We Were All Always All Together

Reflections on the Space Between Austin & Houston

Looking old came as quite a surprise to me. It happened all at once. When my oldest daughter graduated high school in May, we took a lot of pictures. That’s not surprising. What I found surprising is that I suddenly looked like someone who had a daughter old enough to start college.

The gray in my beard, which for many years was more pepper than salt, is now thoroughly salty. They crow’s feet which used to crinkly during the biggest belly laughs are now present with the slightest smile. Biceps which have done more curls than I could count, look now like biceps, well, old man biceps. Everything is falling.

Today that daughter who graduated in May is at The University of Texas at Austin for a week of orientation. The first day was also Parent Orientation, so, of course, Rochelle and I attended. Yes, we bought the Four-Year membership in the University of Texas Parents Association. Malia was so overjoyed all day, more than that, she was otherworldly excited. She met her roommate and a few of her professors. We learned that out of 1,300 student who applied to the UT Liberal Arts Honors Program, she was one of the132 admitted. We sang “The Eyes of Texas.” We learned about sororities and financial aid deadlines, and bought T-shirts at the UT Co-Op.

And I cried.

And I cried some more.

In fact, I’m crying right now.

Tears

Tears aren’t surprising. I’ve been crying about her leaving our home for about 11-months. I’m a mess and I know people are tired of hearing about it. All the same, this is where I am. This is who I am. When I see childhood pictures of Malia, when a memory flashes across my mind, when I drive past a place of great memories, or see her smile, I’m transported back through all the years we’ve shared with her in our home.

If you’ve followed me, read my writings, or heard me speak, you probably know that Rochelle and I were never supposed to be able to have children. When Malia came along, we thought we had been immensely blessed. Turns out, we were. Our children, both Malia and Kate, are the best. Life would be so much less fun and interesting without them.

But I’ve cried everyday for 11-months. But not for the reasons you might think.

I’m not upset she is leaving. I’m not sad. I’m not upset at her school choice or her selection of a major. I’m not anxious about the cost of college or fearful of the new, and often strange, people and temptations ahead of her.

My tears are the fruit of gratitude.

I am grateful to simply know my children. I’m honored to be their dad.

Malia and Kate are smart in ways I never will be. They are funny and clever and compassionate. They challenge the ways I see the world and the way I have thoughtlessly inherited belief systems which may have worked for previous generations but does not work for them.

Together

I’m grateful for the laughter and the tears. I’m thankful for the 6+ months that COVID forced us to shelter in our home. It was horrible for so many, but I felt like we got a little bit of together time back.

Rochelle and I didn’t have much support when the girls were little, no parents a few miles away to provide babysitting for date nights and overnight getaways. Our vacations were always low cost and high touch — cross-country road trips where we made sandwiches out of the back of our Honda CR-V rather than paying for restaurants or fast food. We bummed nights on couches of friends across the states. Meals out were ordered from the kid’s menu and often shared. When we cobbled together enough money for a hotel, we squeezed into one room. When I was beginning to travel and speak, we turned conferences and church visits into family trips, with honorariums and love offerings paying our expenses day-to-day. One summer we spent 10-nights in a row in a very tiny hotel room with barely enough room to walk. I stumbled to the hotel lobby bathroom to get dressed so the girls could share the bathroom in the hotel. Even now, our best nights are those spent in our upstairs “Pajama Lounge” cuddled together and watching one of our favorite TV shows or mocking Hallmark Christmas movies.

We were all always all together.

And today I am reflecting on the space between Austin and Houston. How it’s needed. How it hurts. And how to handle it.

Miracles In Our Midst

And I’m so thankful God gave us this miracle for this time.

Thing is, I bet God has given you some miracles too. The problem is that when they aren’t children who weren’t supposed to be born, like Malia, we risk not noticing that they are miraculous and that missing might mean we are less grateful for them than we should be.

My tears are tears of gratitude. And they are the best. I wish you cries of gratitude.

So, who are your miracles? What are their names? And what is stopping you from picking up the phone right now, calling them, and telling them who they are to you?