Love and Understanding

Black Shoes

I have never thought of myself as a good father. A responsible one…yes: but not a good one. How one judges ones self is determined within the soul, and my soul aches when I think of my mis-steps and bad judgments. To the outsider, I am a great father. I have provided, protected, and loved all three of my children through the good, and the bad. But to me, that is simple responsibility. My job was to make my children feel the security and live out their dreams and avoid times of great distress. Yes… I have partially failed at that and hence, my self-judgment.

This morning, I looked inside my daughter’s room, now void of any order, and used as a storage room. Some time ago she decided to spread her wings and live elsewhere. As I opened the door, amongst the old bed frames, and boxes of trinkets I intend to one day pilfer, were a pair of shoes. Black lace-up dress shoes which are my youngest son’s. As looked at them, I felt an overwhelming sense of love for my son, and yet it was accompanied by a profound sorrow.

My son and I have been going through a rough patch these days. I am told that my late blooming son suffers from much of what his mother suffers…depression and obsessive compulsive disorder. It is an illness that frankly scares me, and one which I do not understand. My patience with all the abnormal behaviors was long ago spent by dealing with his mother through a 14 year marriage, now an ancient memory of 13 years past. After such a run of dysfunction, my well is dry and Mike has had to pay another price, namely my inability to offer compassion, patience, and to care or offer support.

On Sunday, I was fed up with the late times he would climb out of bed, and his lack of desire to help me around the house. Living at home is just my son and I, and since he’s 25, I believe that he needs to pick up the pace and help out with chores, without a formal request from me. As he entered my mothers house for an early Easter feast and celebration, he was apathetic and that was "it" for me! I became short, threw out a couple poorly thought-out remarks, and ended up making an ass of myself, and putting my son into a position that made him feel worse about himself, and hastening his departure.

Later that day, I received a call from his counselor, a woman who had helped me cope with my divorce, and who provided me with many skills over the years, specifically, how to best raise my children as a single dad, as they were stuck with me for most of their lives. When I answered, I was not welcomed with the warm encouraging voice of an admired counselor, but rather a woman who didn’t hold back her chastisement of me, and how I am treating my son. As it turned out, my son had contacted her to tell her that he no longer wanted to attend a counseling session with me, scheduled for the next day. At her recommendation, I was to come alone, as I needed a kick in my rear for my lack of understanding, and my unconscionable behavior.

So on Monday morning, I drove myself to San Clemente to see our counselor and take my medicine. I’m so glad I did. After I vented, I stood and took my flogging, delivered with a kind and compassionate hand. I listened. I listened hard. I believe that the Lord himself had delivered the message, and when I left, had within me a desire to learn more about his illness, and to show him, the patience and love, that had just been shown to me by my counselor.

In the Bible, we are told to “seek counsel”. We are told that the Lord forgives is “7x70”, or as many times as is necessary. I am thankful that I have a great helper, and I can start over again, and that my son loves and forgives me as well. I pray that God allows my impatience to bring to both me and my son a profound healing.

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So this morning, as I gazed upon that pair of shoes, the Lord spoke to me, and I wilted.

Thoughts of a little boy, who loved nothing more than to play baseball, and go fishing, came flooding back. Thoughts of my son in his best shorts, getting an award for student of the month, sporting a huge smile, and giving me a high five after we took a pictures. I remembered his tears and ear piercing cries for rescue from his mother, and how I couldn’t be there cause I was out of town. As he began high school, how he tried to fit into sports, in church groups, and how he cried out for attention with his actions. He has never held back writing on a card his love and appreciation of me. He has done well with school after several interruptions, and is working hard to finish his degree. And now the battle in which he has chosen to engage, to rid him of issues so that he will be able to live a full and enriched life, free of the trappings of his illness.

He is my son, and in those shoes I see a child, and adolescent, and a man! In them I see a miracle in the making, a rising, a promise offered by God for the both of us. I love my son so much. To show him that love is my new job, and it’s the most important job of my life.

I embrace it and am so thankful for it! I’m thankful to God for the gift of my children, the wise counsel of well trained family therapist, and the power of the Holy Spirit that lives in my son, in me, and that provides a way… a healing if you will, a gift of love and understanding.

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