As I write this I am filled with a bright gratitude — I am on 2 months of paternity leave with my newest daughter, Phoebe. Her name means “light,” and what light her life has been. But if one more person calls me “Mr. Mom” I’m going to throw a can of diced tomatoes at the well-intentioned, but nevertheless infuriating cashier in Food Lion. It’s now 2024, Dads are involved. Can we all agree it’s great?
I naively expected parental leave to be a veritable vacation from work. My starry-eyed working self day-dreamed of trading my pastoral routine of meetings, visitations, and sermon prep for books and coffee shops, video games and lunch with friends. In reality, there’s been lots of folding, lots of meal planning, and one hefty battle of the bottle with my 4-month-old that has me wishing I could go to a church finance meeting. All that notwithstanding, this parental leave has taught me some surprising grace-filled lessons:
Parenting Is the Most Challenging Work of All
Pastors can drift into the toxic business of blaming and casting aspersions on young parents who “don’t bring their kids to church” or who “haven’t filled out the youth ski trip form yet” or “who just haven’t raised their kids biblically enough.” But now that I am away from the hustle and bustle of pastoral life, I see that all of those judgments, of which I am guilty, were really about my own insecurities and fear — as all judgments are. Parents who arrive to church with kids at all should be given a freakin’ glass of wine at the door and a merit badge for participation. Parenting is hard. So hard.
Loneliness Begets Extremism
Being home alone with a 2-year-old has got me listening to countless podcasts. As my wife would say, “my podcast game is strong.” This has been edifying, but I’ve also found within it something about myself I did not expect. I am lonely. There is such a difference between solitude and loneliness. I’m not sure where one of these states of being begins and the other ends. But I know that in this time of ceaseless isolated head-space, I’ve caught myself growing more and more certain of my ideas and view of the world. In-person church community isn’t just good because, you know, Jesus liked relationships. It’s good because it forces us to see how captive we are to our own minds.
I Am Good Dad
This comment comes with no solipsism attached. Being a father during the early days of parenthood can be a time of great disconnection. Fathers can feel like a bystanders to the miracle of life. But on this time of leave I have been the one to care for all of Phoebe’s needs. I have fed my daughter. I have put her to sleep. I have changed all her diapers. I have researched the best ways to combat 4-month sleep regressions and reverse sleep cycles. There is a holy empowerment in all of this. And best of all, me and Phoebe have become absolute pals. I’m not sure what the new role for Men in America will be outside of the breadwinner narrative of old. But maybe being thoughtful, empowered, active Dads, could be a start.
Men in Their Thirties Need Other Honest, Vulnerable Men in their Thirties
It’s an old joke that greatest miracle in Jesus’ life was that he had 12 male friends while in his thirties. When I first heard that line ten years ago, I thought it was silly. Now I just think it’s true. Don’t get me wrong, I think everyone in America is lonely. But there feels to be a newer discontent with life that has dawned on all the men I know who are in their 30’s. We long for connection, for intimacy, for friends. Each Wednesday of leave a fellow Dad and I bring our daughters to do Ballet from 4-4:30. We grab a beer from 4:01-4:29. That time with a friend has made me feel less alone and more known. All this is not to mention that American masculinity finds itself in a precarious situation. What does it say that men are more prone to deaths of despair, are less likely to be religious, and are far less likely to get paid paternity leave where they can connect with their young children? Men like me are searching for something, and in part, that something is the companionship and encouragement of other men.
The True Grace of Children Is Not Their Innocence, But Their Radical Dependence
Countless times, I’ve heard pastors interpret Jesus’ famous “let the children come to me” line to mean that children are special because they are innocent. I’ve got a toddler; I know children aren’t always innocent. What amazes me, however, is my children’s radical dependence. As with the end of the life when we lay in a hospital bed, in the beginning we need help eating, drinking, sleeping, speaking, and pooping. At the beginning as well as at the end we are given an image for what life is for—to be dependent on others, held in the arms, of others. Jesus said “let the children come to me” because they actually would come to him, with reckless abandon, no ulterior motives attached. They knew, more than adults, that they needed him. My daughter, Phoebe, my light, has reflected back to me my own darker shades of perfectionism and “I can do it all on my own no I don’t need help thanks” attitude. But that is not what God has ever expected from me. God sees me the same way I see Phoebe. And in that way, my bubbling, smiling, always pooping, 4-month-old, makes me feel less alone, makes me know, as if carrying it in my own body like a child, the grace of God.
