Dear Amos (I’m Leaving On A Jet Plane)

I’ve been trying do sit down and write this out for quite some time, but I need to just dive right in . . .

I’m leaving on a jet plane.  I do know when I’m coming back: Nov 13th, and I’ll be coming back from . . . Haiti.

I have an opportunity to go to Port-au-Prince  with one of my oldest friends (who I’ve also known for a very long time).  He has been working for quite some time on various social justice projects that fall under an organization that he and I and another friend dreamed up a long time ago and far, far away (or so it seems).  We’ll be going to work with some local pastors, break ground on an orphanage, dig wells . . . all things that are good (no, GREAT!) but are fairly standard “missions trip” type stuff.

What makes this trip special for me is three things.  One, it’s a chance to reunite with two great friends who were a big part of our (your Momma and my) lives when we lived in North Carolina.  Secondly, I will be going specifically as a writer, which is a fantastic opportunity to rekindle a love and desire to create the only (non-alcoholic) art I know how to produce.  I used to think that I had a bit of natural talent in this area and was utterly convinced that there were (non-relative) people that cared a tiny bit about what I had to say.  For the most part, I know better, but I am still really excited to be able to put some effort into my dream (as well as to be thrust into a situation in which I will CERTAINLY need to tell a multitude of stories).

The final reason is that I am just really excited to get out and do SOMETHING.  Lately, I have been a bit frustrated or bored (I can’t decide which) with my life right now.  That’s a really weird and disappointing thing in and of itself, since I have a great life.  I have a beautiful wife, a wonderful son, a house I can afford, and  a fantastic church family.   I have a job that I don’t hate (usually) and almost every week, I get to “do ministry”.  So why am I bored?  I don’t know exactly, but I can’t shake this feeling that there’s still more to my life than I realize.

I think I feel like even if I don’t find what I’m looking for in Haiti, I will at least discover a direction to start stepping . . .

Love, Daddy

PS: If any of you would like to be involved in helping to get me to Haiti, please leave a comment or email me.

Dear Amos

I’ve been reading a webcomic called Questionable Content for a few years now.  While it’s definitely NSFG (not safe for Grammy), it’s not usually as “questionable” as its name implies.  It focuses on a group of 20-something indie kids in Boston, and it occasionally touches on things like growing up, adulthood, careers and stuff like that.  Last night’s strip showed two of the characters discussing what they as children wanted to be when they grew up and how it relates to what they’re doing now.  Like many of us, they’re not doing anything like what their dreams were, and the strip ends with one of them offering a toast “to compromise!” and the other adding, “May we be able to look back on our lives when we’re old and say ‘Meh, good enough, I guess.’”

It is a pretty common for people the age of your Momma and me to be pretty unhappy with what they’re “doing with their lives”.  In fact, out of my close friends, I would say that only a tiny fraction are working at things that they truly enjoy (a fraction that include neither your mother nor myself).  Now, part of the problem is that here in the Western part of the world, so much of our identity is wrapped up in “what we do” rather than “who we are”.  But another (and greater) is that many of us do not know how to holistically find a balance between what gives us pleasure and what gives us money (because, unfortunately, Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration is that you cannot use magic to provide food).

All this to say that I hope I can learn so that I can teach you what it means to follow your dreams and be able to have satisfaction with “what you’re doing with your life.”  I have come to the point where the question “what do you WANT to do WHEN you grow up” is no longer valid; the real query should be “what ARE you DOING.”

My prayer for you is that when you hear that question, your answer makes you smile.

Love, Daddy.

Dear Amos

Well, it’s officially been months since I’ve written you.  I can’t even begin to tell you all the cool stuff that’s been happening over the last few months.  We have a new house, we went camping, we survived June-urary, I got what was considered to be a promotion and turned out to be punishment, and now summer is already winding down.  Crazy!

And we’re not going to talk about any of that.  Instead, I’m going to tell you a story about a door.

A couple weeks ago, your Papa bought us a front door for our new house.  Then, he and I worked all afternoon one Sunday to put it in.  Now, I say “he and I” but in all reality, I was absolutely no help at all, and quite possibly contributed to the installation process taking much longer than it should have.  When it was all said and done, the door was in, it was lockable, and everyone was happy.

The next day, however, your Momma noticed that there was still a small gap in between the trim and the door.  So, we asked our good friends Matt and Erinn to come over (and bribing them with food) so that Matt could help us figure out how to help us fix the gap.  Well, when they came over (to offer advice, remember), I realized that Matt had actually brought his tool kit, some spray insulation stuff, and pretty much everything he would need to actually fix the problem, rather than just tell us your Momma what to do.  He got it almost done, but in the process, we realized that the nails for the trim weren’t long enough (a fact that Papa had already noted), so he couldn’t finish the job like he wanted to.  He felt bad, but of course, your Momma and I were so surprised and grateful that he had come over and done that after being so surprised and grateful that Papa had also done it that we obviously told him not to worry about it.

The next day, Matt called me to say that he had some extra trim in his truck and time to run over and throw it on there real quick.  You and I were heading out to see Pastor Dean, so I told him not to worry about it.  He said it was no problem — he could do it while we were out and that it would only take a couple seconds anyway.  I figured as much, but at this point, I felt so bad that so many people had spent so much time on this (we’ll leave the discussion about how shrunken I felt about my manhood at not being able to install a door for another time) that I still almost told him not to worry about it.  But, I knew it would make your Momma happy to have it done, so over he came, and when we got home, it was to a door with beautiful new trim on the outside.

All in all, it was a very humbling experience for me, but I realized that it shouldn’t have been so.  See, we’re trying to teach you to be exactly the type of person that will happily go help out your neighbors and your friends whenever you can.  It’s something that your Nana and Papa taught your Momma and your Grammy and Grampy taught me.  However, what didn’t need any teaching at all was my pride.  That grew up all by itself, and it nearly prevented us from getting a shiny new door.  But part of being someone that’s willing to help is being someone that can graciously receive help too, which means you also have to be the person that is willing to ask for help.

That’s the hard part.

Love, Daddy

Attention

I would like to interrupt the silence with an important announcement: BecomingDaddy.com fave restaurant Chipotle is now offering free kids meals* on Sundays (at least in Seattle) until August 11.

*I’m sure that there are rules like “one per family” or something, but I’m no lawyer.

Where Have I Been?

Am I the last person in America to see this?

And Now For Something Completely Different

Remember that terrible wedding video from last year that inexplicably made it onto The Office?

Well, wedding dances have been redeemed.  By Canadians.

Dear Amos

Where did you put my iPod cord?

Love, Daddy

Happy Mother’s Day

Dear Momma

Daddy said I should write you something for Mother’s Day.  He’s so smart (and handsome).

Thank you for being the bestest Momma EVAR.  Thank you for not freaking out when I throw up all over you.  Thank you for always running late to work because you stop and play with me.   Thank you for reading to me, and for teaching me things.  Thank you for letting me play in the kitchen and get everything out of the drawers, even though you hate messes.

And thank you for helping Daddy.  He loves me very much, and he loves spending time with me, but when you’re not there too, he is sad.  He knows he doesn’t always do everything right (and he’s really, really messy–even I think  so), but he loves you very much and he told me that he didn’t think he could love you any more than he already did, but that I helped him love you more than ever!

By now, I’ve already given you my present, but I think you might like this one more.

Luv, Amos

Dear Amos

You’re 14 months old.  What do you think about that?  Every time I consider that statement it makes my head spin just a little.

You, on the other hand, are far too happy to worry about such things–usually.  You’ve started to reach for things that you want, and if they’re too high, you will stand on your tiptoes.  If they’re still out of reach, you tell us. And our neighbors.  And the people that live several blocks away.  You have started to say “Ma”, “Dad”, and “Da” (which we’re choosing to believe is “dog”), with more clarity and context.   You are starting to grasp the idea of  ”Hide and Seek” and you’re starting to interact more with the rest of your toys.  By far, though, your favorite thing to do is to put things into other things.  You’ll dump your Cherrios out onto the floor and then dutifully put them one by one back into your cup.  Of course, you also will try to do the same thing with Sally’s food, too.  You love to take everything out of your drawer in the kitchen (the one that used to have metal measuring cups and spoons and now has rubber spatulas and other quiet things) and then fill it back up with other stuff . . . like the TV remote.  Or Momma’s phone.

This actually is about my favorite thing that’s happened over the last few weeks.  The world is now your toy box.  You still like your tow truck and you love your little music station, but you have helped me realize just how arbitrary the concept of “toy” is.  You refuse to limit yourself to your stuff.  there’s so many other things that are just as fun, if not more so.  Books, DVD’s, socks . . . they’re all fair game to you.  But, you’re also starting to listen to when we say “No”.

Well . . . about half the time.  The other half, you just grin at us like you’re fully aware at how much power your smile and the sound of your laughter has over us.

Love, Daddy