Monthly Archives: May 2011

I know it’s a relatively cliché thing to write about the little lessons about the Lord that I’m learning from being a father but that’s what you get this week. You’ve got to give me a little grace here, she’s my firstborn and I haven’t done it yet. So here we go.

I’m going to tell you two stories. One about a 15-year-old named Nelson and one about 3-month-old named Anaya.

Nelson came to the hospital about 5 months ago. He was quiet, reluctant to talk about his life, reluctant to come sit outside with me, and mostly just sat on his hospital bed waiting for the next treatment. He rarely smiled and stayed to himself. I visited him among many others and after a few visits he became a bit more friendly but still stayed quiet, still stayed sitting on his bed. Nearly every time I approached him he would offer only a blank look, eyes that spoke only of pain and loneliness and a weak handshake. I left the hospital many times wishing I had been able to connect with him better, draw him out of his suffering and see him smile when he saw me coming.

Anaya was born almost 3 months ago and for the first 2 months and 3 weeks she occasionally smiled but more often, like any newborn, she expressed herself by screaming or soft crying (MUCH worse than the screaming for a parent). She didn’t like being left alone, didn’t like going to bed, and pouted often even though she couldn’t communicate to me why she was so frustrated. I would put her to bed and whisper my prayers over her, speak my love over her and hope that she stopped crying soon. It rends my heart every time.

Something changed.

For Nelson it was about 2 months ago.

For Anaya it was just last week.

They started smiling when they saw me coming. At last they were able to express the immediate retreat of the loneliness that surrounds when they are left in their beds. Though it rips my heart to pieces to leave this child alone in a bed, I cannot express how much breath fills my lungs when I approach Anaya first thing in the morning or Nelson early in an afternoon, and see a huge smile.

Now I cannot wait to go see my daughter in the morning, to pick her up, see her eyes squint nearly closed, her lips curl out and up, her hands joyously bat the air and hear a squeal of joy to be reunited with her daddy.
And now I cannot wait to walk up to the hospital, catch a glimpse of Nelson looking out the window and hear a loud “Tio Jon!” escape from his lips, feel his arms drape over my shoulders as embraces me from behind and see his laughing smile dance across his face.

Today, loneliness lost. Today love won. Today, a child found a reason to smile. Today I was honored to represent Christ to a lonely child.

Though the sorrow may have lasted for the night the joy came in the morning.