Dear Reader,
I’m writing this down sitting on my couch, sharing eye contact with Mary Ellen, and for the last 20 minutes, we have been talking to each other, albeit babbling but talking nonetheless. I have no idea what she’s saying. She likely has no clue what I am saying, but here we are, talking, and over the course of this conversation, I had been asking myself what I was going to write in celebration of Mary Ellen’s fourth month of life, and through our comfort, through our talking, I figured it out: regret.
No, it’s not necessarily the most fun thing to talk about as I wipe spit up off of her face and underside of her neck, but I think it’s something that I’ve had to process for the last couple of months. It goes without saying that I am in a season of life where I don’t have that many regrets concerning the relationship with my daughter. I work from home most days. I get to see her every day. I change most of her diapers. We enjoy each other‘s company, and for the most part, our interactions lead to more smiles than tears. That’s a father’s dream—to share these moments.
But that’s not the case for every young father. I say this after hearing something from sports media legend Dan Patrick a couple of days ago when, at 70 years old looking at the coach of my beloved Seattle Seahawks, Mike McDonald, who is soon to be a father of two. McDonald, with a daughter in tow and a son on the way, received this word from Patrick: “Don’t waste these moments because if you do, you’re going to regret it.” I can’t imagine the thoughts popping through McDonald's head—precarious position to be sure, because in one sense it’s the typical thing to say to a young father, but it also came from Patrick’s sincere feelings. I had to ask myself the same question: what have I regretted thus far? Given my situation, it’s not the right one to ask. I decided to pivot when looking into Mary Ellen's eyes: will I be at peace with what I choose to miss?
Why do I say that? Well, it’s just a matter of facing facts—I won’t be at everything. I won’t be at every practice. I won’t be at every game. I won’t be at every recital. I won’t be there 100% of the time, but it’s worth noting that I have to be at peace with it because the sooner that I’m at peace with my non-perfect attendance rating, the more present I can be at the moment where I am. (And regret shouldn’t merely come from moments missed in person but also conversations not had, truths not shared, etc.)
I will say that, unfortunate circumstances aside, I should be a very present dad in Mary Ellen’s life. I should be someone who’s there for her. I should be somebody who stands up for her. I should be someone who continues to have conversations with her.
Mary Ellen and I will someday soon understand what each other is saying, carry on conversation, express feelings, and begin the road of discipleship, and I say all of this, not to pour water on the fire, but I don’t like the idea of regret. I don’t like looking at my daughter in her eyes years from now, in the midst of making future memories, and thinking of the lost opportunities.
“Perfect peace apart from Christ will never be found, but the Spirit is present to give us his peace to lead and guide as we shepherd our homes.”
Just last week, I missed one of her doctor’s appointments because I had some calls to deal with at work. That was something where I had to make a conscious decision and be at peace not being in that moment, yet here I am hours later in this moment: face-to-face with Mary Ellen, both grateful that I’m her dad and she’s my daughter.
So, to the dads and moms reading this, I’m not going to tell you, “Savor the moment, ‘cause you’re gonna regret them if you don’t,” because you’ve probably heard that enough. What I am going to say is this: find peace with missing the moments that you will ultimately miss, so that when you are present, gratitude and appreciation cloud any feeling of regret. Perfect peace apart from Christ will never be found, but the Spirit is present to lead and guide as we Fathers shepherd our homes. Regret can hollow out the present at the expense of lost hopes of cleaning up the past. The past can’t be changed, and the future is unknown, but the present is filled with opportunities to love, impact, and lead.
Can you step out for the call or take the work trip? Will you be at peace with taking a job that requires a cross-country move or an increased travel schedule? These questions are just as much for me as they are for you, and answers may vary, but when the time comes to be with your family—be present, consistent, and grateful in every moment. Your family notices.
As a father, I am called to lead my family in strength and grace, and that comes from being there. I am called to model a life that strives after Christ. Perfection is impossible, but consistency is achievable. This post is a mere time capsule four months into my life as a father, but I hope that years from now, I can look back without regret but instead with gratitude, spurring me forward with the confidence of what God has called me to do yet.