Every father who has a daughter must face that day when he has to give her up. In fact, I suspect that if I read all the books available on the subject, I’d find that the “giving up” occurs in stages over the life of the father-daughter relationship. You give up a little when she first goes to school. You give up a little when she has her first boy friend. You give up a little when she goes to high school. You give up a little when she goes away to college. And you give up anything that’s left when she gets married.

It was meant to be that way, I think. The universe exists on gradual change. Man has very neatly marked the beginning of each of the earth’s seasons, but those artificial demarcations are of little importance to the planet. The winds blow as they will and the rains fall as they must. And each new sunrise brings us an imperceptibly different world that gradually shakes a new set of leaves, and lives, at our feet.

Our frail human natures demand the subtlety. Imagine what would happen if the earth rotated only once an hour. How would the citizens of Cincinnatti feel if they were suddenly jarred into Kansas City, and then, an hour later, into Denver. If they survived the physical trauma, I doubt they’d survive the emotional distress. Dorothy may be able to go to sleep in Kansas and wake up in Oz, but the rest of us need a little time to read the road signs along the way.

And Oz is, as I get to the point, where I live. My personal tornado was the departure of my daughter from our house. My “giving up” appears to be occuring in one cruel gust of wind. Adopted by us six years ago at the age of ten, our daughter has run away.

The whos, whats, wheres, whens, and even the whys, are not important now.

Dads aren’t supposed to stand in the corner. But, for me, it was the best way to learn about fatherhood.

The adoption of older children is not an easy proposition. It’s often hard for the parents. And it’s often hard for the children. So when my wife and I decided several years ago to adopt a 10 year old girl and her 7 year old brother as our only children, we needed all the help we could get. And all the prayers we could muster.

Although we have tried to give our son and daughter a normal life, there will always be a part of them that is anything but normal. They, like almost all older children up for adoption, had experienced more pain in their few years than most of us will endure in our lifetimes. There are precious few books on the issues we have had to face and even fewer parental peers with whom to face them. Parenting for us, then, truly became an exercise in our faith.

One such exercise occurred the weekend of the opening of the 1988 Winter Olympics. As was usual in our early months together, our kids had committed a major offense on Saturday night. It was as if they had hoarded bad-behavior coupons all week long and then redeemed them all at once in one Saturday sin spectacular. I can’t remember now what they did that particular weekend, but I certainly remember my paternal pain. How could we deal with this particular offense, and how could we constructively punish these repeat offenders? We decided to defer sentencing until Sunday.

My Sunday morning was somber. An axe was going to have to fall sometime that day, but it was going to have to be after church. If our kids had known of their pending fates before we left the house, they would have been miserable during church and probably would have “shared” their misery with us and others. No, judgement time would have to be later that day. But the sermon that Sunday morning changed my decision, my afternoon, and my life.

I had determined early in the morning that there was no alternative but to administer two licks and to assign an hour of corner time to each child. Rules were rules, and my kid’s had to learn them. But the pastor’s sermon that morning was on unconditional love. And his challenge during the closing prayer was for each of us to find one way during the coming week to show God’s unconditional love to those around us. It took less than a second for my answer to that particular prayer. I was to take my kids’ punishment for them.

My new decision felt good for all of about five minutes. Then reality sunk in. Give myself licks? Put myself in the corner? Miss the Olympics? I prayed for a second opinion. Nothing. But daddy’s don’t do corner time, I petitioned again. Nothing again. My fate was sealed. I believed in prayer then, and I believe in prayer now. I asked. He answered. And that was that.

After lunch we had our family conference. I explained to the children the punishment necessary for their offenses. They understood and were prepared to accept their fate. Then I explained the new decision. I reminded them that Christ had taken our sins upon Himself and that He had taken our punishment for us. I said that I was glad to now take their punishment for them and hoped that someday they would remember this incident and realize more fully it’s spiritual significance. I asked them to please accept my gift and to enjoy the Olympics. I then gave myself four good licks and went to the corner for two hours.

What happened next still amazes me. I had thought that the lesson to be learned that day would be for my children. And, certainly, there was a great lesson there for them. But the real lesson was to be learned by me. My family was overwhelmed by my actions and their first response was to show their constant gratitude and concern. Every few minutes someone would come around and thank me and ask how I was doing. Soon, however, the “worshiping” dwindled. Then they turned to work. They just couldn’t enjoy themselves knowing what I had done. They did the laundry. They cleaned the house. They did everything they could to show their appreciation except the one thing I wanted them to do: accept my gift and enjoy the afternoon. After a while, I became an embarrassment. Fathers aren’t supposed to be in corners. They passed without speaking. They turned away.

After a while I began to understand what was going on. I had wanted my children to understand how to receive my sacrifice, but first I had to understand the nature of it myself. I wanted it to free them. I wanted it to give them joy. I wanted it to give them peace. But their gratitude had turned to guilt. And their guilt had turned to rejection. And then it hit me. It was not my sacrifice I was contemplating in my solitude. It was His.

You cannot understand Fatherhood until you truly understand Sonship.

A few weeks ago, my son started calling me “father”. When we adopted him (and his sister) 5 years ago, he was 7 and I was “daddy”. That seemed to suit us both for a few months, but then, 2nd grade peer pressure being what it is, I was booted up to “dad”. And there it’s stood. Until now.

When I first heard “father”, I was speechless. It had to sink in for a while. I know he thought I was deaf or senile when I didn’t answer him, looking him in the eye, like I was. But it was a pretty sudden change. You could almost hear the capital “F” is his voice. My first thought, of course, was “This kid wants something.” Something BIG. But he didn’t. He just wanted to talk. Father and son.

Before I was married, I dreamt a lot about being a dad. I always knew I’d be good at it. I like to relax. And
play games. And eat pizza. Such dads are always popular with kids. And after I was married, I KNEW I’d be good at it because I started growing in places that remind folks of Pooh Bears. And then the kids came. And after 10 years of marriage, I was a real dad. Not a “natural” dad or a “biological” dad or an “A Parent” dad. A REAL dad.

I’ve worn the “Dad” button proudly for 5 years now. I’ve been there when he needed me and when he didn’t want me. I’ve stayed up all night watching “Terminator” movies and I’ve stayed up all night watching his hospital bed. I’ve been a “dad”. But now I was a “father” and it puzzled me.

When parenting becomes puzzling, I generally look for spiritual parallels. I don’t know if that’s deep theology or just elementary living, but it works for me. And so I began to think of by own relationship with God. When the kids came, I was scared. I doubted myself, my abilities, and my kids. It was only my clinging to my heavenly Father that got me through it. Not just one day at a time. It was one hour at a time. Until it began to sink in that He had equipped me to handle what He had given me to do, and that where my abilities left off, His grace would always be sufficient. Always. After 5 years, it’s sunk in. I don’t have to be afraid. I don’t have to worry. I can count on my Father. I am His, and He is mine.

And then it hit me right between the eyes. After 5 years my son was no longer afraid. He didn’t worry any more if I would be there the next day. I was his. And he was mine.

And I was “father”.

It’s much too late in the evening to be doing this, and I’ll pay for it dearly tomorrow, but I can’t help myself any more.

We adopted a 7 yr old boy and a 10 yr old girl 5 years ago.  Problems?  Sure.  More so than our friends with bio kids?  Nope.  Different problems?  Sometimes.

It’s an imperfect world in which we live. The good die young. The innocent are persecuted. The hungry stay hungry. And sometimes families don’t work out. Sometimes bio families don’t work out. And sometimes adopted families don’t work out. I wish neither was the case, but they are.

The point is, though, that when we draw our first breath, we take our first chance. Bio kids also have emotional problems, get violent, and end up in prison. Yesterday the State of Oklahoma executed a man that grew up as somebody’s darling little bio baby boy.

It’s hard work to adopt an older child. But it’s NO HARDER than parenting bio kids. It’s just a DIFFERENT kind of hard. In addition to all the wonderful books on adoption and adopting older kids, read Emerson’s “Compensation”. We have had to deal with some “peculiar” behavior, but, in total, it is no more awkward than a 2 yr old throwing mashed potatoes at Aunt Martha!

We’ve stayed up nights trying to figure out the day, but we haven’t had 2:00 feedings. There are things we’ve missed, but there are things we’ve gained.

Compensation.

Things we’ve learned: Forgiveness always heals. Love never fails. Patience.

I’ll go at this again tomorrow, but, for now, I’ve got miles to sleep before I go.

The winter Olympics are over and I only got to see one awards ceremony. Women’s Figure Skating. We won the silver and the gold. I cry, of course, when turtles cross the road, so the sight of those two champions singing while our flags were rising was more than I could bear. And, of course, it got me thinking.

By American middle class standards, our family is middle middle. We’ve been blessed with steady incomes, and a nice home, but times haven’t always been good. When the kids came five yrs. ago, we had to learn to do without. We worried a lot about whether we could double our family size and survive financially. We did. But there have been no new cars. No expensive vacations. No swimming pools. Our kids, of course, would like to have a different color of Miata for each day of the week. And a monthly trek to Disney World. And an Olympic pool so they can train for Atlanta.

But we gave them puppies.

Puppies are really good at unconditional love. We try to give our kids that, too. But sometimes those little snots can really be irritating! Enter the puppies. Puppies are genetically incapable of tolerating anger. Mix one I wish I were dead teenage girl with one I want to lick the inside of your nose puppy and you get instant peace. It also works on I wish you were too parents.

Anyway, what this all boils down to is that when the kids came five yrs. ago Thursday, we were not able to give them much in the way of material goods. Of course, what we did give them was miles ahead of what they had, but I have always wished we could have done more. But I’ll just bet that they wouldn’t trade us in for that pool, or that trip, or that car.

Of course, we did end up giving them more. Normalcy. And consistency. And a healthy shot of unconditional love. (Even if some of it had to come from puppies.)

“Silver and gold,” Peter said, “have I none. But such as I have, I give to thee.” That’s really what its all about. No secret there. Bio parents live by that day by day. You don’t need a big house to give a kid a life. And you don’t need a big bank account to give a kid a father. What you need is a life to give, and a father to give it. (Please also read “mother.”)

This Thursday I would like to give our kids medals. Silver and gold. But I won’t because I’d have to choose. They surely deserve medals, though. The hurdles they’ve jumped and the weights they’ve lifted make Olympic athletes look like wimps. And I’d like to give them medals for having put up with us for five yrs. No mean trick. But I won’t. I think I’ll just hug them instead.

“Such as I have, . . . “