You are all Children of God

–Galatians 3:26

And so it is Christmas Eve, a time when everyone is waiting. Waiting for Santa. Waiting for presents. Waiting to see the looks on the kids’ faces to make sure they’re happy with the toys they get. We’re waiting, always waiting

But that’s the problem with Christmas Eve and Advent; they suggest that we should be waiting for something, some miracle from above, some thing to happen to us.

But there just isn’t time.

There isn’t time to wait when children are being abused.

There isn’t time to wait when women are being dismissed as second-class (or even third-class if they’re pregnant) citizens.

There isn’t time to wait while hatred because of skin color grows.

There isn’t time to wait while whole nationalities are being kicked around for not being rich enough to buy their way into the country.

There isn’t time to wait while our city becomes convinced that only those who can count do count.

There isn’t time to wait while homosexual teens are being beaten, mocked and spat upon for being born different. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re all born different.

We’re all freaks and weirdos. We’re all illegals, second, third and last-class citizens.

We’re all the 99%. And we’re the 1% too–when we open our eyes enough to see the suffering that our getting is causing.

We’re all special-needs. We’re all black, white, women, men and children.

We’re all Children of God.

The miracle of Christmas eve isn’t that God came once. The miracle isn’t something we have to wait fro from the heavens. The miracle is that faith calls us all God’s sons and daughters. The miracle has already happened. So what exactly are we waiting for?

As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.

–Galatians 3:27-28

Advent and Christmas Eve aren’t about waiting for miracles. They’re about creating them. Our friends, our enemies, our sisters, our brothers, our parents, our neighbors, our strangers, and especially our Children, bless them every one, our Children can’t wait any longer.

It’s time for us to be the miracle that our would needs. Just in time for Christmas.

The post The Waiting appeared first on Geek Palaver.

Stephen King wrote once that God punishes us for what we can’t imagine. There is truth there. Yet the opposite is also, always a possibility. This is why life is so interesting.

God also amazes us with what we can’t imagine.

At 5:43pm eight years ago today, this happened to me when into my life came the girl.

Birthdays are hard on me. Not mine. I couldn’t care less about those. But the kids’ birthdays always kick me in the heart. There, as Croce sang, never seems to be enough time.

Life is a constant sprint. Running to the kitchen making sure that the strange smell coming out of the toaster isn’t dangerous. Racing to school. Speeding past the cop to get to ballet. Screaming down the hallway as I hear water splashing on the floor next to the tub. Our lives together are together. I think I’m getting at least that much right, but our lives are fast. And that breaks my heart.

I’m terrified, especially on birthdays, that I’m losing her a little more every day.

She’s flying past me as I try to grab hold of a moment. A moment where I can make the world better with just a raspberry on a belly. Just one moment where I can stop and hold my baby girl in my arms. Just a few more moments where she’s playing dress-up rather than actually getting dressed up.

[to go out and away]

But again, my imagination fails and God steps in to amaze. For every moment I spend wishing for her to remain my baby, I’m amazed by the beautiful, loving, funny girl that she has become. I’m stunned by her intelligence, shocked by her wisdom, surprised by her beauty.

I’m amazed, constantly amazed, that I get to spend my life watching her grow, helping her grow, pushing her to grow even though I don’t want her to, into such a caring young woman who is starting to seek out her own path in this world.

And for that, there might just be world enough, and time.

Happy Birthday, my sweet little girl. I love you.

The post To Be Enough Time appeared first on Geek Palaver.

When the pediatrician, at the boy’s two-year check-up, said to us, you’ll probably need to have him checked for autism, I wasn’t thankful.

Since this is a family blog, I’ll refrain from being frank with my language. Suffice it to say there was a rageful fear that stole over me in those moments. Followed rapidly by a little over two-million, one-hundred and two-thousand, four hundred other moments that were, to a varying degree, just like those first.

Fear of the future.

Rage for the disconnected now.

Fear of the hobbled hopes.

Rage at the ceaseless struggle to understand.

Fear at the thought that I never would.

rageful fear

There was little time for other as we rushed to find a way to help him. Knowing that every day he waits for a breakthrough is like three for another kid, we were rushing, raging against the fog of autism.

But there are clearings and breakthroughs. There is connection. There are times when the boy looks me in the eye and says, “I love you.” And the rageful fear fades.

For that and for so much else, I’m thankful.

I’m thankful that I’m learning to listen, really truly listen. My ears seek out the smallest syllable, the quietest question whispered in the middle of the night. And when it comes, I’m screaming for joy in my heart waiting for the next.

I’m thankful that I’m learning to live in the moment. To play when we’re playing. To climb when we’re climbing. To laugh when we’re laughing, and we laugh–he and I–often and loudly. To cry when we’re crying because we can’t connect. To lock eyes before we lock hands as we run to play.

I’m thankful for the community we’ve found and the friends, old and new, who just get it. There was a time when my off the scale introversion didn’t worry about losing a friend; I was foolish in my youth. As the boy’s friends have taught me, true friendship opens whole new worlds to explore and to love.

But mostly I’m thankful for this beautiful boy who bounces without reservation, who shouts with joy without concern, and who loves without shame. Despite the fog and the rage and the fear, I’m thankful for who my boy is.

I’m a blessed dad.

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