No Coincidences

Tag: childhood

  • A Letter to my Brother

    A Letter to my Brother

    You think you’ve lived.

    You think you’ve loved.

    You think you’ve cried.

    You think you’ve felt.

    You haven’t felt anything yet.

    Prepare yourself.

    When that baby girl is born in June you’ll realize in one momentous second that you’ll never be the same.

    It’s the strangest thing. You’ve thought this whole time you’ve had a life and then in one moment you realize, “Woah.” Words can’t describe the moment a child is born. “Heart expanding” isn’t all encompassing enough. You’ve never had a heart until now. You realize all of a sudden every capacity to care and love that your being has possessed pales in comparison to this overwhelming feeling of care and protection you have for this helpless thing.

    It’s the craziest thing.

    Advice.

    Don’t blink. Dwell on how quickly time passes just enough to kick yourself into gear. So that when you’re tired, and, oh, you think you’ve been tired before now? You’ve never known tired. When you’re tired and grumpy and thinking you can’t wait until they just get out of diapers, or put on their own pants, or pour their own cereal, until you remember one day will be the last diaper, the last time helping them put on pants, the last time pouring their cereal. Remember every day that one day will be the last day for all these things, and it makes it easier.

    Don’t watch those “memories videos” iPhones make at any point after having a daughter. Unless you have 3 hours to spare melting into a puddle of sadness, joy, despair, and existential crisis thinking about how time goes by. And your girl grows.

    Don’t dwell on this too much or your heart will explode out of your chest.

    Don’t let the time go by without noticing.

    Don’t hate the sleepless nights too much, because, dare I even say, one day you’ll miss them.

    Many a father has experienced a new level of emotion when considering that their baby girl will one day grow up.

    So don’t miss a moment.

    Don’t listen to Beautiful Things once you have a daughter. Your heart can’t take it.

    Be careful listening to any songs.

    Be prepared for movies you used to enjoy taking on a whole new meaning. Hook is no longer a fun story about Peter Pan, it’s a story of fatherhood.

    You’ll have the HIGHEST highs and the lowest lows.

    In 5 years you’ll be a new person. You won’t even realize it’s happening. But one day you’ll realize, in an all-powerful moment – you are a new person. Probably a better person. You’ll learn so much you didn’t know you needed to learn.

    Your faith will grow. Your faith will be tested.

    Be a good father, and husband, at all costs. Nothing else matters as much as this.

    Be careful not to miss what she teaches you. Be like her.

    Don’t forget that children are angels sent from heaven and because of that, God will always watch over them, and you.

    Don’t forget to take her everywhere you can.

    Don’t forget that even sickness can be a blessing.

    ALWAYS embrace the chaos.

    I guess I could go on forever. But most of it you’ll have to learn on your own.

    Since you won’t be listening to Beautiful Things anymore I’ll give you my version:

    And I thank God every day
    For the girls He sent my way
    But I know the things He gives me
    He can take away

    And I hold them every night
    And that’s a feelin’ I never want to lose
    But there’s no man as terrified
    As the man who stands to lose

    Don’t be terrified. Just know time flies. Don’t waste it. Welcome to fatherhood.

  • Dontcha know I know

    Dontcha know I know

    All of Ivy’s life, when she’s been upset or crying, I’ve said, “Dontcha know I know?”

    This is my way of saying jokingly, “Don’t you know I know what it’s like to not want to get dressed, not want to eat certain food, to be hungry, to be tired, to be upset, etc.?”

    Today was Sunday. I woke up from a nap and I watched a video depicting the Atonement that Jesus Christ performed.

    Sage started crying in the other room. She’d been having a rough day. We think she has some acid reflux and stuff like that. Sometimes her tummy gets upset. This day seemed to be hard for her.

    Sage likes to tilt her head way back and stretch out her stomach. Apparently, this is a sign of acid reflux. I went to the other room and picked up Sage and put her into her favorite position. Head in my hands tilted back, stomach stretched, looking up at a ceiling fan (she LOVES looking up at ceiling fans).

    This provided a little relief, but she was still crying on and off.

    When Sage was still fussing, I started to say my automatic, “Dontcha know…”

    And that’s where I stopped.

    I didn’t know what it was like to have acid reflux, and for my stomach to hurt like hers did, and to not be able to find relief whatsoever on my own, and to only attain some relief if Mom or Dad came to hold me a certain way. Even if I had that experience as a baby myself, I don’t remember. I didn’t know or remember what Sage was feeling.

    But someone did. I believe that Christ, during that infinite and indescribable Atonement, even felt the pains of an infant with acid reflux. I believe He felt it all.

    “Children are alive in Christ” (Moroni 8:12).

    I couldn’t know what Sage was feeling. Dontcha know I didn’t know. But He knows, and He felt it, and He remembered it.

    When Sage cries she’s communicating to us that she needs help. It’s me and Beth’s job to come to her aid and help her with what she can’t help herself with. How many things, as adults, do we need help with that we can’t do ourselves? As adults, we think of ourselves as so independent. But all we do relies on the Lord. We rely on Him to allow our breath to work within our bodies, water to hydrate us, food to nourish us. These things don’t happen of ourselves but because of Him.

    God and Christ come to our aid when we need it and especially when we ask for it. Christ knows how to hold us just right to help ease our pain and give us relief. Rely on Him for aid just as little children rely on their parents. Be ye as little children (Matthew 18:3).

    Christ felt it. Christ remembers it. Christ experienced it. Turn to Him and He will help all our pains, challenges, and afflictions.

  • Vulnerable

    Vulnerable

    I listened to a self-love, guided meditation this morning. I was guided to picture myself as a young boy. The prompt was to say comforting words to that young boy. May I be happy. May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I live with ease. Each of these was followed with the guidance to remember a time I felt those things. “Remember a time you felt safe.”

    As I pictured that young boy in my mind, using old pictures and old family home videos to conjure up what I looked like, a deep emotion came over me. I started to cry.

    As I picture that young boy, and as I picture myself today, I see my father, my dad. What pressures did he feel raising 6 kids, working, going to school, and trying to keep it all together?

    I worry. I fear. I doubt. I pray daily that I can have patience and comfort in God’s plan. I am so blessed. Being blessed doesn’t always make this life easy. This life is challenging. It’s meant to be.

    I don’t think we talk often enough about the pressures of fatherhood. There are now two lives that completely depend on me for everything: Food, water, home, toys. (Of course, Beth is here too and I in no way mean to take away from motherhood).

    I have a family that relies on me to provide. There is a level of pressure that comes along with this that isn’t discussed often enough.

    I love this video:

    It perfectly captures fatherhood.

    I feel happy, safe, healthy, and loved because of what a Father (God) has always provided for me, and for much of my life a father has provided for me.

    I know we should be able to talk about it, the pressures, but dads don’t. We walk around with a burden and a pressure. It sometimes feels like the weight of the world is on our shoulders. Little lives depend on us. We work, trying to provide a life for our children. We come home and we continue to work. We are horses, we are friends, we are disciplinarians, we are a lot.

    If you have a father in your life that seems like he has it all together, if you see a father around you that seems stressed, if you interact with a father that seems angry, if you have a father in your life that seems frustrated, if you see a father that seems like he’s carrying a heavy burden that he can’t share with anyone: he probably is. Hug that man. Fathers need more hugs. Not hugs of pity but hugs of sympathy, hugs of appreciation, hugs of understanding. Understanding that this world is stressful. This life is hard. This life can be scary. And sometimes, as a father, you feel you’re the one battling back those realizations and experiences for your kids for as many moments as you possibly can. That is a difficult task. Because one day your children will learn what you have learned. That life can be hard and scary. You protect them from it as long as you can, but one day they will know.

    As a father, knowing that day will one day come for your little, precious gifts can pull your heart, stretch it in a nearly painful way. And you can realize how your (Heavenly) Father feels, watching us grow in sometimes painful ways.

    I know that fatherhood is important. I know that it’s hard. I know that it’s rewarding.

    I know I have a Father that allows me these experiences so I can grow. I know I have a father here that did so much for me while I grew to my own realization that life is hard. I was sheltered for so long. And I owe that to loving parents here, and there.

    I am grateful to them for that.