Confession: My Family Comes Third
“What are your life priorities?” I was asked.
I said the right answer.
God
Family
Work
I lied.
Here’s what I live: God, work, family.
I struggled with this truth. I want to live the correct answer, but I don’t.
So I asked myself, “If family is my third priority, does this mean they are not important?”
I struggled with this question. It doesn’t take but a random comment from one of my children to put me into a tailspin. “You’re just a workaholic,” or, “I haven’t talked to you in two weeks,” or, “When are you going to visit your grandchildren? They miss you.”
Ugh.
I should be a better father and grandfather. Right?
Just yesterday I was helping a young man who is contemplating a job transition. As part of my questioning to figure out where this thirty-year-old was in life, I asked, “Are you married?”
He said excitedly, “I am married, and we are expecting. We will have a little baby girl in a couple of months.”
I congratulated him and told him our story.
The day Julia, my oldest of four, was born, Kathy’s water broke at 3 am and we immediately called the doctor. “What do we do now?” We had the hospital bag packed per the instructions from the birthing class. The doctor sent us to the hospital at 6 am as the contractions got closer and harder.
Within a few hours, Kathy was on the birthing table screaming from the pain of each of the transition-stage contractions. I hated to see her in such agony. The doctor was telling her to push, and I was holding her hand helping her to breathe correctly. And she screamed again.
The doctor said, “Look. The top of the baby’s head.” I looked down there and was shocked by what I saw.
Then I looked at Kathy who was in tremendous discomfort. My beautiful bride looked at me with sweat dripping down her face and said, “Take me home now. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I said, “I would if I could, but I don’t think it is a good idea.”
One more push and Julia was born.
I read in the Bible the miracles God performed. From the creation of the world to the parting of the Red Sea to Christ raising Lazarus from the dead. But this, this was our personal miracle. There is no other way to describe the birth of my first child. As a man who was wholly uninvolved in the birthing process, it was a miracle. From nowhere, this new life appeared. My daughter, our daughter, was born. She suddenly was here.
Then the nurse checked Julia from head to toe, cleaned her up, and put her on Kathy’s chest. Mother and baby together. I’ll never forget Kathy’s tears of joy and how at peace she was with this new baby she’d just delivered. Her daughter.
Later when we were back in the room, they brought Julia from the nursery. The nurse who wheeled in the hospital bassinet asked me, “Do you want to hold your daughter?”
I thought, “My daughter?”
She had to show me how to hold a baby. I’d never done it before. I was afraid I would hurt her. She was so beautiful. So perfect. So soft. So little. She weighed nothing in my arms. All I could do was stare at her. Admire her. Just love her.
Now the miracle I’d witnessed was in my arms. This was not just Kathy’s daughter, this was my daughter, too. The nurse said so. She said, “…your daughter.”
When Julia was put into my arms, so many thoughts flew through my mind.
We are now a family.
We really are married forever.
I am a father.
This child will outlive me.
This child may one day care for me.
This is a human being made by us.
Oh my God!
What do I do now?
And the last thing I thought was, “I better get to work. I need to take care of my family.”
And that is the story of how Kathy and I became a family. And it all happened in a moment.
We had three more children after Julia, and I can tell you that each birth was a miracle. That same sense of wonder, that overwhelming experience of watching the birth of our child and the first breath. Their scrunchy face, the spindly little arms and legs, the booming cry, the innocence, the instant love. As I write this, it takes me right back to the birthing rooms and the moment it all happened. It may be the only miracle a couple witnesses on earth, but it is a miracle indeed.
That was the beginning of trying to figure out where in the world to put this new priority called family. It suddenly appeared, and it needed to be addressed.
I did go right back to work after leaving the hospital that day. I remember my entire office was decorated in pink by my co-workers. Many of them were already parents and knew better than I did what all this would mean to me. What it should mean to me.
I have story after story of how I treated my family right.
I have story after story of how I did not treat my family right.
Just like I had to learn how to be a husband and fit that into my work priority, I had to learn how to be a father. Now I am learning how to be a grandfather, my newest role in life.
But Kathy tells me I am a good father. She always told me that. And her words of affirmation gave me the confidence to continue to stay close to my children. And our daughters, who along with their wonderful husbands gave us the gift of grandchildren, also tell me I’m a pretty good “fa-fa.”
In spite of all these encouraging words, I get a little down on myself. I think I should be calling more, visiting more, attending more events. Then again, I am a believer that Kathy and I did our part. Our kids are now adults. They have their own lives to live, marriages to build, and children to raise.
God has been so good to us. Our family is growing more quickly. With our children having children, the growth is now exponential. And I always felt there is no greater blessing in life, nothing that makes life fuller, than children. They are the fruit of our godly relationship. They gave us joy in our youth and the blessings of grandchildren in our later years. Family is a miracle of God.
Whose turn now?
Kathy and I are pretty settled in our priorities. God is first for both of us. My work, for me, is second, and family is third. For Kathy, her work is family with ministry being third.
Now our children need to live their choices. I’ve talked about where they fit into our lives. Where will we fit into theirs?