Christmas Pride & Joy

A little Christmas Card for you...

My kid's debut... Kinda Alfalfa like, don't ya think?




In the words of Tiny Tim..."God bless us, everyone."

Oh Boy!

There's a moment frozen in my memory of a time on the porch of my grandparents' home in Paducah.

I was 14. Jimmy was 9.

It was the only time I was with my Granddaddy after he was diagnosed with lung cancer and before he died.

I had spent a good bit of time that fall staying with school and church friends in Malesus while my folks were travelling up to Paducah to attend to him.

Like most kids who idolize their grandparents...I was pretty sure there was nothing he could not do, or would not do...for me.

Time, distance and back story confirm what is true for all of us. He wasn't perfect. Far from it.

But he was a good man.

I don't think any of us knew that this would be my last visit. He died so quickly after being diagnosed.

But there we were. On the porch of my Grandparents' house on Farley Place in the working class, blue collar part of Paducah. It is on that street that my branch of the Jeffords' family tree takes root. Four generations of us have lived and died there. My dad was born there.

My Granddaddy and father were on the gliding porch swing. Jimmy was running around the front yard being who he was. I was sitting on the porch taking it all in.

Grandaddy was noticeably weaker than the last time I had seen him. He had started radiation. He had the marks on his chest, like little tattoos, marking the spots where radiated energy was focused.

His voice had a different timbre. It wasn't brusk, self-confident and self-assured (his favorite line to launch any conversation was, with index finger pointing at the subject at hand, "Well, I'll tell you one thing...." and then proceed to tell five or six things before he was done). It was hushed, a little raspy, and pitched higher...

Friends, neighbors and fellow church members came by to check on Cecil Lee (that middle name is on ongoing legacy I share with both my Grandfather and father) . The church, Trinity United Methodist Church, where my father grew up and answered the call to ministry, and where I was born and baptized, used to meet in a beautiful stone structure just a half block around the corner from my Grandparents' house.

Each visit of passersby ended with words of prayer and love, and he repeated them with a gentleness that seemed out of place from who I had understood him to be. It's not that he wasn't a caring man. It's the way he talked that day that didn't fit the image of the man I had grown up to see as invincible.

My memory of that day is framed in many singular observations, and what in retrospect they came to mean. The next time I would see my Grandfather, it was in his casket, and on the occasion of his funeral I cried more deeply than I ever had before or have since - except for one other time far more recent.

But that day...among the things I recall...and the stuff that gives spark to this memory, was the interaction between my Grandfather and my own father. The men in my life who shaped who I am carry particular character. Granddaddy and my dad are the men who influenced me most in those formative years. No question about it.

And there they were...not my Grandfather and father...rather, my Granddaddy and his boy. I've often wondered what they saw in each other that day...were they looking ahead at what was coming...or was it a reflection of where their life together had taken them?

There was a look of pride in Granddaddy's eyes as he looked at and talked to his boy...I remember that look. I've seen it since...in the ways my own father looks at me...and tells me what he sees in me that I don't and sometimes can hardly believe.

It's the look I find is mine now when I look at my own boys....all of them.

And when I look at this photo taken of my oldest, standing in the pulpit...taking part in Youth Sunday...I remember that look.

It's one that any who watched me watch him noticed. It's one I had for my middle child who also offer leadership in the same service. It's the look of gladness and awe of my youngest who offered leadership the week before.

We all have pride in our kids...as we should. They inspire us and infuriate us. They command more energy than we think we have, and we give it anyway. They run our lives and ruin our schedules. They give love and joy and there's nothing we wouldn't do for them...even to the end.

My life is so topsy turvy right now I'm meeting myself coming and going. And yet, I have to remind myself that I asked for this. And in the end, I want it. And I want my boys to know how much they matter.

"They're going to follow in your footsteps," I hear very often.
I don't know...that's really not up to me. But if any of them do, I hope they find the value of the trail blazed before them as I came to know in my pastoral journey.

"That boy is just like you."

Oh my dear Lord, I hope not...and God help them if they are. Except that if they come to know the pride of their children that I have in mine...that'll be fine with me.

Look Me in the Eyes

I find that when I'm in a deep parenting "conversation" with any of my kids, I will have to, invariably, tell them to "look me in the eyes" when they're talking to me, or when I'm talking to them.

I want them to know I'm serious, and I want to see what cues they're leaving me about whether or not they're "feelin'" me, or if I can pick up anything they're trying to hide.

They hate when I do that. And I know it.

So when media pundits were commenting that at the recent presidential debate one of the candidates didn't look at the other one the whole night, it wasn't lost on them.

It's a life lesson worth learning.

Eyes that look away, eyes that avert the presence of the "other," whoever that is, are tough for me to take.

When we look at each other, eye to eye, we can see who we are. Eye to eye is powerful when people are of one accord - words need not be spoken. There is a line of communication that operates at level so deep that words are not needed, in fact, in moments such as this, they usually get in the way. Eye to eye communication is often what one has when put in a situation when words cannot be spoken.

Eye to eye we are in relationship.

There are people in my life who know, despite what I may say about how I'm doing at any given point (you know, the old gratuitous "fine" that is the reflexive response to "how are you doing?"), know if I'm telling the truth or not by looking me in the eye.

Mama always said I was a bad liar. Darn it.

To look each other in the eye when people are in discord may be the best reason why it is necessary. Failure to look each other in the eye in such moments bespeaks lack of respect, and such lack of acknowledgment communicates, either tacitly or explicitly, that the one who is different than you or disagrees with you is of lesser value than you.

The polarization of our politics, theology and churches has bred a perpetual state of acrimony, distrust and a "ends justifies the means" mentality facilitated in no small part by the aversion to look each other in the eye and see each other for who we are.

"The eyes are the windows to the soul," it is said.

To look deeply into the eyes of someone with whom you are in intense disagreement means you can't dehumanize them. And to look at someone that you cannot dehumanize means you have to see them for who they are - people made in the image of God.

And maybe that's why we don't do it - we have to make a conscious decision between our positions and the presence of God I'm not sure I want to see.

When we choose the former over the latter, as we are, sadly, want to do, then we make of our position an idol.

What's Today??? - You Tell 'Em Andy Williams!

The First Day of School!!!!

Bee-Dix the Cat, a PostScript

Kristy and I had made the decision to talk about Felix when Jack brought it up, but not until then.

Don’t know if that’s the best thing, but it’s what we chose.

Our kid is very bright, and while he didn’t talk about Felix a bit for almost two weeks, the night before we were to load up and come home from vacation, he came up to me, unsolicited and unexpectedly, and said,

“I think when we get home our cat’s going to have missed us.”

Oh, here we go.

I almost think he'd known all along and thought it was time to broach the subject we were avoiding. A little later Kristy and I sat with Jack out on the dock at the cottage, overlooking the little lake that is the daily stuff of our fishing for brim and bass and the surface on which the little RF controlled boats do battle.

“Jacky,” I said, “you know how sick Felix was, right?”

A head nod yes.

“Well, Felix died.”

“When?” he asked.

“Just before we left for vacation.”

I was thankful he didn't ask "how."

The realization that Felix was gone hit him and his reaction hit me. The reality of loss, any loss, has a particular look, and little six year old eyes hold the sadness in a way that was hard to watch. He welled up, hung his head – and then, as if on cue, and as Kristy predicted, he said, “Well, can I have another pet?”

“Yes, we’ll talk about that when we get home.”

“When I can I have another pet?”

“One of these days,” I said. “Let’s give it some time.”

“How much time?”

I swear, that kid wears me out! And I have little doubt the sounds of a little animal will fill our house again before long.

I’m holding out hope the sound will be a whimper and a bark, and not a purr and meow.

But of course, it’s all about the kids, right?

Bee-Dix the Cat

I'm a dog guy.

I've had cats in my life before, but my affinity for dogs is lifelong. Don't know if it's that "man's best friend" thing or not - but something about the canine satisfies.

When the day comes that a dog re-enters our family life, I will be it's calm, assertive pack leader (Guess who watches and is mesmerized by "The Dog Whisperer"?).

Having said that, though, my heart is breaking because we put our 16 year old cat down today.

Felix has been in our lives since before Andrew was born. He has endured three kids, two dogs and three relocations.

As cats go, he was sweet. Not to me, so much. There was never any question, Kristy was his. And yes, that last sentence is stated correctly.

His health has been failing the last year, and the past couple of months especially. We've pursued the usual tests and pondered courses of treatment.

"Cancer" remained out there as the likely issue.

Symptoms have been worsening, and all the while Kristy and I have wondered what to do, how far to go, when to consider ultimate issues.

Thankfully, our vet was grace-full enough to say out loud what we were scared to. It didn't make the choice any easier, but there is something validating to hear someone tell us that the best decision is often the most painful one.


Now, how to talk about this with the boys . . .

It's not like my family hasn't face death before . . . but it's never easy. It's also more difficult when you have to deal with the questions that this outcome was hastened by decisions made by us.

My older kids get it. We're trying to figure out what to tell the little one.

In the meantime - I'm thankful to have had Felix in our lives.

Oh, and the title of this post? As Christopher was learning to talk, every word had "B" sound whether one was called for or not.

Very cute. So, "Felix" was "Beedix." And it stuck.

Here's Jacky . . . .

On the same day this week, we registered our oldest son in high school, and our youngest in Kindergarten - and of course, our middle son for the 6th grade.

I'll ponder more about my older boys later - but today I want to think about my baby - Jack.

You know how it is when you have a moment when you realize that the way you understood someone had changed?

That's the way it is with Jacky.

This little fireball of energy, smarts and stubbornness is about to be unleashed on an elementary school.

Kristy and I have asked for the strictest Kindergarten teacher there is - with hope that she'll not be swayed by his baby blue eyes, his "on command" pout, or his cutesy double-crown hairdo that could give Alfalfa a run for his money.

As if from an episode of "Mission:Impossible," we trust this is one such mission she'll choose to accept.

And I feel the transition again in me - of our children growing into young men - my hope, laced with fear, that I'm doing my part to make them into people of character, and the parent's joy in knowing that my life is full (and usually overflowing) by these three, very different people (from the same genetic pool, no less).

A Freshman in the House

One more sign that life is about to change, again.

My wife and I, along with our oldest son, attended the incoming freshman parent/student meet n greet at
HIGH SCHOOL tonight.

That's right, kids, High School.

There's something about the smell of a high school gym - you know what they say about olfactory triggers of memory. When we gathered in the gym for orientation, I commented, "this smells like high school."

Eager parents were there along with their excited offspring (although the aforementioned offspring presented themselves as being nonplussed, gotta look cool don't you know).

Being the observer of people that I am, it was case study time.

And I've come to a conclusion. I don't think you can go into a high school, any high school, without the engrams of your own memory firing up reminding you of when you where in your own.

Now what you do with that remembrance varies. Some folks take that remembrance and place it proper perspective. For others, though, it was as if they were in high school again.

Those folks scare me.

With only a handful of notable exceptions, there really is not much about my own high school experience I would want to remember or relive, either in actuality or vicariously through Andrew.

But as I watched my boy, the young man he has become, I couldn't help but notice that glint of excitement in his eye - and maybe a little fear, too - that a new chapter awaits him this fall.

The stories, the joys and pains - the journey that awaits.

It's not one I can take for him - but I think I will be taking it with him.

A Vicarious Life

I cringe when I witness parents living vicariously through their children.

You know, parents at their kids' sporting events literally losing their minds.

Coaches who talk to kids like they're pros. And coaches who belittle their own children (who happen to play the high profile positions -hmm, wonder how that happens) to the point of everyone's discomfort, because they dropped the ball or missed the tackle.

Parents whose praise to criticism ratio is slanted way too far on the latter end of the scale.

Parents who can't let kids be kids because they themselves haven't quite yet grown up, or there's something that has passed them by in their youth that cannot be relived or reclaimed no matter how hard they try.

I don't know, maybe the parent longs still to be validated -

or young, again -

or somehow have their spawn reach glorious heights not because they did in their own, but precisely because they didn't.

I never really understood it.

But when I look into the eyes of my 14 year old - I find it difficult to not think of my life at his age. An age that was very, very good. A time of adventure, quite a bit of fun, discoveries of varying kinds to pursue (now would be a good time to remind you that I am a P.K.).

When I look at Andrew I have to be careful that I'm looking at a young man I've loved and reared, and not myself when I was 14.

I find that I want him to know the kind of things I did (well, some of the things I did), the music I listened to (and still do), my performance in school , and when the time comes, what it means to be serious about a girl - and, when the time comes - what answering God's call for your life looks like -

And I have to ask myself , "why?" Why do I want him to know this?

So that he'll like me? No.

So that he'll think his old man is cool? There's nothing I could say to help make that happen.

Within each of us is the longing to share our stories - it's our motivation in the sharing that is the variable.

And maybe that's the thing - what I need to do is not convince him I was 14 once, but be ready, when the time comes, to share my life with him (in all it's faults and failures) at his initiation, and let him be the man he's becoming.

Rites of Passage - A Day in the Life

We've just finished the annual birthday barrage in my family.

I now have a teenager (boy, do I). More on him in a minute.

I have a 10 year old, caught in-between. So full of himself, he longs to be 18, but still so much a boy. Caught in-between...I am a middle child. I get it more than he thinks I do.

And then there's the King of the Castle, my 4 year old, in whose realm I am privileged to dwell.

The stuff of one day in the life of my family gives me pause to consider the rites of passage that occur daily...if I'm paying attention.

My favorite Robert Fulghum book is not the one about kindergarten. Rather, it's "From Beginning to End: The Rituals of Our Lives." In this book he talks about the many rites of passage we experience in each and every relationship. Each moment, each transition carries the sacred with it, and if we're attuned to it, we recognize the gifts the little "rites" are.

They make up a life.

So, on one particular day this past month, I was especially struck by these rites of passage.

It was Andrew's (13) birthday. And he had a date. Yep...that's right, he had date.

We participate with some other clergy families in monthly social outings, and this month, it was bowling/skating/lasertag. Andrew invited his "girlfriend" with him. We had not yet met the "girlfriend." I'd spoken to her several times on the phone.

Well, I don't know if you call "hang on a moment, and I'll get him for you," a conversation, but I've said it to her, several times, while she was on the other end of the line. (Did I miss something? When was it o.k. for girls to call guys?)

We met her, her mother and little sister before taking off on our "date." Her mom hadn't met us yet, either, and she was more than a little curious about who these people were that were going to be with their daughter for a night. Can't blame her that.

So we had that going on...

Also, that evening before we took off, Christopher (10), and Jack (4), got into a, uh...disagreement. That's not so unusual in my house. But this was different. As they stood before us to explain what happened, it was the first time that Jack waited patiently, with his hands on hips, for Christopher to give his side of the story, and then, when asked, offer his rebuttal and give his own version.

It was stunning, and he did it perfectly! I think he's going to be a lawyer.

I caught myself thinking, "Gosh, I have no more babies." Of course, that is by my own choice given the very specific thing I've done to make that no longer possible. So any longing for more or misgivings of my choice, if present, are fleeting.

But there was more going on in me. Recognizing that it was a big birthday for Andrew, and obviously a big night (at least he hoped), I was struck by the continuum of life and how it does march on. You see, if you want to know what Andrew looked like as a baby, as a kid...look at Jack.

The resemblance is amazing.

So, I'm listening to Jack, thinking about Andrew, and realizing how much we've all grown...and changed.

That's what the recognition of these rites of passage do. They cause us to reflect. They bring out the essential character of life. It is through the little thing that the big thing becomes so clear. More and more I'm convinced this is how God works.

Perhaps in each of our days there should be time to reflect upon that which has and is changing in us and use that as cause for celebration or warning for behaviors gone awry to be brought back into check before they get out of hand.

And now, the rest of the story...

As if my moment of reflection had not reached an apex, there was more to come. At the end of our evening, I had to drive Andrew's "date" home. And of course, Andrew went along, too.

Now, some of you have noticed that I'm driving a different car. I'm driving a '92 Lexus. It belonged to my in-laws, and they "made me an offer I couldn't refuse" (imagine Vito Corleone's voice here). It's a beautiful car, and I'm glad to drive it, and it's certainly not anything I could drive under any other circumstance. And let me tell you, it'll gitty up and go, too!

But, if you're a guy and you're escorting your date home, driving from Collierville to Germantown in a sweet ride is a plus. I have to confess a combination of unease and curiosity as they both climbed into the back seat, and I became chauffeur.

Being the conscientious driver that I am, I was proud of how often I needed to check my rearview mirror to make sure we were safe on the road. Precious cargo aboard, don't you know!

But wait, my work wasn't done. There was one more role to play - DJ. As soon as we got rolling, Andrew asked me to turn on some music.

But did he want the radio? No.

Did he want "his" music? No.

"Dad, why don't you turn on some of that music you like?"

"You mean my 70's Soul and R&B?" I asked, knowing all along what he was thinking.

He is my kid, after all.

So, on Andrew's 13th birthday, with his first date, the old man escorted the young couple home as Earth, Wind & Fire sang "Can't Hide Love," and "Reasons" (the live version, of course).

You have to understand, EW&F was a pivotal band in my adolescence. I have owned several of their albums since the mid-1970's, and now CD's. I learned to sing soul by imitating Maurice White (a product of Memphis). Back when my voice was really high, I could give Phillip Bailey a run for his money (not really, I just thought I could). I learned harmonies with buddies as we sang cruising in south Jackson. EW&F was among the groups comprising the soundtrack of my teenage years.

To have my kid serenading a girl to my music - while I'm in the car....

(in the words of Frank Barone) "Holy crap!"

déjà vu. . .

twilight zone. . .

rite of passage. . .

ontological shock...all rolled up into one.

That's one day in the life of my family. I'm going to bet that if you pay attention, you'll be amazed at all the little things that become huge when cast across the span of your days. These rites of passage define the transitions of our living.

In those transitions, there is God, waiting, I suspect, to see what we'll make of them.

Jacky Loves Me, This I Know, For He Told Me So

The following appeared in our church newsletter at the close of the Lenten journey, 2005

Wasn’t that long ago – maybe six weeks. He said it. I don’t know what clicked in him, but out it came from his mouth – Jack, our three year old, passed by me on the couch, reached up, hugged me, and said, without any solicitation from me, “I love you, Daddy.”

By way of reminder, his previous response to our expressions of love was, “yes, you do love me.”

Well, it goes without saying, that little twerp melted my heart, again. And while he still says, “yes, you do love me,” on his terms and in his time, usually the unexpected one, that he’ll tell me of his love for me. I’ve come to believe it’s the time I most need to hear it.

There’s something remarkable, even miraculous, watching your children grow up. In this, though, experiencing him “speak love” is so enchanting – so heart stirring.

He’s growing in so many ways right now – claiming the “I” pronoun is among the most surprising. This little conversationalist is right there in the middle of what’s going on and participating in the dialogue. He’s not only present – he’s engaged in the dynamic of our family. And while we’ve done this twice before, it’s still just as amazing with Jack.

You know, our Lenten journey culminates in a week depicting the most dramatic elements of the Christian narrative. Through it, though, don’t you hear God, our Heavenly Parent, saying in more ways than we can count, “I love you?”

And if this Lenten time is one of growth for each of us, and for all of us, how then are we able to claim that love of God expressed so powerfully for our sake – so that we can chart trajectories of reciprocity? (Boy, doesn’t that sentence sound a bit elitist!?)

The freedom and release of Easter is not just Jesus from the tomb, it’s for us to live as resurrection people in the now. It is for us to not only claim love, speak love, but live love in the name of the One who loves us.

My children are guiding my spiritual formation. And Jack reminds me again and again, that I must speak love and live love.

“Loving One, Holy God, Mother, Father, Friend – I love you, may I be the love I claim in you.”