Dad

My dad is doing worse and the only way I've found peace with it is to stop asking God why it has to go this way. Because God has an answer: this part of our life - the end - is much less important than we think it is.

I went to the emergency room yesterday with Zoe. She's got pneumonia and an ear infection, and was feverish and dehydrated. And I cried the whole way down to the hospital, a pathetic cry because I just didn't want to go. I don't want to go to Children's Hospital any more and I don't want my little girl to die.

Zoe is so much more a daddy's girl than ever before. Right now she's whining because I'm ignoring her. And I don't want her to die when she's not even 2. Or 2. Or 3. She cried when I leave and she knows my voice. And I want a vote in how or when she dies. And I want it to be better than an infection at 22 months.

And I want my dad to get the Enoch treatment, not this.

But God wants me and you to know that whether you were in a Space Shuttle accident, climbing on to Normandy, shooting a 3 and telling people you were feeling great, or I guess just waking every day to fight until there is no more fight - whether you're 2 or 77, God has his eyes on it all -that moment and eternity. That pain and the unspeakable love. And one is a blink, and the other is forever. We are too easily pleased...we are too easily disappointed.

If we consider the unblushing promises of

reward and the staggering nature of the

rewards promised in the Gospels, it seem

that our Lord finds our desires not too

strong, but too more weak. We are

half-hearted creatures, fooling about with

drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy

is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants

to go on making mud pies in a slum because he

cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a

holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

What Dads Do

Over the last day or two, I've been pondering what to write in this space. The more I thought of fathers, the more I thought of my Dad, people like my friend Ted. And our Father God.

But I wasn't sure what the quality is we all share. Pride, for sure. God sending down a dove and a loud voice when His son was baptized. I know this past basketball season I celebrated my son's play at the end of the game to the point that people thought it was a bit much. God, could you have just done the voice? Did you need to send the dove, too?

Maybe it's being a fool. That, I've done plenty. I know people have seen me at the aforementioned basketball games, jawing at refs and overall being a blithering fool. I know you can catch me most nights or days talking in voices, making up stories, singing songs that are foolish - but they're for my kids. It's what you do. Sometimes you're a monster, sometimes you're a tickle monster, sometimes you're a storyteller. Sometimes you're an opera singer. It's for the kids.

Trust me, God knows this too. Being a fool for His children. Showing love or mercy at all to a failure like me. Sending an idyllic morning and a snoring daughter who is incompatible with life my way on Father's Day is a foolish show of love for an undeserving child.

Then I read this devotion, which helped me focus on the true fathering trait. It's reckless care for those given for you. How'd you like to be Adam, first father, father of the first murderer? Do you think Adam lifted his son up in prayer recklessly? How'd you like to be God or my father, looking at my jagged life?

It's not our job to lay claim to the successes or failures of our children. It's our job to stretch ourselves out for them as shepherds and advocates, to get less sleep and to have no money, to weep for their losses and be fools for them in their success, to sometimes be the opera singer and sometimes the coach. Recklessly.

Reason 4837 To Thank God For Mom & Dad

I've been a big proponent of liking animals, as long as they stay over there, and don't lick me. People say that makes me an animal hater. No, I respond, I just never grew up with pets. And I thank Mom and Dad for that. Or else this could have happened to me.

I Actually Edited Out My Laughing

Here's Bat talking about some antics that only a lifelong pastor could tell. I did only minor editing once I realized how horrendously loud I was laughing.

50 Years Ago Today She Couldn't Say No

In Baton Rouge, Bat got down on his knee and asked Christa to marry him. She said yes. It was raining torrents outside, and Christa's home was nearby, so they walked home in the rain. Christa remembers - but can't explain why - going home, going upstairs and changing into a formal white dress she had worn to a formal at LSU, and danced around for joy with her engagement ring.

The Duck and the Bear

Dad and I spent a little time talking about the Duck and the Bear. I think next, I talk to each kid and have them recall the Duck and the Bear. Will that get boring? You might find out. If you don't know about the Duck and the Bear, you obviously didn't eat breakfast made by Dad.