Its easy to believe that community -- Christian community -- occurs because we meet in a living room for dessert or at a cookout and talk about the Bible in some academic way that is divorced from reality. That is not community, however. Really, Christian community is coming together (sometimes over different mediums) and talking about Jesus and how the Gospel is playing out in the ways we love God, one another, and our city.
Our Community Group leader for the past year was Eddie Holland. He and his wife Misty have two girls, Alera and Ralen. The following is an email he sent to everyone in the group about the challenge of sending Alera off to kindergarten next week, the challenges of loving and raising children in a way that honors the Lord, and how parenting is a metaphor for the love that our Father God has for us. Natalie and I read his email and were profoundly moved -- both at the content (as parents who also are about to send our oldest, Noah, to kindergarten) and at the vulnerability and community that vulnerability created. So below are Eddie's words.
Hey Friends,
Yesterday I sent an email out with an update about our community group. And in the email, I made the statement, “As the summer draws to an end that usually means one thing: the school year is upon us. And this year is no different.” Well, I actually lied.
This year is completely and totally different. The reason this year is different is because my baby girl (Alera) starts Kindergarten. Now, I know that millions of parents just like me have sent their oldest child to Kindergarten and lived to tell about it. I know that the child survived the first day and eventually even enjoyed school. I know that this is just another “first” in my child’s life and I should embrace it.
I know all those things. But I can’t help but “feel” like I’m losing a small part of my child. Our innocent, naïve, sheltered, timid, shy, dependent little girl will venture into a world all by herself (well, not exactly “ALL by herself." There will be teachers, administrators, and staff there but you know what I mean). She’ll begin to establish her independence, to understand life without “Mommy and Daddy,” to understand that there’s life outside the little bubble that I’ve (we’ve) created for her. She’ll make new friends, play new games, and learn new things. She’ll come home after being around other 5-year olds and realize that playing with her two-year old sister is “different.” She’ll soon learn that her little sister is incapable of carrying on a conversation or playing games like her classmates. And all that is good. I deeply and sincerely want that for my daughter. She deserves it.
So why is this so hard on me? I’m not exactly sure. Part of it is that I’m scared of releasing my daughter to the world. I’m scared that I haven’t done enough these past 5 years to prepare her for a cruel and sometimes unfair world. I’m scared that her sweet innocence will be taken advantage of by some “mean girl” or “bully.” I’ve been reminding myself that Alera is simply a gift from God; a precious creature that was created by God and is ultimately on loan to us from God. The fears that I have are probably natural but certainly unnecessary. After all, if I claim to believe in God, I must acknowledge that He loves my child more than I do. Alera’s middle name is Lael, which is Hebrew for “belonging to God.” The irony is that my current lack of faith causes me to question something I readily acknowledged over 5 years ago when my daughter was born.
Part of the reason Alera starting Kindergarten is so hard on me is that I realize how much Ralen will miss “Sissy.” Those two are practically inseparable right now and it is so cute to watch. Seeing your two children play well together and enjoy each other’s company (most of the time) is a sweet, gratifying, and soul-pleasing gift that only a parent of multiple children can understand.
Part of it is that I realize she will no longer be under the care of Misty all day. I’ve said (mostly in jest) that since the day Alera was born, I took a back seat on my wife’s priority train. Misty has devoted her entire heart and soul into raising our children, and I’m eternally grateful for that. Words cannot describe the peace, comfort, and joy I derive each morning as I drive to work knowing that my two kids are in the care, custody, and control of the only person on this planet that loves them as much as I do.
Part of it is that I can’t believe how fast these past 5 years have flown by. I look back and realize that there were seasons of my life where I allowed other things to take precedence over my responsibilities as a father. These things, which include my career, my extracurricular activities, our finances, or just my selfish desires, seemed much more important during that season of my life than they do now. A prayer that I’ve been constantly praying the last few months and asking God to remind me persistently comes from Psalm 90:12. It says “Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” My prayer is that each of us, whether we have younger children, older children, or no children, will learn to number our days, cherish the things that matter most, and rid ourselves of the things that rob our time, energy, and attention. I fail at this more than I like to admit, but I’m thankful for God’s grace and pray for His strength in this area of my life.
But the thing that is most difficult for me to handle is the reality that my little girl is growing up. I can’t help but look back over the past 5 years and think, “Where has it gone?” Where has the newborn gone that literally took my breath away the first moment I laid eyes on her? Where has the infant gone that used to stare up at me with amazement and wonder in her eyes as I sang/talked/whispered to her while changing her diaper? Where has the “crawler” gone that loved to explore by opening every cabinet drawer in our house? Where has the “walker” gone that used to give me a heart attack every time she fell? Where has the toddler gone that learned the word “No” and insisted on using it incessantly? Where has the child gone that had to learn at the ripe old age of 3, when she became a big sister, that the world no longer revolved solely around her? The reality is that she hasn’t “gone” anywhere. She’s simply grown into a beautiful and sweet little girl.
And I thank God for that. I thank God for allowing me to be her “Daddy,” for giving me the responsibility to raise her in a Christian home, to teach her about love and forgiveness and charity and compassion, to show her discipline and the difference between right and wrong. But most of all, I thank God for revealing Himself to me through my oldest daughter.
I have often said that the entire length of Misty’s first pregnancy was a sort of 9 ½ month spiritual pilgrimage for me. The whole concept of pregnancy, the idea that Misty and I were able to create something so much bigger than either of us, was impossible for me to understand. It deepened and strengthened my faith and belief in God, knowing that only He could create such a marvelous way of introducing life into this world. Watching our “baby” grow in my wife’s stomach for 9 ½ months was one of the greatest joys of my life. Misty’s labor was/is a blur to me (I’m sure it was/is for her as well). But the moment my daughter was born is not a blur. It is crystal clear. That image is seared into my mind forever. Seeing my daughter enter this world, take her first breath, and open her eyes for the first time absolutely took my breath away. At that moment, I truly understood love at first sight. I understood what it meant to love something/someone so unconditionally that it literally hurt my heart. I understood what sacrifice and commitment and joy meant. I understood what the love of a parent felt like. For the first time in my life, I loved something more than myself. For the first time in my life, I understood (in a small way) the love that God has for me (and you). And as crazy as it may sound to you, I felt God’s love and presence in that delivery room in a thick, tangible, and ethereal way.
After Alera was born, I remember trying to compose myself long enough to go tell our families that mommy and baby were both doing well. But I literally couldn’t do it. It took me what seemed like hours to finally stop crying long enough to walk into the waiting room and tell our families the good news (and her name since we were one of those mean couples that withheld the name until birth). I walked through the doors to the waiting room, announced the name, hugged my father, and literally sobbed in his arms. I was so overwhelmed by that moment, the culmination of 9 ½ months (from conception to birth). It was my way of connecting with my father; my way of showing him my understanding of the love he had for me. At that moment, I finally understood a father’s love.
I said that the whole 9 ½ month pregnancy was a spiritual pilgrimage for me. Before Misty became pregnant, I had begun to slowly drift from my faith. I had more questions than answers, more concerns than beliefs, more confusion than clarity. But Alera’s birth really brought everything home for me. I felt that her birth was the culmination of a sort of spiritual awakening in me. At that moment, I truly understood my Heavenly Father’s love for me. But at that same moment, I was in awe of God’s sacrificial love. The sacrificial love that God showed me (each of us, really) by sending his Son to die for our sins, to become the sacrificial lamb, the propitiation for our sins was unbelievable to me. That God would send his only Son to die a cruel death at the hands of an angry mob for me. That God would listen to his Son cry out for Him as He’s hanging on a tree dying and yet disregard those cries so that the mission could be accomplished. That God so loved the world that He gave his one and only Son so that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have everlasting life. That was a love I just couldn’t understand. That was a love I just couldn’t wrap my head around. That is truly a Father’s Love.
So, as my family embarks on this new journey, I ask for your prayers. I am genuinely, sincerely, and thoroughly struggling with this milestone (case in point--it has taken me two hours to write this stupid email because I can’t stop crying. My boss has lost two hours of productivity from me today).
However, I also ask for your faith. Faith in a God that loves us in ways we can’t imagine or understand. I pray that each of us will grow in our faith as we continue our individual spiritual pilgrimage.
And lastly, I ask for your gratitude. Gratitude in a God that meets us where we are, knows the hurts and joys of our hearts, and loves us too much to leave us unchanged.
Thanks for letting me share. This email has been a catharsis for me. I would have preferred to share this in person but I wouldn’t have been able to without crying.
I'm thankful for Eddie's wisdom, honesty, and perspective and confess that I don't have much more to add to it on this subject. For those who struggle with watching your little ones grow up and with wanting to take advantage of every precious moment, I hope Eddie's words are an encouragement and challenge to you as they have been to me.
