The moment my three girls were born,
I was born as well. Their entry in the universe was transformative for me, as
they turned me from a person into a parent — a permanent alteration, a complete
reconfiguration of all one knows to be true in the world. These tiny,
spectacular creatures who have, at different times, kept me up at night, sent
me running and chasing, challenged some of my most basic beliefs and completely
unhinged me, have also taught me how to love unconditionally, how to stretch
beyond the limitations of my experience, and how to imagine a different world.
All three of my girls are different.
While sharing the same parents, household and values, God uniquely infused each
with their own set of intellectual, spiritual, and physical DNA that sets apart
each from the other. Only God can do this and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The diversity within our own family has brought intrigue, growth, surprise and
strength.
My second-born daughter, Sarah
Elizabeth, graduated this past December from the University of Alabama’s Capstone
School of Nursing. This was a huge moment in life — probably more for her than
for me, although I’m not sure — and the mass of thoughts and emotions are a bit
overwhelming.
Sarah is completely her own person.
From the earliest of life, she sought to carve her own way. Strong-willed was
an understatement. One Easter we lost her in the Mall while visiting Donna’s
sister in South Georgia. The Mall had to go on lock-down to discover that she “slipped
away” from us to go sit in the lap of the Easter Bunny. She rebelled from day
one on having to ride in a car seat. On long trips, we had to rely on the
calming and sedating effects of Dramamine in order to keep her belted and
secure in the protective seat.
Early on, we discovered her passion
for care-giving. She was always an advocate for the least, lost, lonely and
left-out. She loves church and especially missions. She spent a summer in
Brasilia, Brazil at the age of 15 and since then has served in Peru, Ecuador
and Zambia. She always tell the truth, whether you like it or not. She bears
and lives out her convictions even if it costs her opportunities and friends.
Today, she still hasn’t wavered. Her
vision of life is completely her own, her identity proudly independent and
strong. I am in awe of her entire person, and her continued presence, the
blessed intertwining of our journeys for mission, which has been nothing short
of a divine gift.
There is something profoundly sad
for me, too.
Being her dad flew by too quickly.
When she was born, those sleepless nights made me feel as though I would have
forever to be with her, teach her and model a positive life for her. But “forever”
turned in to be just a moment in time. I feel as though I my mistakes
over-powered the good decisions and actions I sought to model. I cannot redo
her childhood, go back to when she was 3, 5, 7, 11 or 17 and speak to that part
of her mind. I cannot help but feel like I have been profoundly inadequate.
At the same time, she’s off on this
monumental transition and the possibilities are spectacular. What a fantastic
moment in life! I want her to see the world, meet interesting people and experience
all the abundance of connections and awareness and humanity that the world has
to offer. I want her to live boundlessly, to feel the sky, the earth and the
wind, to run, jump and fly through life, to let her spirit stretch beyond what
is perceived as possible.
Mostly, at this moment, I want to
give her something to take with her on her journey, some kind of great wisdom.
I feel like my job right now as a parent is to adequately arm her as she takes
these first steps into the wide world. I want to be her protector and her
enabler, her grounding and her springboard, her home and her entire galaxy. I
want to be there with her, but I want her to be free of me. I want to be in her
heart, but I want her heart to go further than what I can offer her. I want to
give her a piece of my own spirit to always have with her — so I will always
have a piece of hers in me — but I don’t want her to be bound by my own
limitations.
I don’t really know how to do all
this. I know fatherhood never really ends, and yet it feels like the scenes in
which I have lines in this production are over.
All that remains, I think, is love.
All I can equip her with in this life is the knowledge — complete,
uncompromising and uninhibited — that she is loved. It seems to me that there
are two types of people in this world, those who know that they are loved and
those who don’t. The former are the ones who live fully, without fear and
inhibition. That’s what I want for my daughter. I want her to go through life
with the unquestioning knowledge that she is fully loved, that she can go and
do anything and there will be people behind her — her mother, her father, and
her siblings— who always have her back, support her, trust her and believe in
her no matter what. I think that such knowledge combats fear, the kind of fear
that keeps people from living fully. That is what I have to give her.
So this is my gift to you, Sarah, as
you embark on this remarkable journey called life. I am no longer the father
who will hold your hand at the mall, buckle you into the car seat, pick you up
from school, approve your friends, set a curfew or tell you whether or not you
can do something or see someone. But I am and will continue to be the father
who loves you with my whole heart and soul. I am your greatest cheerleader in
life, the one in the stands watching as you go and fly. Take my love, and live.
