Tag Archives: father

The Symphony of Family

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Every family is a symphony. Every member is a skilled musician with a unique instrument in hand. Every moment is a song, and every word is a note carrying its melody. Early last week, the Thoma family’s ensemble just grew by one performer. Preston Michael took his seat among us, and as you might imagine, for this grandpa, his promise is most rapturous.

I got to meet him the day after he was born. His dad—my son, Joshua—introduced us. I didn’t get to greet Preston properly, though. He’s currently in the NICU, and he’ll likely be there for a few more days. Nevertheless, at the time, his wriggling fingers, crinkly nose, and peeking glances were silent greetings that sang straight into my heart—a kind of resonance that only children and the angels who guard them can produce (Matthew 18:10). I finally got to hold him yesterday, and what a joy it was.

I can promise you that I intend to be the kind of grampa whose hug is felt long after I’ve let go.

With Preston’s birth came an in-rushing of familiar sensations. The day after he was born, Joshua and I talked about it while Jennifer and Lexi went down the hall for a turn with him. We spoke as only fathers can. I wondered aloud something like, “When you were born, I remember experiencing a particular sensation. It was a sudden awareness—almost a presence—something I felt like I could reach out and touch if I wanted to.” I told Joshua that when I first saw him, I knew everything in my life would be different, that nothing would ever be the same again, and that whatever happened from here on out, I was all in for him. I loved him. He was family.

Joshua confirmed the sensation. I’m not surprised. I imagine that, for most parents, the moment their child arrives—finally intersecting with the world in a touchable way—it is an event like none other. In a sense, even though the Earth still revolves around the sun, there’s a shift in gravity’s center. The child becomes the middle, a luminescent joy around which all other planets must spin. Indeed, as it was when I first became a father, it was the same for Joshua. Everything was different now, and no matter what the future held, trusting Christ, Josh knew it was going to be incredible.

We both admitted it wouldn’t be easy. In that moment, roles reverted. I was the dad again, and he was the son, with both of us recalling the challenges as we knew them. We acknowledged times when Josh made life more complicated and times when I wasn’t the best parent I could’ve been. Still, we returned to where we started.  There we were, acknowledging that the lack of ease doesn’t negate the joy of parenting. If anything, it serves to remind us even more of family’s wonderfulness.

I’ve always believed that while God has fashioned some indescribably splendid things, of them all, family is one of His best. He brings two very different people together, a man and a woman, and from their union, life! However, not just human life (which, of course, is the wonder above all others), but instead the actual experience of living—the lived reality of vocation and recreation and relationships and all the things that a human experiences. The thing about family, however, is that while we’re out and about in the world living, even as that same world will so often be vicious and unforgiving, there will always be a group of people—a place—where living assumes love and where the cardinal rule of governance is forgiveness. In other words, God has designed the human family to be reminiscent of Himself. When everything around you is coming undone, or when you’ve been as unlovable as you can be, there will be someone willing to take you in, forgive you, and continue to love you.

The writer George Bernard Shaw, while he was a philosophical and spiritual mess, managed to get something right when he wrote that “family is but an earlier heaven.” In a way, Christians know at least two deeper truths in this.

First, we know that marriage, the institution that establishes families, is a glorious image of the Gospel itself. Saint Paul described marriage as a mysterious representation of something much grander: the relationship between Christ and His bride, the Church (Ephesians 2:32). Go anywhere else in Paul’s writings, and you’ll see this relationship is what it is because of the forgiveness won and exacted by the Groom, Jesus.

Second, we know family can at least be an atom-sized glimpse of heaven because, as I mentioned before, love and forgiveness are a family’s glorious essentialities. This is to say, the Gospel of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection show us a family established by grace born from devoted love. Born into this by baptism into faith, heaven becomes our rightful home. As believers, we’re those whose robes have been washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb (Revelation 7:14). By this, we belong, not because of anything we’ve done, but because of what God has done for and to us.

In short, God adopted us as His children (Galatians 3:26, Romans 8:14-15). He made us family. And now, no matter where His believers are from or what scars their pasts inflicted, God always takes in His family.

I don’t know what Preston’s future holds. But I do know he’s been born into a family that loves him, one that knows its frailties, and because of those insufficiencies, things won’t always be easy. And yet, God stands at the podium. With baton in hand, He’s conducting with grace-filled movements, coaxing from His white-robed orchestra such lovely sounds. It’s a divine composition of His care, ringing out melodies that sound like “I love you,” and “I’m sorry,” and “I forgive you,” and “It’s good to see you,” and “I’m glad you’re home,” and so many more. Preston now has a seat on this stage, and like everybody else in the orchestra and audience, I can’t wait to hear him play.

Be a Man

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The Thoma family doesn’t go out to dinner very often. It isn’t just that dining out has become quite expensive. Instead, it’s that we’ve always been more interested in family dinners at home. Any time we’re required to share a dining space with others, it seems the genuine Thoma frivolity becomes unfortunately inhibited. At home, we can be us, laughing as loudly as we’d like at whatever we like. We play games. We rib each other. Sometimes, we even throw stuff. We don’t make a mess. We’re not messy people. But we do things at home we surely wouldn’t do in a restaurant.

I should admit that in restaurants, Jennifer is the governess. She maintains the boundaries. I certainly know where the boundaries are. However, my threshold for public tomfoolery is a little higher. I can easily become a part of whatever hilarious thing Harrison or Madeline might be doing that requires a little more volume or risk. Thankfully, Jennifer anticipates this and brings us back into orbit. She doesn’t quell the fun. She maintains its appropriateness.

When things are no longer in tomfoolery mode but instead require actual discipline, it’s often the other way around. Jennifer is much gentler. I stand at the borderlands’ edges, allowing nothing illegal to cross. Ultimately, my sons are expected to be Godly men, and my daughters are expected to be Godly women.

Looking back at what I’ve written, two things come to mind.

The first is that fathers and mothers—men and women—are very different. I probably don’t need to tell you this. Or maybe I do because it sure seems these roles are more than confused these days. Men are portrayed as inept and effeminate ninnies in movies, TV shows, and commercials. Women are depicted as hardnosed boss-girls who shepherd the men around like children, but that’s only when they have need of them. The genuine give-and-take of naturally complimentary roles has been lost to artificial ideologies meant only to disrupt. Perhaps worst of all, the ability to define the actual roles has already been sacrificed at confusion’s altar. What is a woman? What is a man? Fewer and fewer can answer these questions, lest they give a truthful answer and be canceled. In fact, the answer is becoming more elusive, not only relative to gender but to species. For example, a 22-year-old man who thinks he’s a female cat is running for a seat on the Board of Commissioners here in Livingston County. I have a quick story about this.

I was picking up my daughter, Evelyn, from volleyball practice at the Hartland Community Education building when I drove past this candidate and his friends having a picnic-style demonstration on the facility’s front lawn. There were only a handful of people with him. It was by no means a grand event. Nevertheless, he placed signs near the facility’s driveway, one of which read, “Protect trans students like you protect your guns.” If I hadn’t been in a hurry to get Evelyn home to Linden and then back again to Hartland for a church meeting, I may likely have stopped to ask for clarification. This tendency does get me into trouble sometimes. Just ask Jennifer. She shifted into governess mode a couple of times yesterday at a conference in Detroit to keep my tomfoolery at bay. However, one particular gent in a breakout session who insulted me for being Lutheran rather than Catholic did receive a word or two. Actually, he received four.

Still, I believe in conversation, especially for the sake of invalidating untruths. I certainly had more than my fair share of questions before I rounded the first turn in the parking lot to fetch Evelyn that day. In particular, I would have asked the 22-year-old cat woman with male genitalia if “Protect trans students like you protect your guns” meant registering trans students with the government. Next, I would have asked if that meant red flag laws, too. In other words, if a trans student behaves in ways that make me nervous—like, say, demanding drag queen story hours at the local library—I could call the cops and have him, or her, or whatever taken away and locked up, letting the situation get sorted out in court before allowing him (or her, or whatever) to go home. Along those same lines, I’d have asked if he thinks we should keep all trans students locked away in safes to help keep children safe.

This is only one thread in gender confusion’s fabric. But this fabric is so easily unwound when the hard truth pulls on it. Speaking in an elementary sense, the fact that two men cannot create a child excludes such madness from any real claim on Father’s Day. Inherently, the word “father” assumes and requires “mother,” so whether a man and woman procreate or adopt, fatherhood remains innately a man and woman thing, not a man and man thing. The same goes for Mother’s Day.

I told you two things came to mind. The second is the blessing of home.

Everything I described begins in the home. If a child’s home is unsteady or confused, then everything beyond it will be, too. Beyond this, I once heard someone say that home is a pre-heaven of sorts. Indeed, home is a place where your seat at the table is certain. The rule of forgiveness secures it, and everyone there is family. Oliver Wendell Holmes said something about how our feet may leave home, but our hearts never will. This is to say that we’re forever rooted in a lifeblood sort of way with our home. Who we are, what we’ve learned, who taught us, and why—all these things go with us. And yet, even as they’re carried away on two legs, they are forever bound to the source, no matter where we might be. In my opinion, this is just another way of highlighting the significance of fathers and mothers and that no matter where a child goes, he can never really shake loose from the home his parents made. Good or bad, it’s forever a part of him.

Wrapping this up, I say, since it’s Father’s Day, grab hold of confusion’s fabric and pull. Do what you can to dispel gender confusion. Treat your dad like the manly man he is and ought to be. Rejoice and publicly share those things that show dads to be the God-given heads and protectors a family needs and requires. Maybe even take a chance at grabbing this world’s absurdity by the jugular. June certainly would be the month to do it. Women, demand alongside Saint Paul that the men in your life “act like men and be strong” (1 Corinthians 16:13). Husbands and fathers—the gents crafting the next generation of men—insist beside King David, who instructed his son, Solomon, “Be strong, and show yourself a man” (1 Kings 2:2). Even better, demonstrate manliness for them. Demonstrate it for your daughters, too. Be tough when toughness is required. Be courageous. Most of all, shepherd them toward Jesus, and along the way, do everything you can to hold the line on truth while invalidating untruth. My guess is that when they eventually leave home, and they will, no matter where they go, their hearts will be permanently sourced by something far stronger and more certain than this world’s sin-draped irrationality.