Battle of Wills

Yes, it has begun. Dumisani turned three yesterday, and his mother and I have decided "this is the year." Poor boy - he gets no free passes... OK, fewer than he did when he was two and we weren't sure that he understood what we were saying to him. Over the last couple months we have become convinced that he actually does understand lots more than he's given credit for understanding. :)

So what are some of our goals for him this year? Well, potty training is obvious. Another big deal is getting him to expand his eating horizons beyond bacon in the morning and only neutral colors for lunch and supper (chicken, pasta, hamburger, rice, chips, and cheese - glorious cheese). So today it began. He wanted more bacon for breakfast. I said he could if he ate one bite of toast. You would have thought I told him he would never hold drumsticks again! He cried and cried. He immediately abandoned the idea of wanting more bacon, but I was determined that he should eat one bit of toast. Christina was only too happy to see if I could win the battle.

Soon, the scene in Dining Stadium's battle of the wills deteriorated to this: one minuscule bite of white toast remained on the plate of a desperate, crying three-year-old. Tears were streaming down his face as he demanded to be allowed to get "down." I got some reading material and hunkered down.

Realizing he was unable to convince me to release him, he called for his Mommy. Then his sister Bu came into the room. "Bu," called the forlorn toddler, to no avail. Twenty-five minutes went by. Grandma walked by and announced she was headed for the shower. "I hope you're finished before I am," she called said in a sing-song voice. Progress! He picked up the toast and took it to his mouth. He actually nibbled away a small crumb from his tiny bite-sized piece of toast.

At last his bigger sister Sizakele arose from her slumber and made her way into the room. "Geh-lay" he called out. Alas, he got a more sympathetic response from Bu. Forty-five minutes had passed. Another nibble was taken at the piece, making it about 50% smaller than when the battle began.

After an hour, Grandma came through - showered, fully clothed, hair done. Dumisani was still in his breakfast chair. Sixty minutes passed.

Finally, the took the rest of the piece to his mouth. I helped him pop it in, and we did a big dance together - he ate his toast and I let him get "down." The battle only took an hour and twenty-two minutes.

But that's not all.. there was the Green Bean Battle tonight. Aunt Sarah got her nephew a special plate called "Food Face". The supper menu was mac and cheese and green beans (and a tossed salad for us old people). I gave Mr. Food Face a green bean mustache and a head full of mac and cheese hair. Mr. Food Face was eaten bald twice and when there was a request for more mac and cheese I suggested that he eat his green beans. Again, a response equal to me suggesting that I blow up his favorite little Ohio State football. So, to make his choices clearer I cut a small piece of green bean for him (about 5 millimeters long)He cried for his Mommy who came and cut his tiny piece of green bean in half. After a brief 15-minute standoff, not willing to put everyone through another hour-plus ordeal, I grabbed half of the tiny bite and "encouraged" it into my son's mouth. Then we all gave him wild applause while I put half-a spoonful of mac-and-cheese on Mr. Food Face's forehead. After he ate more mac and cheese, he picked up the second half of the green bean bite and stuck it in his mouth, to more (and more enthusiastic) applause. He spent an hour or so after dinner saying "I ate green!"

I'm not sure he gets cause and effect yet, but so far the score is Daddy 2, Dude 0. And the second score resulted in him realizing that it's ok to eat green. We shall overcome!

What Am I Passing?

When I have the time I love to play with my son. Last week we hung out in the backyard, as we often do, and he discovered a long dried out reed that makes for a long, light, and yet surprisingly durable pole. Since this discovery, we've played a little "baseball" with it and a little tug-o-war, but his favorite thing to do is what he's doing with it here in this picture, kind of twirling it like a baton, like a band drum major.

My Dad was the drum major of his high school band and when he went to OSU he was a cheerleader - he got to catch all the girls. :) I like to use batons, too - conductors' batons. My son waves his arms like a conductor when he hears certain music - especially an instrumental version of the Star-Spangled Banner. On days when the kitchen radio is on at noon Christina gets to observe this. I guess in many ways, the nut doesn't fall far from the tree.

As I saw my son play with his "baton" I thought of the kind of baton one passes to another in a relay, and began to think about what I'm passing on to my son. What do I want to pass on to him? What do I not want to pass on to him?

That's easier to identify, I think... I do not want to pass on to him my own stupidity, my own insensitivities, my ability to do things the hard way, always.

I thought about Moses and Joshua and Elijah and Elisha. What would have happened if Joshua had become obsessed with Moses' staff and not Moses' mission? What if Elisha wanted Elijah's mannerisms instead of a double portion of the Spirit that rested upon Elijah?

I don't want to pass on my preferences and style - my penchants and idiosyncrasies... that doesn't mean I smile when he or his sisters do stuff like I do. But I sometimes grimace for the same reason.

No, I don't necessarily want to pass on a physical or temporal baton to any of my children. Instead, what I want to pass on is the power of God which I desire to be at work in my life as well as theirs. I want to pass on the mission I should be on: seeking first His kingdom and His righteousness, pressing on to know the Lord and allow His reflection to be seen in me.

More than style, more than perfect conducting patterns or a sport or a family tradition - I want my son and daughters to know and love my Lord and experience His power and grace in their lives. May it be so.

A Generation That Knows God

I want my children to have a great experience of God in their lives… to know His power at work in their circumstances, and, even more than that, for them to sense His presence in their lives. Today I was struck by the words written of Israel, that after Joshua died, a new generation came up, one that had not known God’s work. (Judges 2:10) One vivid translation (The NET Bible) reads, “They had never personally experienced the Lord’s presence or seen what He had done…”

The preceding verses describe how Israel had remained faithful in the worship of God as long as Joshua and his contemporaries were alive. As soon as the last of his friends died, though – boom! – the floodgates opened and the new generation that didn’t know the Lord began to stray. In fact, it seemed like it was more of a sprint than a gradual straying. Almost immediately, they began to worship false gods.

I have had several amazing experiences that I can only explain by saying that God’s presence came upon me or the group of people with whom I was. As the old Gospel song says, “I know God is real for I can feel Him in my soul.”

But what for those who cannot feel, because they have not yet had an experience with Him?

What about my kids and their generation?

As I read this morning, I felt impressed by several things:

1. Nothing is more important than passing the faith on to the next generation… my kids should get my first and best efforts at it, and then I should do what I can to invest in others in the next generation.

2. I need to make sure that my relationship with the Lord is real, otherwise I will be passing on a stale set of values with no experiential power or authority. OK, I haven’t processed this to make it sound wondrously theological… but if it ain’t happenin’ in my life, I think my kids will see through that and my attempts at passing the faith will be in jeopardy.

3. God is “jealous” for His people – even for a generation that does not know Him. Even in those generations, the book of Judges reveals that God gave them leaders to mercifully (in spite of their rebellion) deliver them when their suffering became too great to bear. Of course, after their leaders delivered the people, the people went back to their false gods and immorality, but yet there was always at least a tiny group in each generation who had a relationship with God and who God called upon to do great things for Him.

Maybe these things are on my mind because we are in the thick of selecting a new Youth Director at the church that I serve, or maybe because my girls are teenagers and I want to make sure they’re rock-solid with the Lord before they fly out of our nest in a few short years. Or, maybe it’s because I’m seeing my two-year-old grow up before my eyes and I am wondering if he will at an early age trust in and decide to follow Christ as his big sisters have. I pray daily that he will. What kind of world will he live in? What will his generation be like? Will he be a Joshua? A Daniel? A Stephen?

Lord, please work in my life so my relationship with You continues to grow. May my kids and others in the next generations be able to see You at work in my life in a living faith, and may they be drawn not to the faith of a father, but to the living Lord who has come to bring them life and life more abundantly. May they forsake idols! May they follow You and love You with all their heart, mind, soul, and strength. Give me the privilege of being part of humbly, lovingly, yet passionately showing them the way. Amen.

A Funny Thing Happened at the Post Office Today

Christina, Dumisani and I visited our local post office today to renew passports and get one for Dumisani. We're preparing for our world tour.

While we were at the counter, we noticed a couple shuffle in and look around. They looked like they'd be lost at a Burger King, let alone the post office. The clerk looked up, noticed them and asked if they were there to apply for a passport. The man was. The clerk told them to pick up an application and then asked if the guy had proof of US citizenship. "I have a driver's license," the man said.

"No," said the clerk, "I'll need a birth certificate."

"A birth certificate?" the man asked.

"Oh no, he cain't git a birth certificate," the woman who was with the man blurted out, obviously distressed.

"Why not?" asked the clerk.

"'Cause he's from Arkansas." came the answer.

Do they not have birth certificates in Arkansas?

Good Morning

Dumisani loves to play the piano. He climbs up on the bench by himself and plays usually one note at a time. Occasionally, he plays with both hands - and usually sounds something like John Cage or another composer from the end of the 20th century, except with a little more melody. His favorite thing to do at the piano, however, is to play a note and look at me to see if I will sing the note he plays. I often play with him, and he loves to see if Daddy can sing a low note and then a high one. He hasn't learned to distinguish octaves yet so this game is a little easier than it seems until he gets into the last two and a half octaves of the piano - then he can tell when he's being had. At that point, though, he likes to play three short notes going up to the top of the keyboard. I usually scream out three notes at the top of my falsetto - kind of sounds like Elmo. He laughs and starts the game over again.

This morning, however, he played a couple of notes and stopped suddenly. On the kitchen radio (which I couldn't hear very well from the piano) he heard a familiar chord and the higher overtones of the guitar introduction for "Revelation Song." Dumisani ran from the piano and stood in front of the radio, transfixed. He asked, in his way, for the radio to be turned up. After it was at a sufficient volume I figured he would go back to the living room and play with blocks or climb back up on the piano bench. Instead, he stayed standing in front of the radio until the song was finished. He just stood there and listened.

One of the songs playing on the radio before "Revelation Song" was a Sonic Flood tune whose title I don't remember but some of the lyrics were "I will worship as I wait for You." I thought of those words as I watched my son standing in front of the radio.

Enjoying Saturday mornings at home seems like a rare privilege these days, and I'm thankful I got to enjoy this morning.

I was appalled as I signed into my blog to discover that my last post was in July! I'm not so vain to think that many people (or any people) read my blog, but still... let's see if I can do a little better this year. :)