Fathers and Sons

I really appreciated reading the following article that appeared in the most recent alumni email for Fuller grads:

Slowly but Surely
By Philip Carlson (ThM '93, MDiv '87)

We bring with us into every new day the memories and experiences of the past. For all of us there are parts of our story that are hard to forget: the injustices of life, experiences of being treated unfairly, the times when we were misunderstood, relationships that ended badly with no closure, hurts where no one ever said I'm sorry. How our past impacts our future is largely determined by the way we apply God's grace to our own hearts and the hearts of others.

Emotional healing has come slowly but surely for me through a growing recognition of God's love. The forgiveness I've received and given has helped facilitate the emotional healing that has set me free not to repeat the past. As God gave Carole and me our children, I committed to the Lord that they would grow up in a very different environment than I had. This meant more than avoiding the negative things that can leave lasting wounds in our children, but finding ways to convey the high value I place on each of them and leaving positive memories of a father who loved God by honoring them.

One of the things that I have done periodically over the years is to recite to my children the stories of the days they were born. I describe the events with careful detail, explaining our emotions throughout the day, especially as they were born and we held them for the first time. We may be sitting at home or riding in the car and I will just launch into the story. This is one of my idiosyncrasies of which they have never tired. I love to watch their expressions as I tell their stories. Each of them has favorite parts that I must not exclude. Brendan loves the end of his story the best. As I arrive at that part of the story he gets a look of enthusiasm that says, 'I love this part.' The end of his story goes like this: 'It was almost midnight and I was about to leave the hospital and go home. I decided to go to the nursery to see you one more time. When I got there the nursery was full, but you were front and center and the nurse was taking care of you. A number of people were standing there and several commented on how cute you were. As I stood there I felt so much love and joy that I thought my chest was going to explode and I pointed to you and said, 'That's my boy. That's my boy.''

Years ago I read in Gordon Dalbey's excellent book on the healing of the masculine soul that the thing sons most need to hear from their fathers is not 'I love you,' but the words 'You are my son. You belong to me.'

A couple of years ago, I took Brendan with me to visit someone in the hospital. As we walked holding hands, I said to Brendan, 'I love you, buddy. You are so precious to me. I am so glad that you are my son.' Brendan, who was about six, stopped dead in his tracks, looked up at me and said, 'I love it when you say that.' Now, I had made several statements and wanted to be clear about what he meant. So I asked, 'When I say what?' to which he replied, 'When you say what you just said: 'You are my son.''

'How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!' (1 John 3:1)