter.

I think David, Israel's second king, understood this when he wrote his Psalms to the Lord. Music and dance were his refuge. Movement helped him to connect to God. It was his companion during those lonely years hiding from Saul in caves, fleeing for his life. And I'm sure dance stayed with him until his death as he continued to strive to please the heart of his God.

My kids remind me of this connection between dance and God every time their tiny toes hit the floor. I'm so thankful for their gift to me--the lesson that whenever I'm tired, frustrated, or filled with worry, all I have to do is ask them to dance.