Good morning. This coming Sunday I have a dear friend who will celebrate Father's Day for the first time. Just a few days shy of his 37th birthday, Ryan became a father when his son, Marshall, was born on February 7, 2017. If having a child came easy for you, then it is almost impossible to fully understand the long and difficult journey that Ryan and his amazing wife, Teresa, endured to become parents.
For four long years their prayers for a child went seemingly unanswered. Imagine, four years of fielding the aggravating questions of well-intentioned relatives and friends who mistakenly thought it appropriate to ask, "so when you and Teresa having a baby?," or even worse, "what are you and Teresa waiting for?" 1,460 days of expecting that the joyful news of pregnancy was just around the corner. 35,040 hours of having to entertain the possibility that the deepest desire of their hearts might never be fulfilled.
And yet at no time did Ryan or Teresa abandon their faith in God's love, nor did they surrender their hope in God's promises. Despite the setbacks, they persisted in pouring out unconditional love to the children of Shiloh so that they might come to know Christ. Regardless of the delays, they continued their fervent praise and worship of God with their Manhattan church family. So a much deserved Happy Father's Day Ryan.
As for myself, I too will be turning 37 years old this November. I am so grateful for stories of faith like Ryan and Teresa that nurture my own dreams of what it might be like to become a father. Despite the opinions of my family and friends, I have not completely surrendered my hope in the ability of God's faithfulness to create such a possibility for me. Yes, I confess that my doubts make it feel like the windows of time and the doors of opportunity are closing fast. However, I still have moments where I think about what kind of father would I want to be if ever I had a son.
In the beginning I would start my days by lifting up my fear of revolting diapers and projectile vomit to the Lord. When evening came and all the diapers had been changed and the vomit cleaned up, I would stand over my's son crib every night and quietly sing a melody of lullaby hymns as he drifted off to sleep. "Be Still and Know," " I Love You, Lord," or "Oh Lord, You're Beautiful," it wouldn't matter which; just so long as it made him feel safe and loved. As soon as he could talk I would stop singing over him and start kneeling beside him saying our prayers together.
When it came time to learn how to read, I would surround my son with books of every kind so that a love for reading might take hold in him. Though I would not say yes to every toy, I would never say no to any imagination-generating book he desired. As for music, I would introduce my son to the Beach Boys when he needed cheering up, James Brown and Wilson Pickett when he wanted to dance, and Otis Redding when he fell in love.
Most important, I would want what Hannah wanted for her son, and that is for him to give his heart to the Lord. When he reached a certain age, I would find the courage to not keep my past sins from him and confess all my failures so that he might succeed where I did not. I would often take my son to the neglected corners of our city and we would make friends with the forgotten people living there. I would do my best to convince my son that there was no man or woman who was untouchable, unreachable, or unlovable.
Besides understanding the bottomless depths of my love for him, my son would know that I was always available. I would be available in times he wanted to laugh and in times he needed to cry . I would be available for his moments of achievement and for his moments of disappointment. I would be available if he ever needed me to share in the grief or wanted me join in the fun. Yeah, that's the kind of father I would be if ever I had a son
CJE