Tag: family

The Man

Chris De Man3 Comments
 

My father died February 13, 2012.

To remember is to heal.
To celebrate.
To anticipate.

—————————–

The Man

This day.
Again.

A requisite cycling of grief.

The remembering is terrifically awful.

In my mind are blood-red carnations
let loose amidst winter’s chill.
In fragrant tribute they softened the dirt of decay,
taunting death with the beauty of Hope.

Your mortality rests in mysterious completion,
enveloped in wood and cement.
Etched in placid formality is your name — our name.
You left us the fruit of integrity.

Immense is the void of you.
A reluctant child, I stand drop-jawed and small,
grateful, afraid —
and sad.

This is hard, dad.

But you know that.
We all come to know this anguished separation.

Still, I long for more —

For another, “That’s my boy!”
For a glimpse of your wink and nod.
For the warm fullness of your squeeze on my shoulder.

Such are a father’s gifts.
You were generous.

A catalyst to my manliness.
Stability, strength, and tenderness.
The man.

Now it’s my turn.

Copyright © 2015 Chris De Man. All rights reserved.

Move it!

Chris De Man1 Comment

We moved.

Three weeks ago we wrestled eight-year-old roots from country soil and replanted ourselves in the midst of suburbia. It was an arduous process. We’re still herding the last boxes into their rooms and daily attacking ubiquitous clutter. With rejuvenated clarity I’m remembering why I told my wife eight years ago we’d never move again.

In the turmoil of this transition brews a smorgasbord of emotion. The excitement of change brings energy through the anticipation newness – neighbors, bedrooms, noises, and experiences. Yet there’s the pull of the old – familiar, comfortable, trusted, and expected.

Memories – both pleasant and painful.

Written into our family story during the years at the former home are washboard roads. Power outages. Apple Wars. A snake in the basement, a mouse in the attic, bees in the floor joist and not a single bat in our homemade bat house. Star-filled skies and open spaces. The Wildcat Fortress. Air soft bunkers. Bee stings. Rubber boots and naked romps through giant mud puddles (he was only a toddler, so it was ok). A smashed-up, man-making John Deere lawn tractor. Pheasants, coyotes, otters, foxes, hawks, and chickens. A puppy. Walks through the orchard and fun on the quad. The Man Wall. The zip line. Adoption. Death.

Chapters well written – and treasured.
 
As we turned a new page on a new(er) home, the story was written with themes of work, heat, and humidity. Piles and messes and surprises and disappointments. A truck, a trailer, and tired backs. Firm, welcoming handshakes. Deep-fried chicken wings and warm corn bread. Conversation. Bike rides and bread-eating fish. French-pressed coffee. Ice cream pie. Ice cream sandwiches. Half-gallon containers of ice cream (yes, moving requires copious amount of ice cream refreshment) Hole digging. Chainsaws. Dangling wires and pockmarked drywall. Lasagna from scratch, blueberry pastry, fast food lunches and donuts. Kickball. Football. Voices. Laughter. Street Lights. Convenience. Friends.

Community.

A satisfying – and disruptive – opening to our next chapter.

The monumental task of moving can dredge emotion layered deep within our souls. Thoughts and feelings that betray strongholds of affection and inclination and fear. This disruptive force has invited me into self reflection. I’ve discovered that despite my natural propensity for introversion, there’s joy to be harvested from frequent neighborly interactions. And even though I prefer to be stubbornly independent, a humble reception of help secures long-term relational dividends. In fact, I’ve been so disturbed that I’m finding it less difficult to lay down my idol of accomplishment in exchange for the enjoyment of time with drop-in visitors. I’m even paying others to do work I could do myself. I’m loosening my finger-nailed grip on the desire for control.

I’m aware the relocation pendulum will sway from euphoria to second-guessing for some time. There’s beautiful and ugly with such transitions. But losses and gains and tears and smiles and hope and love are the threads of life that create a sacred tapestry.

Our recent move wasn’t due to boredom or lack of contentment. It wasn’t because we couldn’t think of something better to do this summer. I don’t seek-out such massive disruption. But where we live is important. Some say location is everything. I’m sure it’s not everything, but as we settle-in I’m asking God to use this new place to encourage my clan of seven toward a larger vision for community. For family and friends and relationships that are redemptive. My desire is that we each perpetuate a story that shouts “Glory!” to the One who saw each box we packed. Who envisioned the flat tire on the truck and broken trailer lift. Who smiled over hands that hung a “Welcome” sign and left cookies that anchored those first moments in our home into the bedrock of friendship. Who shows Himself a Strong Tower in every moment.

We moved. It was disruptive. And I am grateful.

Savings and Loan

Chris De ManLeave a comment
I can’t wait to see how this plays-out. I’m already making bets. Who won’t get past a weekly urge to empty their “spend” envelope for chocolate bars? Who will show themselves the real saver? Who’s going to shirk responsibility because the payoff isn’t enough? This could be fun.
We’re starting an allowance system this weekend. It’s likely overdue, but then I was a late bloomer. I’ve been prepping (ok, teasing) the kids for weeks. When I announced the creation of “Dad’s Savings and Loan”, I was an instant hero. Hugs all around. Three cheers for dad! Visions of Legos, American Girls and tech gadgets danced through my children’s dreamy heads.
Cue Mr. Reality (that’s me). As I basked in their adulations, I kept the proverbial wet blanket hidden. A blanket that would squash their plans to stimulate the economy. Their questions of “How much?” were answered with “Not as much as you’re thinking.” This was followed by a careful review of the “fine print” from the savings and loan. The blanket landed with a thud. Smiles flattened. A somber tone rolled across the dinner table as Toys R’ Us dreams shrunk to Dollar Store reality. Entitlement was trumped by expectation. The “Comm-ocracy” had exerted its power.

{sidebar: “Comm-ocracy is my tongue-in-cheek term for our  family political system. It blends elements of Communism (“no soup for you!”) and Democracy (“let’s take a vote”). My kids understand that  I’m the Tsar. But I work hard at letting them know I am a benevolent ruler who wants to give generously of his soup.}
I might be painting a glum picture. It really wasn’t that bad. Some suppositions needed correcting, but overall the proposed system of redistribution was well received. The kids are giddy. Katrina and I are glad for a new mechanism we can leverage toward character development. And, it will be nice to go to the store and return questions of “Can I get this?” with “How much is in your ‘saved’ envelope?” A wave of peace is washing over me already. I might actually want to grocery shop.
Not really.
What I do want is to teach my kids stewardship. Money is a nice vehicle to talk about worth, desire and power. Money can consume or create. Taunt or transform. Strangle or set free. The opening of our little savings and loan is ripe with opportunity.
The children’s allowance is an opportunity for me as well. I like money – even in small denominations. So, when considering the outlay required to fund the system for five children, an angst growls inside me. Those funds represent a fair amount of Starbucks drinks. And books. And other little indulgences Katrina and I might desire. But such desires need a daily wrestling. They must not pin me down.
Sacrificing desire is part of being a parent. Now, parenting isn’t a lifeless prison. Desires do find release and expression. But the call of parenthood necessitates delayed gratification. Like exchanging a hot dinner now for a cold one after the baby is fed. Driving a car scratched by bicycle handlebars. Walking over (and mourning) the Kool-Aid stain in the carpet – day-after-day.
Worth, desire, power and sacrifice is part of managing money. And parenting. They’re also part of a larger stewardship. God has commissioned each of us to manage His gifts to us of time, talent and resource. How I steward my material, physical and relational capital reflect my beliefs about God. Do I relate with grace, or only truth? Do I value people and handle them with loving fragility? Or do I toss them around like logs on a wood pile? Do my desires blind me to the needs of others?
In 1722, famous American preacher, writer and theologian Jonathon Edwards made a series of resolutions. Number 17 on his list was this: “[I am] resolved, that I will live so as I shall wish I had done when I come to die.” That’s a proper English way of saying, “No regrets!” Live today in ways you want to be remembered. Slow down. Prioritize. Savor. Teach. Learn. Listen. Give. An excellent resolution birthed from a long-sighted viewpoint.
Good stewardship of each moment, relationship, thought, word and deed. I want that for me. I want it for my children. To give generously of ourselves. To spend time and use talents wisely and completely. To save and plan for special and spontaneous opportunities that foster redemptive relationships.
My prayer is that a wee bit of weekly allowance will be good for my family. A catalyst that opens our eyes, ears, hearts and souls to God’s big story. Encouraging us to live moment-by-moment, with no regrets.