Night Sounds

There was an owl in the park last night. As our 21-month-old was falling asleep in his crib, the tree across the street had in it a silent-winged carnivore looking to devour any drousy rodents below. At the moment, I can't explain to my kid the crisis in Egypt or the gentrification going on in our neighborhood or what Obamacare is. At bedtime, he wants to be read to, to be held and to be sung to before he's placed in his warm bed.
But at bedtime last night, I tried to explain to him, an owl was outside his window looking for dinner. No, the owl was looking for breakfast. It was morning outside in the park for a massive, silent and hungry owl. Listen, Elliot, you have much to learn! But he wasn't interested. Of course, he knows what an owl looks like and that it says, "hoo, hoo". But Elliot preferred and prefers his parents' singing voices. He just wanted us to sing, "holy, holy" and to put him in his crib with Elmo.
He doesn't know anything about our country's deficit, Denver's failing school system, homeless people sleeping on the streets in sub-zero temperatures. He doesn't spend time on Twitter, Craigslist, ESPN, Drudgereport or Amazon like his dad does but he will tell you "God" made his toes and "God" will heal the bump on his head. He even can say "Jesus" now. He knows plenty for a 21-month-old.
He didn't know about the 105th National Western Stock Show going on down the street earlier this month. His mom took a field trip with him last week so we might increase his awareness. She even biked to the complex so he could observe his surroundings a bit better en route. We'd rather not just take our kids to a petting zoo. Elliot was introduced to some beasts of the field last week. The bigger the animals, the better.
El saw pictures of his uncle snorkeling in the ocean with whale sharks today and thought snow was on the whale's back. Those are spots, El. God put spots on some of His whales. There is snow outside in the park where the owl is looking for breakfast though.

The more often we sing, the better. We know we won't always get to sing this crumb-cruncher to sleep.

big brother

He stuttered and stammered but he said it this week for the first time: Big Brother.
Elliot's become big brother.

dying dads part 2

I am not mad at God for allowing Ron to perish in the sea. I rarely get mad at God. I wonder, what if God had allowed Ron-the-dad to raise his son Denny and what if God allowed Ron-the-grandpa to love and enjoy his twelve grand kids. Think of what it would have meant for dad and all his boys if they could have spent hundreds of hours together with Grandpa. How great would it have been for us to wrestle, play football, cut down a Christmas tree each December and take ski trips over spring break. Three generations, eight men and we would have fully occupied two quad chair lifts at Steamboat. And we could have taken such good care of Grandma, Mom and our three sisters on Valentine's day.

Ronald Payne, I wish we boys could have seen you hug our dad.

We want to hear you tell us about our dad when he was a boy.

We wish you could have hugged our mom.

We missed you, big time.

I realized at Dad's birthday dinner last month, a tragic gift. In a couple months Dad will have been a grandfather longer than Ron was a father.
When Dad was Elliot's age, his dad was already gone.

There must be a thousand things Denny would like to have said to Ron. There must be a million things Ron would like to have told his son. There was so much potential. So much for Ron to give to his son; character to build, discipline to raise up, wisdom to pass on, expectations to define, inspiration to create, relationships to share and open arms to love.

I consider my relationship with my son; what will I share with him? Will it be of lasting or eternal value? Elliot Payne will need to know how to shake a man's hand, when to speak/listen, and who he is responsible for when the pressure is on. Elliot, the boy, will someday become a man, but what kind of man will he become?

My dad has outlived his own dad by two lifetimes.
I have outlived his dad only by God's hand.
Elliot has had a dad longer than my dad had his. This may seem mundane and redundant but wait. Dying dads is all we are. Dying dads are earning paychecks, kissing their wives; mowing the lawn, watching TV; going to church, complaining about the economy; hating his neighbor, and giving to charity. We're living and we're dying. What are we dads being for our sons that make them better off than if we were dead?

What is more tragic, my dad having no memory of his dead dad or Elliot having a living dad who is not teaching, equipping, disciplining, leading and loving him?

God, cover my head in your grace so I can exemplify to my son where the permanent and best inheritance is found. Enable me to train him to care for his mother, to speak truthfully, to love discipline, to treat people right, and to see your goodness. You forsook your son and he was separated from his Father at the cross. Thank you for the cross.

I heard Elliot's heart racing this week. The strong (and temporary) "lub dub" I felt in his chest was a reminder to be quick and steadfast as I aim to prove to him the only place abundant life is found is from his heavenly and everlasting Father.

God, sustain Elliot and may you afford him to also be a dying dad someday and show his own son your unfailing love, unrelenting holiness, unending forgiveness and unstoppable redemption, for those who believe. God, remind me every day of the privilege it is to be a dying dad.

I didn't think it would have hurt this much to write about Ron today. Last time I was overcome with this grief/joy, I was hugging Dad in the hospital hallway when Elliot was born, wishing so much for my dad to have had his Pop to hug when Ben Ron was born.