We had a great Men's Fraternity session this morning titled, "What Every Dad Needs to Know." Good stuff.
Our boys are grown and on their own, or well on their way. They're not hanging around the family room at night, not raiding our refrig, not playing in the marching band, not inviting friends over, not playing whiffle ball in the back yard. They're not living at home anymore. And if I think too long on this kind of stuff I begin to get sad.
But then I think about what our boys are doing now. Ryan is married, is finishing up his degree at OU and has accepted a full-time position with Chesapeake Energy. Jason is engaged with a January 3 wedding date just around the corner, serving students at Timberline Lodge in Colorado. And Josh and Jon are students at UNI, involved with The Navigator ministry and growing in their relationships with Christ.
When I think about the way God has blessed Sharon and I with four incredible boys and what they are doing with their lives, I get all teary eyed. But these are tears of joy and gratitude. God is so good and so faithful!
Robert Lewis shared this Erma Bombeck story. I end with this.
When Mike was three he wanted a sandbox and his father said, “There goes the yard. We’ll have kids over her day and night and they’ll throw sand into the flower beds and cats will make a mess in it and it will kill the grass for sure.” And Mike’s mother said, “It will come back.”
When Mike was five, he wanted a jungle gym set with swings that would take his breath away and bars to take him to the summit and his father said, “Good grief, I’ve seen those things and do you know what they look like? Mud holes in a pasture. Kids digging their gym shoes in…It will kill the grass.” And Mike’s mother said, “It will comeback.”
Between breaths when Daddy was blowing up the plastic swimming pool he warned, “You know what they’re going to do to this place? They’re going to condemn it and use it for a missile site. I hope you know what you’re doing. They’ll track water everywhere and you’ll have a million water fights and you won’t be able to take the garbage out without stepping in mud up to your neck and when we take this thing down we will have the only brown lawn on the block.” “It will come back,” smiled Mike’s mother.
When Mike was twelve, he volunteered his yard for a campout. As they hoisted the tents and drove in the spikes, his father stood at the window and observed, “Why don’t I just put the grass seed out in cereal boxes for the birds and save myself the trouble of spreading it around. You know for a fact that those tents and all those big feet are going to trample down every single blade of grass, don’t you? Don’t bother to answer,” he went on, “I know what you’re going to say—it will come back.”
The basketball hoop on the side of the garage attracted more crowds than the Winter Olympics. And a small patch of lawn that started out with a barren spot the size of a garbage can lid soon grew to encompass the entire side yard. And just when it looked like the new seed might take root, the winter came and the sled runners beat it into ridges and Mike’s father shook his head and said, “I never asked for much in this life—only a patch of grass.” And his wife smile and said, “It will come back.”
The lawn this year was beautiful. It was green and alive and rolled out like sponge carpet along the driveway where the gym shoes had run…along the garage where bicycles used to fall, and around the flower beds where little boys used to dig with ice tea. But Mike’s father never noticed the new grass. He anxiously looked beyond the yard and asked with a catch in his voice, “He will come back, won’t he?”
Our boys are grown and on their own, or well on their way. They're not hanging around the family room at night, not raiding our refrig, not playing in the marching band, not inviting friends over, not playing whiffle ball in the back yard. They're not living at home anymore. And if I think too long on this kind of stuff I begin to get sad.
But then I think about what our boys are doing now. Ryan is married, is finishing up his degree at OU and has accepted a full-time position with Chesapeake Energy. Jason is engaged with a January 3 wedding date just around the corner, serving students at Timberline Lodge in Colorado. And Josh and Jon are students at UNI, involved with The Navigator ministry and growing in their relationships with Christ.
When I think about the way God has blessed Sharon and I with four incredible boys and what they are doing with their lives, I get all teary eyed. But these are tears of joy and gratitude. God is so good and so faithful!
Robert Lewis shared this Erma Bombeck story. I end with this.
When Mike was three he wanted a sandbox and his father said, “There goes the yard. We’ll have kids over her day and night and they’ll throw sand into the flower beds and cats will make a mess in it and it will kill the grass for sure.” And Mike’s mother said, “It will come back.”
When Mike was five, he wanted a jungle gym set with swings that would take his breath away and bars to take him to the summit and his father said, “Good grief, I’ve seen those things and do you know what they look like? Mud holes in a pasture. Kids digging their gym shoes in…It will kill the grass.” And Mike’s mother said, “It will comeback.”
Between breaths when Daddy was blowing up the plastic swimming pool he warned, “You know what they’re going to do to this place? They’re going to condemn it and use it for a missile site. I hope you know what you’re doing. They’ll track water everywhere and you’ll have a million water fights and you won’t be able to take the garbage out without stepping in mud up to your neck and when we take this thing down we will have the only brown lawn on the block.” “It will come back,” smiled Mike’s mother.
When Mike was twelve, he volunteered his yard for a campout. As they hoisted the tents and drove in the spikes, his father stood at the window and observed, “Why don’t I just put the grass seed out in cereal boxes for the birds and save myself the trouble of spreading it around. You know for a fact that those tents and all those big feet are going to trample down every single blade of grass, don’t you? Don’t bother to answer,” he went on, “I know what you’re going to say—it will come back.”
The basketball hoop on the side of the garage attracted more crowds than the Winter Olympics. And a small patch of lawn that started out with a barren spot the size of a garbage can lid soon grew to encompass the entire side yard. And just when it looked like the new seed might take root, the winter came and the sled runners beat it into ridges and Mike’s father shook his head and said, “I never asked for much in this life—only a patch of grass.” And his wife smile and said, “It will come back.”
The lawn this year was beautiful. It was green and alive and rolled out like sponge carpet along the driveway where the gym shoes had run…along the garage where bicycles used to fall, and around the flower beds where little boys used to dig with ice tea. But Mike’s father never noticed the new grass. He anxiously looked beyond the yard and asked with a catch in his voice, “He will come back, won’t he?”
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