I had the good fortune of celebrating my 50-somethingth birthday this month. The best part of that day was having the opportunity to speak meaningfully with each of my three sons, now living in lands too far away. On one of those calls, my son mentioned that he had written me a note and offered to read it to me over the phone. I said that I would be glad for that. “Now Dad, before reading, I want to establish the context for this letter. The context is that I know that you are not perfect; I know you are flawed and haven’t done everything right.”
Now why would he lead with such a thing? Well, because he knows me, and it was a sweet expression of kindness to do so. In recent years he had observed me well and was acquainted with my propensity to deflect affirmations from him and his brothers,”— yeah but…”
As my wife and I have watched our boys become men— the nest now too empty— we have reflected much on the years gone by. Oh, the things we would do differently! Too many rules; not enough grace; my real emotions too restrained, and my parental fears expressed as anger. In these reflections, so many scenarios play high-def in my memories— volume on full blast. “Ugh, how could I have done that?” “Sigh—that was such a missed opportunity to express grace, kindness, and understanding.”
In more recent years, I have taken time with each of my sons to revisit many of these situations and dynamics. At times I have learned that the memory of an offense lives on only in my head—long forgotten by them. At other times, they did (and do) remember times of stress, hurt, or sadness related to our family culture or my actions or inactions. But their responses have overwhelmingly been with a heart of grace and understanding—even expressions of gratefulness for good things done clumsily. On one occasion, one of the boys said to me, “Dad, if that wouldn’t have happened, we wouldn’t be sharing this moment right now.” What he was acknowledging was that we were not only restoring our relationship to a neutral baseline but amplifying our experience of knowing one another more deeply and loving one another for who we truly are—flaws and all.
When the birthday letter was finished my son said to me, “I love you, Dad.” I embraced these words with a new appreciation and renewed freedom. In a choked voice and with tears streaming, I said to him, “You know, as I reflect on this now, I realize that when you were young, I wanted you to love me as the person I most want to be. But now, as you and your brothers have each grown, matured, and have eyes to see what really is, my greatest delight is to understand that you love me as I am.”
There is a tremendous vulnerability in that journey towards being known in both our beauty and darkness. But it is in the work of that journey—acknowledgment, apology, forgiveness, and then redemption, that we come to discover the beauty and freedom of being truly loved. Too often we fight to remain in the shadows, trying to hide what those around us already see and know.
My encouragement to you (and to me—I still need it) is that you ease your way into the warmth of the light, be known, acknowledge the fullness of who you are, and maybe, just maybe, you will discover and hear, “If that wouldn’t have happened, we wouldn’t be sharing this moment right now.”
