Snow, that’s one thing I love about living in Buffalo.  Buffalo is not cold though some may think so.  Minnesota – that’s [...]]]> An awesome wintery storm is blowing across the country right now, blowing quite literally.  It hit Buffalo the other night.  As a result, we got about 1-2 feet of snow at our place.

Snow, that’s one thing I love about living in Buffalo.  Buffalo is not cold though some may think so.  Minnesota – that’s cold.  In Buffalo, we don’t see that many days in the single digits or below zero ever, but what we do see, is snow.

We have Great Lakes on Two sides and the air/water/wintery combination creates Lake Effect Snow that can drop 1-2 feet in no time.  So Buffalo isn’t necessarily the coldest place, but we’re a pretty snowy place.

But I love the snow.  I grew up in Michigan, and spent many days out in the snow… running into the house for warmups (hot chocolate, sitting by the furnace, etc.) before heading back out again and again.  We had a hill across the street, “the big hill” as we called it.  So sledding was always at my fingertips. I loved the snow.

The summer before my sophomore year of high school, we moved to Arizona. My parents were happy to get out of the snow.  I can understand that.  And I didn’t mind, at that point, leaving the snow behind. Moving was a grand adventure that sparked, I now believe, the wanderer in me. I became quite the traveler over the 10 year period leading from college to marriage.  It was hard for me to remain in the same geographic place for more than a year or two. I just loved moving, changing the scenery, etc.  I hit San Diego, Miami, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Columbus (OH), Atlanta, Knoxville, Chattanooga, and then Buffalo. Our Buffalo stop has been my longest since San Diego… 5 years… but I am tempted to travel once again.

Snow. One of the things I have always said though, was that I wanted my kids to grow up in the snow.  I wanted them to experience that.  Each winter, I am reminded that this was the right choice.  As soon as a snow falls, Wil and McKinely are all over us, “Can we go out in the snow?”  They love it.  There’s something special, magical, about snow.

Snow takes a dreary cold, and turns it bright white.  It does so with a forgiving blanket of white.  Whatever may lie under that blanket is hidden… I don’t know, I sort of think of snow as a living metaphor for understanding the this phrase, “covering over a multitude of sins.”  Snow covers it all up, brings freshness, and beauty… almost, a salvation of sorts.  They’re just something special about it.

I love the holidays; noted that in my last post.  But I do think that the holidays without snow are missing a vital ingredient. Snow makes the holidays that much more holi (ok, that doesn’t quite work, but the point is, they improve the holidays).

My favorite song of the season, at least on many a days and nights, is the snowy classic, “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.” I love that beautiful white.  I love knowing that my  kids are going to head out into it for some fun.  I love the way it brings a quiet stillness to the day or night.  I love how it reminds me of the season… of the reason… of the wonder of the world we live in.   The world isn’t always a beautiful place… but it can be.  Snow reminds me that… it can be… it can be beautiful.

When the muck and mire of fall is covered in white, the dead leaves on the ground are covered in white, fallen trees are covered in white, the neighbors junk?  Yes, they too are covered in white. And the white just makes it all ok, makes it all beautiful.  And the hustling, bustling sounds of the world seem to stop – except for the occasional snow plow and its backup beep- beep – beep… – but the snow, it seems to cover both the site and sound of the world in white and quiet… and peace reigns.

Standing out in the wintery white, for a moment, it’s easy to forget all the “to-dos,” forget all the appointments, stress, tasks to finish… and just live in the moment, a moment of quiet, white peace reigning down upon us.  Yes, tis the season, and I’m so glad it is.  So I’ll be saying and singing all through it, “let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

This Thanksgiving I was thankful for much:

But Thanksgiving’s tomorrow, and today I’m getting my first moments of a break.  Now, really, come [...]]]> Whew!  I just finished working a 16-day straight stretch on campus at Medaille.  Two weekends of my students’ running events plus an open-house, basketball games and hockey to be webstreamed… it’s all just made for a very busy time.

But Thanksgiving’s tomorrow, and today I’m getting my first moments of a break.  Now, really, come Friday, Saturday, Sunday, I’ve got a lot of work to do catching up on grading and so forth, but don’t tell Melodia.

Since we moved to Buffalo, we’ve spent every Thanksgiving with our friends Adam and Danelle Padd.  I don’t know quite how that became our tradition.  An invite that first year, led to a second, and so forth, I suppose.  This year, for a change, rather than going to their place, they’re coming to ours.  Melodia and I have the Wii ready to go, as well as some board games, and both of the girls have been prepping some stuff – the turkey and apple pie on our end, and pecan pie on the Padd’s.

Our Thanksgivings really have been a blessing. Getting to spend time with friends, and these friends in particular has always been wonderful.

It’s interesting to look at our friendships and assess them.  Our friendship with Danelle and Adam is one in which we have very few expectations of each other.  What I mean is… when we’re setting something up, trying to work out a plan, etc… if it comes together, great. If it doesn’t, no worries.  It’s the type of friendship that isn’t highly demanding, and yet, it’s always ready for use.  On a moment’s notice, we’ll go to their place and spend the night, or they’ll come to ours.  And the hosting party never makes it out to be an inconvenience.

Recently, we had one of those situations where we were without power and decided to see if we could impose on some friends who still had power.  A few of our friends were busy or had plans that didn’t really allow the powerless Wilson’s to impose on.  As we sat in the dark of our silent house talking about it, we were thankful for our friendship with the Padd’s.  Immediately, we looked at each other and said, if we’d called the Padd’s, they’d have said, “come on over.”  In fact, even if they weren’t home, they’d have said, “use the house.”

Now, Adam and Danelle live 1.5 hours south of us, so it is not always convenient.  But it sure is helpful to have that type of friendship that allows for so much grace without the expectation of return or a counting of who’s done what and when.  Certainly, the Padd’s are way beyond us in hosting visits.  They live in the country, and our eagerness to spend some time in the country is often greater than theirs to spend time in the city… though the pool at our last apartment tempted them a few times.

We enjoy the opportunities to host them, and tomorrow will be nice that way.  I guess, I’m just thinking about friendships, and realizing that some are hard to replace.  It’s hard to quantify exactly what makes ours with the Padd’s fun.  We’ll go months without seeing each other, but we’ve often spent several weekends in a row together.  We’ll plan in advance, and we’ll plan last minute. Sometimes, we just go to their place and hang out, other times to help with some work, like making Venison meatballs! Yummo.

Maybe what I’m trying to place my finger on is that it’s nice to have friends who don’t ever give you the feeling that you’re imposing, and who are very inclusive in their approach to life.  After all, isn’t that the way it should be?  Aren’t we all supposed to be opening our arms and waving others to come on in?  I think so.

Tomorrow, the Padd’s will, once again, come on in – and I’m looking forward to it. Happy Thanksgiving to you, wherever you are, and to your friends, whose inclusion of you make life more wonderful.

It’s been good to have her here. Unfortunately, I’ve been sick for what feels like the whole [...]]]> Lala’s been in town the past two weeks. That’s Melodia’s mother, Maria. The kids have called her Lala since they were little. Abuela (grandmother in Spanish) became La became Lala. And Grandpa Torres became Lalo.

It’s been good to have her here. Unfortunately, I’ve been sick for what feels like the whole time. Sick now, too, and in need of bed. But I keep looking at the website wishing I blogged more. Then by the time I think to do it, I just jot down the surface stuff of life. But, I figure that’s better than nothing.

We’re down to the last 3 days of Lala’s visit, which is a bummer. We all love having her around. But I know her own hubby needs her back, too. Still, her presence reminds me of how challenging it is to live in a place without family.

I’ve been reminded all week that I haven’t seen my own parents in person in two years. How did that happen? Where did the time go? I mean, that’s just crazy. And they haven’t seen Izzabelle in person yet, either. And she’s past 1. Seems it’s always cheaper to go to Tampa than out to Vegas (and drive down to Kingman, Az), cheaper to see the Torres side than the Wilson side. But I have to figure out a way to see them soon. The kids need to see them. It’s just been too long.

And we’ve just finished concluding that we cannot go anywhere for the Holidays. The budget’s a little tight and we need to stay put, resist the temptation to spend. I keep hoping my parents will find the time to come our direction, because their two tickets are cheaper than our four tickets to head out there.

But nothing’s easy. Mom’s working full-time these days, and it’s harder for them to cut out than it used to be. So here we are, two years later. But with Lala in town, I’ve been feeling it, and missing mom and dad. And I’m missing them for my kids, too. Wil can still remember sitting on dad’s backhoe last time he was out to Arizona. He brings that up whenever we talk about Grandpa and Grandma Wilson. But I need him to have some fresher memories. So I’ve got to work this one out.

At any rate, I’m just reminded tonight of how important family is, but not just our own immediate wife and kids, but our moms and dads. I continue to believe that one can never truly appreciate their own parents until they have kids of their own. I’m constantly amazed, when holding one of my little ones, to think that the way I feel, is the way my mom and dad felt about me. That they were where I am. Fascinating to me.

And I can appreciate all the more what it took, and what it still takes (when they get older and move on). I can’t imagine Wil, McKinley, and Izzabelle being older, going to college, getting married, having kids… I can’t imagine Melodia and I in a quiet house, the kids all moved on. It just seems so far. And yet I’m reminded all the time by those around me… time flies, it’ll be gone before you know it, enjoy it while you have it.

So tonight, I held McKinley just a little bit longer when I hugged her before bed. I looked into her big green eyes as she said, “I love you, Papi,” and I wished it all wouldn’t go by so fast. Wished that time would slow. That my little girl would stay little, small enough for me to scoop up and hold tight. And I didn’t want to think about those days when she wouldn’t be that small anymore.

I guess I should say, Robert Toland was [...]]]> A good man passed away on Friday at 3:15pm.  I don’t really know how to write much past this sentence.  But on the drive home tonight from a school activity, I just kept thinking that I needed to sit down and write a bit.

I guess I should say, Robert Toland was a believer, a man of God, as I should lead with the hope in this story.  The hope that means that death is not the end, but the beginning… that death is a homecoming, not a farewell.  That Robert has gone on to stand with that great cloud of witnesses, that he now sees a sight for which many of us long.

Robert was a member of Crossroads Christian Church, the church we are also members of.  We arrived at Crossroads just over a year ago, after Robert had already stopped regular attendance.  Robert was diagnosed with colon cancer toward the end of 2007. It was a late diagnosis, and the disease had already metastasized. The doctors told him it was terminal.

See, the thing is, Robert Toland was only 30 when he learned this. He and his wife, Melanie, have three little girls: Morgan (2), Skyler (3), and Lilia (5). I didn’t know Robert personally. I only met him on a couple of occasions, and heard him share his journey, and his challenge.  But from the moment I learned of his story, I dreaded this day.

Our church and a number of other organizations and individuals rallied around Robert. Last year, everyone got together to produce an extreme home makeover.  You won’t see it on ABC, and Ty Pennington didn’t show up, but you can watch it here.  They rebuilt the Toland’s house so that Robert could stay home as things got worse, and his mobility became limited, as he approached the end.

Robert and his family have been on my mind and in my prayers all summer.  The home we almost purchased (the one that fell through this summer), it was less than a mile from the Toland’s house.

I have to admit, it’s been a long time since I’ve prayed so hard over one family, one man.  And I awoke Saturday morning feeling a little depressed and disheartened, because, well, quite frankly, I wanted the miracle.

I have 3 little kids.  I am in my 30s. I have a wife I adore.  I have it all.  So what if it was all about to end? Robert’s having to face all that hasn’t been far from my brain the last few months.  A year ago, I almost lost Melodia.  I spent a night facing the thought of being alone, with 2 (or if Izzabelle made it, 3) kids. I wondered how I’d do it without her.  And I really didn’t want to.  Melodia came through it, and Izzabelle, too. But that process reshaped our hearts a bit. It stirred a bunch of things up; it made me re-think death’s reality. It made me a bit fearful.

In March, just 6 months past the trauma with Melodia and Izzabelle, 6 people, all in their 30s, that were either friends of mine, or friends of my friends, passed away. That, too, made me a bit fearful.

It’s funny (odd) the stories we hold on to.  I mean, the older we get, the more we encounter death, the more real it becomes, or the more it becomes our reality, no longer untouchable, unimaginable, unattainable… it becomes more tangible,more common place, more frequent. Just after I graduated college, my favorite professor, Larry Finger, was diagnosed with cancer. I met with him, and we chatted for a bit about it, and how it was going.  He told me that he’d prayed when his kids were little, “Lord, let me live long enough to see them graduate college.”  His daughter had just recently graduated. He said to me, “I got what I asked for.  I’ve much to be thankful for.”  Larry Finger passed away less than a year after that conversation. I couldn’t do much that day, the day he died.

Today I busied myself with cleaning the house.  Melodia was out for some “me” time.  Izzabelle was napping, and Wil and McKinley were playing in the front yard with the neighbor kids. I just need something to do. I’ve been adding some worship and Christian music dvds to our collection. Just recently I added an old (recorded  circa 1995, out on dvd 2002) Ray Boltz concert dvd – The Concert of  a Lifetime. I popped that in to the dvd and had it playing while I cleaned.

I used to often say that much of my theology could be found in songs.  A few artists have shaped my view of God and the Kingdom… Russ Taff, Rich Mullins, and Geoff Moore and the Distance probably had the greatest influence, but many other artists contributed a song or two to the cause of my theology.  Ray Boltz has a couple, but the one that I wanted to hear, as I thought about Robert Toland was “Heaven is Counting on You.”  Part of that song says,

“Many suffered friends even gave their lives
For the message of our Lord Jesus Christ
Now they’re watching they’re seated high up above
Shouting to us as we run

There is a race
There is a prize
There is a price to pay
And the saints beyond
Are cheering us on today”

The theology I’ve long held (or have wanted to hold, wanted to believe) is that those who’ve gone on before us, are indeed watching us, they’re watching us, and they’re cheering us on as we run this race.

I remember when Rich Mullins died, I thought to myself, “Rich Mullins knows now. He knows what he’s always believed is indeed true.”  He knows there’s a God, because he’s standing before Him; he’s with Him.  And the very next thought that came to me was, “He knew then. Rich Mullins knew then, before he ever left this earth.”  Neither death, nor Heaven, nor the sight of God changed what he knew… he always knew. One of Rich’s songs featured the line, “I’ll keep rockin’ until it’s my time to roll.” I loved that wordplay.

So I busied myself around the house, and I prayed. I prayed for Melanie and the kids.

This is one of those things that challenges my faith. Oh, I know, it shouldn’t.  It should be pure rejoicing, a saint gone home… rejoice.  But it isn’t. Perhaps I’m too attached to this world. Or maybe it’s that such a view seems a little too selfish (i.e., what about the people left behind? – I’m outta here, so rejoice). It’s likely some combination of those thoughts.  This challenges my faith.

I think about a wife watching her husband die.  I think about her alone.  I think about kids who can’t understand death, wondering where Papi is. I think about them growing up without him. I think about the four of them questioning God’s ability in all of this… His ability to perform the miracle vs. His hands-off, let it happen. I think about things that challenge my faith, and about things that make me a bit fearful.  And I pray that losing him will not become a stumbling block to their own walk with Jesus, to their faith, to the reunion that awaits.

But I am sad today.  And it’s ok if people say of me, “that seems pretty faithless.” For months now, Robert Toland has lived out on my biggest fears; and it has deeply saddened me that anyone would have to do that.  Some things are just hard – no, they’re impossible – to understand in the Kingdom. Some things, I just can’t think on for too long, or they threaten to break me.

The Toland’s kept a journal on the Caring Bridge website. I read with sadness, Melanie’s words on Friday about Robert’s death.

“Robert passed away today around 3:15pm.  Yesterday, Pastor Pat was visiting Robert and asked him if he was ready to meet the good lord.  Robert answered, “Tomorrow”.

Maybe he knew somehow.

Today, while Denise, Chris, and I (his parents) were sitting with him, he said “I’m ready to say good-bye now”. Then he looked at each of us, and said good-bye individually.  He told Denise and I ”please don’t say anything”.  We weren’t really sure what to think about that comment, but looking back I think he just wanted to die peacefully (without a crowd watching) or maybe he didn’t want us to try to talk him out of it.  I did make sure that I told him that the girls and I will be okay, that I will raise them godly women, and we have support around us to get us through.”

How do I read that without tears and extreme sadness? How do I rejoice?  I know some Christians who are so ready to be rid of this world.  I’m not one of them.  Despite the sin, despite Satan, despite the divergence from the original design, there’s so much beauty here, such great wonder, and there’s friends… and family… spouses… and children.

No, I’d like a long time with all of them.  At the cost of putting off Heaven for many years?  Yes, I think even at that cost.  Oh to be sure, I don’t want to miss out on Heaven.  No way. But our worldly knowledge doesn’t quite provide us more than hazy, blurred, black and white image of Heaven.  Will we know each other or not?  Will we notice who’s there and who isn’t?  Will they’re be any memory of our time on Earth?

Such theological questions probably shouldn’t be of concern to the Heaven-bound, committed follower, but they are things I wonder.  And I think, they’re the the unanswered things that make me wish to stay here for a while longer.

But even beyond my theology is this one simple fact. I’m a dad. When I wasn’t a dad, I didn’t get it. No one who isn’t a dad can.  I’m sure of that. Becoming a dad is much like becoming a Christian. A new world opens up. One sees things as never before.  It is indeed a rebirth of sorts.  As a dad, my worldview is different than it once was. I look at much of what I see through my children and their experiences. At times, I get on my knees to pray for them.  Other times, I get on my knees so I can see the world as they do.

Seriously, we forget, being older and taller, just how much they can’t see (like what’s on top of that table, or on the third shelf up, etc.).  I pay attention to the things that make them smile, and to those that make them cry.  And my heart hurts for them when they hurt; and I both despair and burn with deep anger when it seems like they’re being marginalized, ignored, mistreated, or otherwise dealt with by someone else.

And I guess, herein, you see the selfishness of my post tonight (or, at 1:30am, I should say, this morning). Because this isn’t an “in memoriam” of Robert Toland so much as it is my reflection on just how much it stinks to have Robert’s family lose him, to have his kids lose him, and on just how much I fear this for anyone else, including myself.

Robert’s death reminds me of so many things that are wrong with the world, and of the few that are right with it (like his wife, his kids, his friends). I didn’t want him to punch out.  I wanted the miracle.  For him, for his wife, for his kids, for all of us. And yes, for my kids.

From all I know, Robert was a good man, a beloved husband, a loved daddy, and he’s gone. I suffered through over a week of Michael Jackson memorials, memoriams, and media coverage.  And yet, this is the lone printing – the extent of the coverage – of Robert Toland’s passing (as recorded in the Buffalo News):

Death Notice:

TOLAND – SSG Robert A. III nd7-9PMa
TOLAND – Ssg Robert A. Iii, U.s. Army October 2, 2009 of Sheldon, NY; beloved husband of Melanie Szubski Toland; dearest father of Lilia, Skyler and Morgan; loving son of Denise (Chris) Siracuse and Bob Jr. (Lisa) Toland; brother of Eric Toland, Charlotte and Anthony Siracuse, Mitchell, Amanda and Crystal Toland; grandson of Editha Germain and Sara Olson; also survived by many aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and one nephew. Friends may call Tuesday 2-4 and 7-9 PM at the WOOD FUNERAL HOME, 784 Main Street, East Aurora. Funeral services will be held on Wednesday at 10 AM at the Crossroads Christian Church, 1050 Girdle Rd., Elma, NY (please assemble at church). Interment in St. Cecilia’s Cemetery, Sheldon, NY. Robert was assigned to the U.S. Army Warrior Transition Unit, West Point, NY. Donations to the Christian Youth Corps, 9579 Main St., Machias, NY 14101. Donations and sentiments can be made at www.caringbridge.org.

This, to me, is one of the great ironies of this world, one of the “wrong” things.

And I know I’m going to be sad for yet a while longer. Maybe, until I’ve no time left on this rock… like the sadness I have when I think of Larry Finger. My heart breaks at the thought of the days (and nights) that yet face Melanie, Lilia, Skyler, and Morgan. It just isn’t right that it should be so.  How do we reconcile it?  I don’t know.  But I do know that tonight, I prayed for God to cheat.

I know we have free will (well, according to a good chunk of theology). And I know that, people choose their own path, they can choose to believe or to ignore it all. They can choose God or no God.  Faith or no faith.  Believe Jesus was more than just a carpenter or believe it isn’t so.  People choose.  But tonight I prayed for God to cheat.  I prayed for him to “tip the scales” – for the Toland family.  I prayed that He’d make it impossible for them to doubt, disbelieve or walk away. That He’d stand someone at every choice that threatened a path of disbelief. I prayed that He would tip the scales so that they would have their reunion with their husband and daddy. And I prayed that such a prayer wouldn’t disqualify me from the Kingdom, and wouldn’t dishonor God – but that He would see fit to use this as an opportunity to demonstrate His great mercy.

I pray more and more these days for Mercy and Grace. I pray often that the story of the thief on the cross (Luke 23:43) is not merely about the timing of salvation as it is about Grace and Mercy.  I pray often that God’s Grace and Mercy outweighs His wrath. And as I think about the Toland family (and for others with stories like theirs), I pray that He makes it impossible for Melanie, Lilia, Skyler, and Morgan to walk away, fall away, or otherwise miss the Kingdom as they make and live out their choices on this rock. And I pray for a complete renuion for them, in the Kingdom.

Lord, tuck those kids in every night since their daddy is no longer able to – Lord, hug them, hold them, and do this for Melanie, too. Thwart any attempt by the Evil One or by anyone to cause them to stray, to doubt You, to doubt Your love, or to doubt Robert or his.  Let them always remember his love, and Your love.  Be over them as a cloud, and move where they move… until finally, they, too, are taken up to be with You. And I pray that Melanie’s final words to her husband, “I did make sure that I told him that the girls and I will be okay, that I will raise them godly women, and we have support around us to get us through.” – will be realized in full.  Make it so, Lord, make it so.

And for those of you reading this, I pray you will join me in praying for Melanie, Lilia, Skyler, and Morgan. Pray also for me and for the Wilsons, that we would live our love and arrive at the same Grace and Mercy.

This occured to me this week as I sorted through the latest batch of pictures of [...]]]> This will be one of those tough lessons for me as a father.  Kids have to dream their own dreams.  They have to make their own choices, live their own consequences, discover their own loves, stumble from their own failures.

This occured to me this week as I sorted through the latest batch of pictures of the kids taken by Melodia while they are in Florida.  On the phone, she told me about the recent birthday party they went to at the beach.

Wil, at almost 4, is experiencing what may be his first crush, a sweet little Puerto Rican girl named Hailey.  Hailey is the daughter of some friends of ours that attend the church Melodia’s dad pastors.  Every time she’s around, Wil seems oddly distracted, and always ends up near her.  Hmm.

And you know, I can’t help but love that stuff. I mean, really.  What parent doesn’t?  It reminds us all of those “interests” and stirs up feelings and remembrances of days past.  I had a crush growing up.  When I was older, and could actually reflect on it and tell the story of her, I often told friends that I secretly loved her from the day I saw her in Kindergarten until the day she moved away, just before our freshman year of high school.   I remember well those crush feelings.

Watching Wil near Haley, Melodia and I both have thought how cool it would be for them to grow up sweethearts.  We’re dreamers, aren’t we?  All of us?  In my life, I think I’ve only known a half dozen or so couples who were high school sweethearts, and only two who were sweethearts from before high school.  So what chance does our “arranged couplage” stand?

But who wants realism to creep in at times like these?  Darn it, the two of them are just plain cute, and look good together – even if we older adults imagine them with words they don’t even understand yet, like “couple” or “boyfriend” or “girlfriend.”

Yes, we’d happily plan our kids lives out for them now.  But we can’t. It’ll be theirs to choose.

Why then is it so easy to look at kids and pair them up?  Or to get excited when we see their crushes manifest?

So Haley has an older brother.  JJ.  Well guess who Melodia noticed McKinley (age almost 3) crushing on at the birthday beach party?  Yep, JJ.  Perfect, brother and sister fall for brother and sister, childhood sweethearts…. fast forward twenty years.

Brakes… we shouldn’t be wanting any fast-forwarding these days.  Slow and easy.  Soak it all up, every moment.

I think we look at kids and we see in them, at times like this, when they are crushing, this pureness of spirit that we want for the world.  Two kids just enjoying the company of the other, somehow fascinated by the very movements of the other person, enchanted perhaps… but not complicated or convoluted by the dark realities of dating, growing up boy or girl in an all-too-materialistic and well, let’s be honest, evil-desiring, if not evil-doing society.

We see these kids crushing, and we admire it.  It seems somehow pure, maybe closer to perfect now. And we imagine it always that way.

And too, we imagine how wonderful it would have been to grow up and know, to know that this is the person I am going to be with forever.  To have that security.  Of course, that isn’t how it would be.  I don’t think that security is even close to being present until one slips on a ring, shoulders the true burden of the love commitment, forsaking all others, and patterning his/her mind to spend a lifetime with his/her spouse.  (of course, some never quite grasp the ‘for better or worse’ and perhaps some shouldn’t have uttered those words in the first place).

So as I look upon my two kids and their recent crushes, some of what I am seeing is really a reflection of my life, of my wants.  Yes, isn’t it so? I was 30 and single, and wondering why I had not found “her” in college like so many of my friends.  I was 30 and single, and thinking, if I don’t find her in two years, I’d better adopt as a single dad, because maybe she wasn’t going to show. I was 30 and single, and thinking, “God, what’s up?”

But at 30, I finally found her.  She was 30, too.  And in our talks over the last 5 and half years, we’ve often wondered aloud how nice it would have been to have met each other sooner – to have started the journey earlier.  I think this is somewhat reflected in our own desires for our kids.

But you know, I’m a dreamer… and a good daydreamer… and in my daydreams, I have indeed pondered what it might have been like if Melodia and I had met at Wil and Haley’s  or McKinley and JJ’s age. I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with your crush who becomes your friend and your love and with whom you mature through the years.

Of course, my daydream is tainted with perfection. It discounts the trials of puberty, the challenges of adolescence, and the millions of failures and hurts we’d likely have caused each other between 3-18.  And the question of whether or not one could really survive the metamorphic nature of life between 3 and 18 with a human being other than our parents. That would take some kind of patience and some kind of perseverance… but I can’t help but daydream that it would also be some kind of wonderful.

Such was not my lot in life, though.  And I doubt it will be my children’s. Nonetheless, I’ll daydream that little dream for them as I watch them around their first crushes.  In the end, we’re not just routing for our kids or the kids of our friends (their crushes), we’re really all routing for love, aren’t we?

Routing that love wins out.  That it is indeed stronger.  Stronger than what? Than whatever it is that would compete against it. Just stronger.  We all want to love and to be loved.

A friend and I were talking one day. This was in my college days at Point Loma in San Diego, California.  She said to me, “Lonni, you’re in love with being in love.” I’ve always remembered those words.  I’ve pondered them often.  (raises hand), yep, I am.  And I think many of us are.  We’re longing for love, and we’re hoping that it’s as strong as we believe it is.

We hope that for the sake of ourselves… and when the day comes, we hope that for sake of our children. May they find the love we have found, and if we have not found it, may they find the love which has eluded us, whatever the reason.

It’s not that I didn’t place a priority on family before.  No, not that.  But it is that nearly losing people you love reminds you that the stuff of earth [...]]]> The theme of my life has sharpened recently.  Since August, and the life- threating birth of Izzabelle, I have been more focused than ever on family.

It’s not that I didn’t place a priority on family before.  No, not that.  But it is that nearly losing people you love reminds you that the stuff of earth is just stuff – possessions, collections, even our jobs – it’s all stuff.  Do we live to work or work to live?

Oh, I love my job, or I wouldn’t be doing it.  Teaching college is rewarding and challenging.  Finding ways to “do it better” is part of the chess-match-like characteristic that has drawn me to occupations like coaching and teaching.  My students are a source of frustration and joy, a source of failures and successes, a source of  predictability and surprise.  And, they teach me, even as I teach them.  So I love do love teaching.  But teaching is what I do.  It’s my work to live.

I could easily bury myself in the office at school and in on-campus activities and find myself spending 10-hour days there.  I love attending the college’s athletic events, being involved in college student life activities, and seeing my students in their enterprises outside of the classroom, whether that be athletics, plays, competitions, etc.  And part of that is the result of my own educational philosophy, their more than students and I want to both know them as more than students and to have them know me as more than a professor.

But despite this desire, I have been reminded many times this past 6 months that I won’t get back the time with my wife and kids.  Wil is nearly 4, McKinley almost 3, and Izzabelle hits 1 in August.  These are important times, and greatly to be valued.

My students cannot fully understand this, as they are not parents themselves (at least most of them).  But the day will come when they are a parent, and I hope, that they will have learned from me, both in the classroom and outside, that I will have modeled for and mentored them in both their academic discipline and in life.  I do believe that education shouldn’t solely be about educating the mind. It shouldn’t only be about an academic discipline.  It should be about other things as well, like citizenship, morality, altruism, faith.

Over the last few months, when I didn’t have to be at school, I have really emphasized our family spending time together.  We’ve worked in as many outings as we can (sometimes at the sacrifice of household chores – i.e., let’s go to the zoo, the laundry will be there when we get back).

Recently, we had the opportunity to head to my in-laws in Tampa.  Melodia and the kids usually spend a month there every year.  Mostly, it has been in May/June.  But this year, we decided to do it sooner.  I think winter hit us especially hard this year, and we were all much in need of more sun.

Melodia and I both love to travel, and we’ve often talked about traveling to a place being as much about the journey getting there, as being there.  Yeah, we can hop a quick flight, but sometimes, we just need a journey.  So we sought that journey out recently.

About 6 years ago, Amtrak was selling tickets on ebay as a promotional thing.  They did it about 6 months, and I bought a few because they went so cheap. I paid $40 for a roundtrip train ticket from Cleveland, OH to Los Angeles, CA – 5 days on the train, in total.  What an adventure that was! A solo trip out to Cali while I was in grad school at Ohio State.  The train stops in Kingman, Arizona, the town my parents live in.  So I was able to stopover and stay with them, before continuing on to LA.  It was a wonderful journey. I have been longing for a few others, including taking the Empire Builder across the northern United States.

Another route I had been wanting to ride since I first learned about it in 1996, was the Auto Train.  Boarding just outside Washington DC in Lorton, Virginia, the Auto Train runs non-stop (with your vehicle on the train) to Sanford, FL (just outside Orlando). 

Melodia and I decided that this next trip to Flordia was just the time to try out the Auto Train.  So for Easter Break, we loaded the kids into the Jeep and drove to the Auto Train station seven and a half hours away.  There, our Jeep was loaded onto the train, and the kids experienced the first real train ride of their life.

We booked to small 2-person occupancy rooms side by side, so that we could have a place, besides the typical coach seat, to sit, watch the scenary, and to sleep at night.  The rooms were an awesome adventure for our little ones.  The whole train itself was an inquistive journey for them, but if the train ride were the cake, the rooms were the icing.  Oh, how the kids loved playing in their rooms, running back and forth between “Mami’s room” and “Papi’s room” on the train.

The 17 hours of that train ride, in retrospect, went by too fast.  But they wetted our appetite for more train travel.  I only wish Amtrak were more affordable, and that our country were more like Europe in regards to rail travel.  But I expect that we will again soon find ourselves on a train.  Afterall, I still want to ride that Empire Builder.  And I’d like to ride the Coast Starlight as well.

Like I said, it’s about the journey, not the destination… yes, that’s a blatant metaphor for life.

I began this post by talking about family.  In the last post, I’d written about Wil, my son.  What I wanted to communicate in this is a simple reminder, one that I am increasingly living these days… the importance of family, the importance of savoring our journey, and the importance of, at times, forgetting our earthly destinations.

Yes, there is a prize on which our eye should kept, a destination that we are striving for beyond this earthly realm.  But while we are here, it’s about the journey.  I know those who look at this life as a series of destinations. But I just don’t see it that way.  It’s about a series of journeys.  And it’s about one journey.

Lately, I’ve been reminded that we weren’t built to journey alone. And as a dad and husband, I’ve been reminded that I have a responsibility to aid and join the journey of 4 others in my life.  And I’ve been reminded that we don’t always shoulder our responsibilities as we should.  We sometimes set those down for a while, maybe taking for granted that they’ll be there when we return from soloing.  But perhaps we all shouldn’t be soloing as much as we do.

I have many other responsibilities these days beyond teaching.  I coach volleyball. I sit on a board of directors. I do many things.  Lately, I have been asking myself, am I doing too much? Am I soloing?

Our families our important.  We don’t live alone.  We have responsibilities. Whether we shoulder them or not, they are our responsibilities.  And we will be held accountable for them.  I believe that.  My journey has been greatly enjoyable these last few months, and I pray it will continue to be so. But as with other things, that requires vigilence on my part.  It requires me to reexamine my priorities, to limit my solo trips, to make sure that I am journeying alongside those who most need me on the journey.

Who most needs you on their journey?  And are you journeying with them?  This is what I’ve been thinking about.