Fridays Are For Family

Daddy and JonathanThis coming Tuesday, the Whitt family will celebrate our "unexpected blessing," Jonathan's, first birthday. Looking back on Jonathan's first year, I remember a piece of advice one of my senior saints in a previous church shared with me. He said, "Don't blink, they'll grow up before you know it." This year is proof of that truth. It seems just like yesterday that we were anxiously awaiting Jonathan's arrival. Then, in a flurry of activity from the doctors and nurses, a heroic effort from my wife and a near fainting spell from someone we won't mention, he was here. The weighing and measuring took place, a moment with mom and then he was off to the nursery and his first bath. I remember the soft little onesies and baby blankets. Those first nights home where we would take turns changing, feeding (Kim pretty much took care of the feeding) and snuggling with our new baby boy. It all seemed to run together.

"Train up a child in the way he should go, And when he is old he will not depart from it." Proverbs 22:6 I was there. I saw it all happen. A mother and father in their early thirties walked with their young son to the bus stop and waited for the school bus to arrive. A few short minutes later the big yellow bus turned the corner and rolled into sight. The lights began to flash. The stop sign sprang forward. The doors swung open, and this young family looked at each other with sadness in their eyes. A quick kiss on the cheek, a big hug, a forced smile and off he went. He walked up the steps and found a seat. So big, so brave, so grown up, headed off to the first day of school. The doors of the bus closed behind a few older kids as they scrambled to get to their seats. The stop sign returned to its closed position as the lights stopped flashing. The sounds of the motor and the smell of the propane diverted most people's attention from the mom and dad as they hugged each other, wiped away the tears and began to walk slowly back toward their house. It was an emotional moment that I understood completely. As a father of four children, all under the age of eight, I'm learning daily that one of the most difficult lessons that any parent has to learn is how to let go. That is something that we all learn - willingly or unwillingly - as parents. This lesson begins as soon as we bring our first baby home from the hospital. We bring that little bundle of joy home, and we want to hold them all night long, but we have to let them go to sleep. We love holding them as they take those first steps, but soon they can walk on their own, and we have to let go. We like holding their hand as we walk around the neighborhood, or into the church building, but soon they are telling us that they can do it by themselves. We hold onto the back of their bicycle after having removed the training wheels, but then they peddle past our grip, and we have to let go. Fast forward a few years and we're letting go as they drive off to college or walk down the aisle to say "I do" in front on a preacher. A parent has to get good at letting go.

[caption id="attachment_11676" align="alignleft" width="300"] Fridays Are For Family - Travel Buddies[/caption] This past week I spent a lot of time on the road, preaching a revival at another local church, and a Bible Conference several hours away. Normally these are spiritually invigorating, but physically and relationally draining times. However, I learned a lesson from my father that has stuck with me since the days of my earliest memories - always have a "travel buddy." Looking back, I honestly can't remember a time when I didn't travel with my dad. Whether it was just a quick trip to visit a new family in the church, a "drop in" to pray for and encourage someone in the hospital, or even a long road trip to the Annual Meeting of the Southern Baptist Convention, I always enjoyed those times being my dad's "travel buddy." That's why I make it a point to take one of my kids with me when I travel. I want to create those memories, and have that quality time with them, like I had with my father.