Jerrad Lopes | Dad Tired

Before I had kids, I imagined that we’d have these polished Bible studies every night where my kids listened intently to my wisdom, and sat quietly, longing to hear more. Not only is bed time the least spiritual time in my home, it also seems to be the most chaotic. I’ve learned that the best discipleship doesn’t happen in the planned moments. It often happens in the spontaneous, unplanned, 15 second moments where you can point their little eyes and hearts back to the Kingdom of God. Jesus is already working in and around your children, your job is simply to point it out in as many 15 seconds moments as possible.

We watched God do incredible things in the lives of these men this weekend. Don’t believe everything you hear on the news, God is not done with men.

This simple routine has changed our relationship.

1 John 1:9 tells us that if we confess our sins to God, He’s faithful to forgive us. That’s super good news. We all need to be forgiven. But, forgiven doesn’t mean healed. James tells us that healing comes when we confess our sins to each other and pray for each other. We don’t just need forgiven men, we need healed ones, too.

Why do I have to tell you so many times? I’ve said those words to my kids too many times to count. It amazes me how often they forget to pick up their clothes off the bathroom floor. Or, not hit her sister with a book. Or, brush their teeth both morning and night. Or, not speak that way to me or their mother. They forget a lot. And, so do I. I wonder if God has ever said “Why do I have to tell you so many times?” about me. I’m not sure. But, I do know that the Bible is full of God telling his people to remember. Remember His covenant. Remember His faithfulness. Remember His promises. Remember His reputation. Probably because God’s people forget. A lot. The picture above is me holding a family meeting. We do these often. They are super short, but super intentional. I know my kids are like me: prone to forget. So, I have to keep the family vision, boundaries, rhythms, ethics and goals in front of them. It’s a time for Leila and I to keep the mission and expectations at the top of their little minds. It’s also a time for them to speak into the family culture, ask questions, add clarity, and contribute to what we are doing as a whole. Kids are like us: they forget things. I’m just trying to be as intentional and patient with them as God has been toward me.

Birthday’s seem to get more weird the older I get. I woke up today and walked downstairs to find a small pile of artwork that my youngest daughters had colored for me. My wife made me and the kids cinnamon rolls to celebrate. I don’t normally eat breakfast in the morning, not because I don’t want to, but because my body reminds me how I am aging and need to take my health and eating habits more seriously. So, I’m trying “intermittent fasting” because… well, I don’t know. Someone I know said he lost a few pounds doing that, so I figured I’d try. My body is dying, and I guess I’m trying to slow down the process by skipping breakfast. I went to church this morning. My phone buzzed throughout the service as friends and family texted me their birthday wishes. It brought a smile to my face as I snuck a glance at my phone from time to time. But honestly, joy hasn’t been my primary emotion today. I’m not sad, but something about an “old man” birthday makes me stop and reflect back on life; even if I don’t want to. The path my brain seems to naturally travel down is regret. Regret of the decisions I’ve made, or the ones I haven’t. There’s some shame buried in there, too. And, disappointment. My son hid a birthday note in my room today. It read, “I love you so much, even when you’re annoyed and angry with me.” He was trying to encourage me, but that put a dagger in my heart. I’m sitting in an empty house right now. I just ate a slice of birthday cake and my eyes seem to want to fill with tears. I don’t feel sad. Truly. Just thoughtful. And, as I sit here, another year older, a little more grey, a little heavier, a little more wrinkled, and a little less along in my journey than I expected to be at this age, I somehow feel peace. Peace as I remember that God doesn’t love a future version of me. That he delights in me more than I delight in myself. That he knew what these days would look like, and he still chose to make me. Maybe that’s wisdom speaking. I don’t know. I’m grateful, sad, reflective, nostalgic, hopeful, regretful, and full of peace. Is this what birthdays feel like when you get old? I’m going to have another piece of cake.

The mark of a Christian.

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The thing that keeps coming up? It’s probably not the thing. Dig a layer or two deeper. This longing for safety is for both men and women, by the way.