More Than a Father

Note from Adrian: This is a guest post from Victoria Shockley, a young up-and-coming writer. Victoria is a sophomore at North Carolina State University with a major in English and a minor in French. She likes to write, read (especially science fiction and classics), and travel. Follow her on Twitter (@Victoria_Writes) or connect with her on LinkedIn.

(Want to write a guest post for Life Before the Bucket?) 

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“Any man can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad.”

Most people have someone they can go to when they need help, and that person is usually different as one grows older. They have someone to help with homework, offer advice on which classes to take at school, and give suggestions on choosing a career path. They have someone else who can offer religious guidance and answers to life’s difficult questions. They have someone to talk to and provide them with comfort when they’re lonely, and someone else to whom they can sit and talk for hours and just have a good laugh.

For me, my dad is all of these people and more.

He has been by my side through every stage of life. When I was very young, I didn’t know any of the neighbor kids, so he played tea party with me and was the voice of G.I. Joe during pretend games with my Barbie dolls. He read library books to me before bed, and told me bedtime stories that he made up himself. He took me to the pet store to see the fish, and brought me along on all of his errands. On “Take Your Kids to Work” Day, I went with him every year and drew pictures on the whiteboard in his office. He helped me learn to tie my shoes, to read, to ride a bike, to skate, to shoot a rifle, and to play Chess.

My dad introduced religion into my life, and gave me my first cross necklace, which I still have. As a child, I was terrified of the dark, and he told me that keeping the cross nearby and having faith would protect me from any “monsters” in the closet. My first use of prayer was for his safety while he was away on business trips for work.

Years later, he gave me my first Bible, and we began having long discussions about the creation of the universe and what awaits us in the afterlife. Whenever I find myself questioning my faith, he does his best to answer my questions and help me understand.

As I got older, he taught me to drive, and he helped me pick out my first car. Whenever it seems like something is wrong, he’s the first person I ask to look at it. The same is true for problems with my laptop. I’ve gone to him with homework questions and for suggestions on essay topics. He’s helped me write a cover letter, a resignation letter, and a resume, and coached me on how to file my taxes and how to give a good job interview.

My dad has been there for me through the difficult times as well. We moved states in the middle of my high school years, which meant I had to start my junior year at a new school in a city in which I didn’t know a soul. Once I graduated, I started college at a university at which I – again – didn’t know a single person. In new situations like these, I tend to be pretty shy and quiet. This made it hard to make new friends, which has led to a lot of loneliness. It’s nice to talk to my dad about it and have him understand how I feel, since he is also having trouble meeting people at his new job here.

Before I decided to become a writer, I had a lot of trouble with choosing a career path. My dad and I spent countless hours discussing my options, analyzing the different majors offered at my university, and debating the best choice for me. I changed my mind a few times, but he always supported my decision and encouraged me to do what would make me happy.

One year for Christmas, I wrote my dad a list of some good memories that I’ve shared with him throughout my life. It was a page long, and he was pleased with the thoughtfulness of the gift. But a single page can’t possibly encompass an entire 19 years of laughter, learning, and all of those little moments that pass by within minutes, but stay with a person for the rest of their life.

They say it takes a special person to be a dad, and I completely agree. My dad is an inspiration to me; he inspires me to do my best, to work hard and go after what I want without giving up. Without him, I would not be the person that I am today. I love him very much, and I appreciate all the little things he’s done for me.

I’m grateful to have him as part of my life, as more than a father - I’m proud to call him my dad. 

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Questions: Growing up, how involved was your dad? What kind of effect did that have on you? Who do you look up to and why?

This guest post was a guest post from an every-day person, just like you! Interested in joining in? I'm still looking for submissions! Just write up a post, or even just an idea, and e-mail it my way!

An Unnecessary Introduction

Have I ever introduced you to my father?

We don't look much alike. I'm skinny and have a large beard. He's stocky, but he also had a beard from time to time.

We're also two very different personalities. I'm laid-back, introverted, and reflective. I enjoy my time alone. My dad, on the other hand, was the definition of an extrovert. No matter where he went, he had friends or made friends. I never saw the man alone. Even on a simple trip to the store, my dad could waste half an hour chatting up a cashier. I, on the other hand, get out of grocery stores as quickly as possible. Where I see an errand, he saw an opportunity.

My dad played football in high school. He always told me that he remembered playing against Barry Sanders. He never claimed to have actually tackled him, though. Meanwhile, I bowled, sang, and volunteered my time left and right throughout high school.

Personally, my faith has been a lot like a pendulum throughout my life. Back and forth, to and fro. My dad's faith? It would be a lot more comparable to sky-diving - all or nothing.

And this is how he lived much of his life. He either jumped out of the plane, or he was flying it himself. His passion for life was one of his redeeming qualities, though it was often overshadowed by his flaws.

Even though he was often misguided, my dad was the poster child for living life "to the fullest." He was almost always smiling, and his laugh was infectious - one of those sounds you had to smile at when you heard it. He always had new jokes up his sleeve and was always listening for more. And here we see our lives intersect.

I try to be a poster child for getting the most out of life. I run a blog about living life to the fullest, after all. And since my wife taught me to laugh many years ago, I often laugh too loud, too often. I'm similar to my dad in that.

And you know, we also both suffer from chronic illness. My dad's was mental, and mine is physical. But that never stopped him from living, and it sure won't stop me either.

We also bonded over our love for American football and all things to do with the Kansas City Chiefs. I remember one Thanksgiving when we just sat together in my grandparent's living room watching a game together that neither of us particularly cared about. I'm almost positive that we both fell asleep. But still, he thanked me for sitting with him that day. I also remember the pre-season game he took me to when I was younger, and then the playoff game he somehow got tickets for when I was a teenager. Unforgettable memories, to say the least.

I'd also like to think that I got part of my "smarts" from my dad. He was good with his hands - he could figure out just about anything with relative ease and quickness. And even though he never taught me any of his tricks, I'm finding that my hands are already familiar with many of them. I was never taught to be handyman, but maybe he knew he didn't need to teach me - I already was as his son.

And while he didn't finish high school, he was still very smart. He was one of those types of people who knew things that nobody else does (or even cares to know, really). And as I grow older, I find myself reflecting that - always telling people things they didn't want to or need to know. Which is why I blog, I suppose.

My dad was a thrill-seeker. And even though my body limits me, I am too. One quick look at my Bucket List will tell you that. I can't wait to get a chance to sky-dive or bungee jump. And though I never saw him do either of those things, I'm sure my dad would've been the first one to jump with me.

And at my dad's funeral, one thing was clear - his love for his family was paramount. And until that day, two weeks before I left for college, I didn't understand that love. It wasn't until it was gone and I had a chance to feel it missing that I realized what my dad's number one passion was: us - his kids, his family, his pride and joy.

And even though my dad was buried that day, I couldn't allow death to take him away. I had to keep a piece of him with me. So I snuck a lump of his love and mixed it with a portion of his passion. I resolved to keep my father alive as long as it was within my ability to do so. But, even if you visit my hometown today, you can see his face on his tombstone, with his body buried beneath.

Did I fail?

Over the last 4 years, as I've learned to live life without a father. I've struggled, fallen, and utterly failed at times. But I've done so with passion. I've done so with gusto. I've done so with love. And so I never failed at all. Never even a little bit.

You see, even though I've never introduced you to my father, you've met him. He lives in me through my unbridled love for my family. Through my passion for life and for getting the most out of every single second I have. Through my ridiculous obsession over a football team who, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't matter.

Sure, my dad and I don't seem much alike at first glance. But when you break me open and peer into my spirit, you see him alive and kicking, laughing, yelling, and having an all-around good time. He was never gone - not even for a second.

You may have never met my father, who I lost entirely too soon, but you've met me. And even though I'd never admit it to him (nor he to me), we're one in the same.

I've never introduced you to my father, but even if I did, you'd probably say, "Oh, sure, we've met before!" And he'd laugh, with his all-too-cheesy grin, and agree.

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Questions: What people have made a lasting impact on your life? Who lives in you that may not be physically alive today? How can you make the most of the moments you have with your loved ones this week?

Did you enjoy this post? If so, I'd appreciate you subscribing to Life Before the Bucket and sharing it with your friends. Thanks a million for reading!

Living to the Fullest: Can a Worn-Out Mum Do it?

Note from Adrian: Today's post comes from a great blogging friend of mine: Kerry Miller-Whalen. Kerry is a somewhat eccentric Australian mum and primary school teacher, living in the Southern Highlands of NSW. Her passions are her kids, writing, pets, organic gardening, and home renovations (you should see her plasterwork!).

You can follow Kerry on her blog and connect with her on Facebook - she always loves a good conversation! 

(Want to write a guest post for Life Before the Bucket?)

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For most of us, I suspect the phrase “living life to the full” conjures up images of active, laughing young people, all healthy and attractive, of course, and possibly participating in some kind of water sport…

Alright, I think the image I have in my mind right now came straight from a Coca-Cola ad.

As appealing as those laughing, perfect images may be, they certainly don’t represent my life. In my case, I’m forty-something (pushing fifty-something). I don’t look good in a bikini. Although I like to be active, I’m not as healthy as I used to be. A few years back I suffered a serious emotional and physical burnout – the result of pushing myself too hard for too long, in too many areas. I am recovering, but still easily fatigued. There is a definite limit to how much “full living” I can pack into each day.

Living my life to the full does not usually involve water sports, extreme experiences, or great “highs.” Not that I never have fun; I am naturally extroverted, so sometimes I do crazy stuff with my kids and with my friends, and sometimes there are parties and fun times. But not all the time. In fact, not even usually. Too much of that stuff and I get wayyy too tired. Usually, things are pretty quiet and mundane.

And I think I’ve finally learned something. Going from one big experience to another, whether it be partying, climbing Everest (not that I’ve ever done such a thing), or the buzz of a challenging work project, can leave you feeling empty and lost between-times. You can run away from those empty spaces, by immersing yourself in more experiences – but that’s escaping; not living.

And it turns out the times when my life feels the “fullest” are not the “big experiences”, at all. It turns out they are the times I am truly present with the people I love. Enjoying a bit of leisure time with my extended family, and just... driving with my kids. Enjoying music, Sharing my hopes and dreams. Genuinely connecting with someone in the blogosphere who’s been asking the same questions as I have. Sharing a cuppa and maybe even a few tears with a friend who knows my heart, as we share each other’s sorrows.

So I find that my life feels “full” in relationships. But there is a BIG difficulty with this.

Connecting honestly with others is not always sweet, loving, pleasant, or fun. “Others,” if we let them close enough, will challenge our conceptions of who we are. They will provoke and unsettle us.

And what follows from this, and is even WORSE; is that it is impossible to connect genuinely with others UNLESS you are willing to honestly connect with yourself.

That is the big challenge.

In my case, being fully present in my OWN life is something which tends to be very difficult. Being fully present as me often means feeling tired, and sometimes depressed. Far too often it means being at my wits’ end with squabbling children. Presently, it involves living a kind of relationship half-life, separated but not yet divorced. My marriage over, but not over – as full closure has not been reached. And there are times when I really do need to “escape”; a movie, a night out with friends, a glass or two of something pleasantly alcoholic.

Escaping in these ways is not in itself a bad thing. We all need respite from real life from time to time. However, it is not possible to live forever in respite. The reality of who we are (perhaps it’s more accurate to say, who we really believe we are – but that’s another discussion) is not something we can escape from.

Living life to the full is not about filling it up with experiences, the way you fill a cup with water. In my case, the cup is cracked, anyway. Our “life” is, moment by moment, who we are in ourselves and in relationship with others. Living it fully involves pain and frailty, as well as joy. It involves honesty about the ugliness and the brokenness. It necessitates moving through grief.

Surprisingly, in honestly facing my own brokenness and that of others, I have discovered not only genuine connection, but an overwhelming sense of life and beauty and joy. Reality is messy. It is often painful. But it is also beautiful. That experience is teaching me not to fear really living my own life “to the full.”

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Questions: Have you ever tried escaping as a way of living? What downsides are there to living this way? How can you be more fully present in your own life (and in the lives of those around you) today?

This guest post was part of a guest post series called "Living to the Fullest." Interested in joining in? I'm still looking for submissions! Just write up a post, or even just an idea, and e-mail it my way!


image credit - /\ltus - Flikr Creative Commons

To the Fatherless

Last week, we turned in our *big* senior papers. Having finished mine about two weeks early, it wasn't anything monumental in my mind. However, what I learned from my research was enough to break my heart even further for those who are broken, for those who don't can't speak for themselves.

This is the first thing that comes to my mind when I
think of orphans.

In the Old Testament, there is a litany of passages which talk about three major people-groups which are constantly being oppressed in the Ancient Near East: widows, aliens, and orphans. Today, I want to take a look at orphans.

One of the most surprising things that I learned through my studies was about orphans. In ancient Israel, a child was considered an orphan if he had lost only his father. That's why you see many translations offering the word "orphan" as "fatherless." In fact, I found that it is nearly impossible to pinpoint a context in the Old Testament in which "orphan" refers to someone who has lost both parents.

There are many reasons for this which don't necessarily apply to our modern-day Western culture. The primary reason for this distinction deals with the way in which ancient Israel operated. If a child didn't have a father, or a woman didn't have a husband, they didn't have an identity. They didn't have property. They were among the poorest of the poor, and had no way of helping themselves.

This really seems to put a damper on the saying that "God helps those who help themselves."

Nowadays, if you don't have a father, you still have a social identity, you still have the capability of acquiring wealth and possessions, and, for the most part, you can be economically secure.

One thing that is often overlooked about the fatherless, though, is that beyond their economic security lies a much deeper need, a square hole often filled by a round peg.

The fatherless are still without a father. Biologically speaking, they lack half of their heritage. Half of who they are is a mystery. So, even though they may be secure economically, their deep-seated emotional insecurity remains a void that is rarely filled. And even though they may have an identity socially, they lack part of their identity internally.

Because our culture has so radically shifted from the culture of ancient Israel, I would also go as far to say that the same conditions apply to those who don't have a mother. If you grew up missing a parent, then this  applies to you.

What are the rest of us to do, then? The Bible seems clear on this one: provide for their needs. Those who have should help those who have not. And I know this sounds a lot like socialism, but it isn't. It is love.

Do we really need a step-by-step outline of how to "care" for these people, though? Are we so far out of touch with God's love that we've forgotten what it looks like to truly provide for someone in need?

My first instinct is to propose a list of practical, applicable steps to remedying this situation, but it seems unnecessary. After all, if we, as Christians, are a people who claim to live in love, shouldn't we know how to love one another? Shouldn't we be the best at serving the fatherless or motherless? Shouldn't the love of God (which we claim to be so great and abundant) be overflowing in our lives to the point that loving these people wholeheartedly is our only alternative? 

This love, which we say comes from God, should be evident to those who need it. To those lacking emotional security, we should be a beacon of safety and security. To those who seek their identity, but can never find it because it has gone missing with their mother or father, we should be a ray of hope, illuminating the answer for them: that their identity remains, not in parents (who may leave or pass away), but in God, who never leaves or passes away.

Again, I'm resisting the urge to enumerate the practical steps of such an action, because I know that we've heard it all. We don't need anymore step-by-step guides or self-help manuals to point others to God. We only need to stop asking "How?" or "When?" or "Why?" and simply start doing.

When we stop asking and start doing, then (and only then), will these square holes stop being filled with round pegs. Then, and only then, will those without fathers or mothers find the One who fulfills what they've been seeking all along. And then, and only then, will we become those flesh and blood fathers and mothers to those people.

There are so many broken and so many hurting and devastated because one of the two (or even both) of the people who are always supposed to love them have abandoned them. Will we come to their rescue? Or will we hide behind a facade of ignorance, hoping that if we pretend long enough, the problem will simply disappear?

The need is evident. The command is simple.

Love the orphan.

Care for the fatherless.

Provide for the motherless.

And, above all else, point them toward the One who has been there all along.

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Questions: Do you know anybody who is growing up without a father or mother? What keeps you from caring for them? How do you desire to help them? What would that (practically speaking) look like for you this week?

Did you enjoy this post? If so, I'd appreciate you subscribing to Life Before the Bucket and sharing it with your friends. Thanks a million for reading! 

Living to the Fullest: Can a Single Mom do it?

Note from Adrian: This week's guest post is from one of my internet friends named Kateri. She's a 27 year old single mother living in New York. She writes often about her life as she experience it at her blog, which you should subscribe to. Be sure to read this post and leave her some epic feedback in the form of a comment!

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When I start writing, I try to really make sure I understand what it is I am typing about. So, yeah, I Google’d the topic. Do you know how much phony bologna websites there is about “Living Life to the Fullest” or “Living an Abundant Life”?

There are TOO MANY.

So, now that I have sworn off being correctly informed on the topic… what shall I do?

There was a time that I didn’t live at all. Not to say that I didn’t wake up and go through the motions. I did those things – eat, shower (mostly), and sleep. However, that was not living; it was existing.

I feel that on the whole, our society exists. We wake up, we go to work (or don’t go to work), we come home, we eat, and then we go to sleep. Rinse and repeat. Yup, I once existed, with no drive to be more, and no conviction to try for better.

Then, I had my son. Now, for some people, children are the joy of their lives: it’s a feeling only expressed because society tells them to. When I had my son, I literally saw a light. I wasn’t supposed to, you see. I was supposed to be very lucid after giving birth. I lost a little too much blood, and being anemic, I passed out. I saw the light while passing out.

However, when I woke up, there was Emry, in all of his awesomeness. And now that I was aware, I knew everything had to change.

There was no more waking up whenever I felt like it.

There was no more working when I felt like it.

No more unsavory people, situations, or behaviors that I had become accustomed to, that I had grown to secretly hate, but would never say such because I was too far gone.

Looking at him, there was no choice. I had to live. I had to push forward and see that there was more to life, more than just the motions.

I call that Day 1.

Since then, I have strived to better myself (and Emry) by truly becoming an adult. I got me some edjucation. Hahaha – I know you all would get my joke. But, seriously, I found something I was good at, and I went to school for it. I got a degree and then… I didn’t use it. Turns out that what I was good at wouldn’t pay the bills. Wouldn’t support my son and I.

(Yes, I was married during this time, but we weren’t happy, and my change of direction made things worse. Not the reason for this post, so let’s just say… It’s always been my kid and me on this journey.)

Now, the feelings of defeat were starting to set in, and I really thought that I would never get anywhere.

Soon, though, another light appeared. That light’s name is Melissa. Melissa is undoubtedly my best friend and is the one of the purest people I have ever met. She gave me a lifeline. She told me about the position I now work at.

I work in the field of healthcare, and positions of worth are few and far between. However, this one was a perfect fit. I got in, even though I was sure they hated me, and have been working here for the past 1 ½ years. It’s a Christian-based organization, so really, how could they hate me? But, you find hate, or fear, in any organization.

After the 3 years of hard work, studying, defeat, and the almost loss of motivation, I had taken another step in the right direction.

Sounds quirky, right? Sounds Lifetime movie-esque?

Well, it’s the truth. Plain and simple. It all ties together, though.

To live life to its fullest, you must make positive steps in your growth as a person. Whether it is through your faith or other belief systems, you need to make a plan and stick with it. The plan can be modified, as long as you keep pushing.

Never compromise your values to get what you want. Good things come in time to those who deserve them.

You do not want to live the life you want based on the fact you schemed, or acted duplicitously. It wouldn’t truly satisfy you when you did get it. It would never be truly earned.

Living honestly and truly – that’s living life to the fullest.

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Questions: Do you know any single parents? How do they make time to live life to the fullest? If you were in the same situation, how would you strive to life more fully?

This guest post was part of a guest post series called "Living to the Fullest." Interested in joining in? I'm still looking for submissions! Just write up a post, or even just an idea, and e-mail it my way.

A Longing for Fatherhood

This is a repost that is ridiculously relevant in my life right now, and I really wanted to share it with you. Enjoy!

A couple of weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending time with someone I care about very deeply.

I can't tell you her name, because it's complicated, but I can tell you about her (and I've been dying to do that).

This girl, she's about 5 years old. She's beautiful. She is usually high on energy and loves to talk. She loves playing, climbing trees, and putting together puzzles. In fact, she might even end up being smarter than me.

This girl isn't able to receive love from her parents on a regular basis. They don't have that right anymore. But she has her grandparents, and they love her well enough. They just weren't expecting to go through the parenting motions at this point in their lives.

Last time we visited this girl, we wanted to take her home with us. To let her know that she's loved. To prove to her that she has a home.

Instead (because kidnapping is frowned upon around here), we settled for having lunch with her, playing games, putting together a puzzle, and climbing trees.

I don't remember the last time I climbed a tree. And my lungs certainly don't remember either, because they were not very happy when I tried.

But it was for her. To show her that I love her. That I care. That I want to spend time with her and do the things she does and love the things she loves.

We climbed trees for what seemed like hours. She even climbed one that I told her she wouldn't be able to until she was bigger. She proved me wrong, and I was so happy for her.

Among the trees, she has a swing. And when we were done climbing, worn out and tired, she invited me to come sit by it. She told me all about how she swings, and how she has a pile of dead leaves that she collects next to the swing. She stood on the swing as it swung back and forth, telling me about how dangerous it was.

I added to her dead leaf collection that day. And though she probably doesn't remember it, that was a great (albeit silly) moment in my life.

She let me add to her life. To be part of it. To love and enjoy her company.

Someday, I hope I can do this full-time. I long to be her father. But if that day never comes, I know God is taking care of her, watching as she climbs those trees, climbing with her. I know he's there watching her swing and encouraging her to be a little more dangerous, even if it might hurt a little. I know he adds to her dead leaf collection from time to time. And I know he loves her.

I just hope that the day comes when I can join him in that.

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Questions: What were your parents like? Were they able to play with you on a regular basis? Or did you have someone else in your life that filled that role?

Don't forget to subscribe to Life Before the Bucket! If you enjoyed this post, please use those fancy schmancy buttons down there to share this post with your friends and family!

A Longing for Fatherhood

Keurig status update: currently in Topeka, 45 minutes away. Wish they would just let me pick it up!

A couple of weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending time with someone I care about very deeply.

I can't tell you her name, because it's complicated, but I can tell you about her (and I've been dying to do that).

This girl, she's about 5 years old. She's beautiful. She is usually high on energy and loves to talk. She loves playing, climbing trees, and putting together puzzles. In fact, she might even end up being smarter than me.

This girl isn't able to receive love from her parents on a regular basis. They don't have that right anymore. But she has her grandparents, and they love her well enough. They just weren't expecting to go through the parenting motions at this point in their lives.

Last time we visited this girl, we wanted to take her home with us. To let her know that she's loved. To prove to her that she has a home.

Instead (because kidnapping is frowned upon around here), we settled for having lunch with her, playing games, putting together a puzzle, and climbing trees.

Backwards

I'm beyond happy that our Friday workday is only 3 hours.

Whew. It's been a loooong week. Wouldn't you agree? Even around here on Life Before the Bucket, things have been a little unusual. Here's a quick recap:

• We've got a free book giveaway going on until tomorrow morning at 6 AM CST.  Click HERE to enter!

• I introduced everyone to Thing #1, Thing #2, and Thing #3. They're insane little secrets, so if you missed them, check 'em out!

• You guys have been beyond generous with your comments. I LOVE hearing from you, so keep it up!

And now, because it's Friday, and I have a million reasons to celebrate that, it's time for...

Five Minute Friday!

Here are the rules, per The Gypsy Mama:

Rule Uno - Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
Rule Dos - Link back to the Gypsy Mama and invite others to join in. (GO JOIN IN!)
Rule Tres - Get a little crazy with encouragement for the five minuter who linked up before you.

And today's prompt is...

Backwards

Ready... Set... Go!

Well, this prompt is just too coincidental. Just four days after I wrote about all of my insides being backwards (Thing #1), this is what I get to write about again. But, you know, I'm proud of it. I'm proud of sometimes living a backwards life.

You see, I didn't grow up with my dad around much. He lived with us until he was 12, but even that shouldn't really count. So, because he was never around, I missed out on learning a lot of things that my mom didn't quite know how to do. For instance, I have no clue how to hunt.

However, that doesn't mean I haven't made the most of my situation. It may be backwards, but I've taught myself a lot of things that my dad forgot to tell me about. For instance, getting the girl of my dreams. I'd say I did pretty well in that department. Other than that, though, there are a lot of little things that many of us rely on fathers for direction for.

I mean, I taught myself to grill (with a little help from my mom), taught myself how to fish (with a little help from a friend), and taught myself to do some more important things, like stand firm in what I believe in.

Now trust me when I say that it wasn't easy. Though I've survived and turned out just fine, not having a dad was hard. It's still hard. I wonder a lot about what it would be like to have him around today. It was almost three summers ago that I took off to Sierra Leone, arrived back in the US, and found out my father had passed away at the age of 40. Now that was backwards.

STOP!

I'd love to hear your thoughts, comments, and feedback. What was your relationship like with your father? Or are you a dad yourself? How do you want your relationship to be different with your son than it was with your dad? 

A Much Belated Spring Break Post (And a Goal Accomplished!)

I have to apologize. 

Sincerely, honestly, and truly, I need to ask for your forgiveness.

I posted on here about our epic road trip over Spring Break a week ago with a really cool map that showed the ridiculous amount of driving we did, and then left you hanging.

I realize this tease may have burned a bridge between us.

Thankfully, I plan to own an airplane someday, so I'll just take you for a ride to make it up to you.

Deal? Deal.

 Now that we're past that, I really do want to tell you about our epic Spring Break (or at least our first stop)!

This Spring Break, Kalyn and Kelsey (who we went to Taiwan with this past summer and who is returning there this summer) decided that we should go on a road trip. Now, I love traveling as much as the next guy. However, the idea of traversing 2000 miles with minimal male contact scared me a little. I was assured, though, that I'd survive. And somehow, I did...

A Goal Forever in Progress: Be(come) a Good Father

This year, June 20th passed without much fanfare in my life. I spent the day sleeping, because, by then, I had switched to the night shift with Kalyn here at The Home of God's Love (THOGL). I woke up around 5 PM, and the day progressed as usual. We didn't eat dinner, because dinner never sounds appetizing right after waking up, and we took care of babies for the remainder of the night. Later on that night, while the babies were sleeping, Kalyn and I Skype'd (is there a "proper" way to spell that?) with her family because it was June 20th - Father's Day...