Fathering fears, then and now

Before I had kids, I was scared of many things. Here are the top six fears I nursed:

1. My children will grow up to be mass murderers.
2. Even if they aren't mass murderers, my choice to give new souls existence will lead to the world being worse in other ways, such as overpopulation.
3. I will "screw my kids up" with my own imperfections.
4. If Bible greats such as David, Jacob, Abraham, Adam and even Creator God Himself had such lousy records as dads (think Absalom's rebellion, Joseph's brothers selling him as a slave, Ishmael and mom having to flee, Cain killing Abel, Adam and Eve finding the only junk food in an otherwise perfect garden), then I am SOL (Surely Out of Luck).
5. My relationship with my wife will be over once the kids come.
6. I will no longer have a life.

A few years into parenthood, I feel a little less melodramatic about these fears, but most are still there in altered form. These days, the fears above look more like this:

1. While my paranoia that they'll be homicidal has pretty much tapered off (and what's more, we parents beat the infanticidal temptations of those sleepless nights), I do still fear that my kids will pick up a habit of killing people with unkind words, gossip and contempt.
2. I believe now that by grace, my children will actually make the world better than it could have been without them. I continue to fear that growing up in a materialistic society will give them a sense of attachment and entitlement to more than their share of resources, that they will be wasteful and careless.
3. I am grateful for the ways that grace has diluted the "sins of the fathers" in my generation, and hopeful that the weaknesses I pass on to my kids will be watered down even more. Still, I abhor the thought of my girls apologizing some day to their kids for their anger, moodiness, pessimism, procrastination, criticism, messy house, etc. with the explanation, "Sorry, but it's something I learned from your grandpa."
4. When Rachelle and I were expecting Brielle, I expressed fear #4 to my friend, Tracy Gunneman, like this. "When I look to the Bible for hope as a future father, I keep seeing that all these spiritual giants really sucked as parents." Tracy's inspired response? "And you know what, Mike? You're going to suck at it too." Beat. I giggled, checking to be sure I'd heard him right. He nodded. "But by God's grace, they're going to be OK." This prophetic utterance was the breach in the dam of my parenting perfectionism. Nothing goes perfectly, not then, not now, not ever. But God still does His thing. And it's going to be OK. (I do still fear that Ashlyn will take after Great-grandma Eve and eat poisonous fruit.)
   
5. Did you ever have a friend move away, and somehow you created more quality time and intentional communication than when they lived across town? Kids have been like that move to Rachelle and me. We have to plan more carefully, but we actually have weekly date nights and quarterly overnight getaways, things that we never got around to before the kids came. The luxury cruise ship of convenient time together has gone the way of the Titanic, so we cling to these couple times as our life raft of intimacy, and it's cozier here. What's more, the common focus of our kids brings us together with a less egocentric focus than before kids. Rachelle's commitment to our couplehood as top priority has all but eliminated this old fear.
6. I have redefined, "have a life." My old definition was pretty narrow, anyhow. I'm actually just scared of what sort of life I might have lived had I limited myself with all these fears.

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Questions I'm asking myself:

• If "perfect love casts out all fear" (1 John 4:18), to what extent does the persistence of these fears reveal a lack of love in me? To what extent might these fears interfere with my love of my family?
• But it seems like responsible parents must be somewhat fearful. Doesn't God fear what might become of us? To what extent should I seek to purge my heart of fears for my kids?
  

Welcome (To what? And why?)

So I'm blogging my life as a father now.

This strikes me right off as a warped combination of megalomania, voyeurism and boredom. As for the first, you'll have to be the judge. The voyeurism will actually depend on what you, the reader, bring to the reading. And boredom? Please visit our home sometime (life and health insurance required, AD&D strongly advised) and decide how bored we are.

OK, guilty misgivings aside (or only begun?), let me welcome you to this public private space and share my vision for the thing. Why a blog on my daily experience of daddyhood? Here are my Six Selfish Reasons:

1. I live better with accountability; daily posts to the Web may help me be a more intentional daddy.
2. Sometimes the best me surfaces when I am sharing in a group instead of just left to my own devices.
3. Committing to a year of daily journaling (5 posts a week) will help me reflect on and, by grace, learn from my goofs--which are legion.
4. This is good writing practice.
5. If, aided by your candid comments, enough decent stuff shows up, maybe some will get published beyond the blogosphere.
6. This is an excuse to play on the computer that my wife thinks is kind of sweet.

And maybe, as a side effect, my ranting, panting and praying here will help you as a [future] parent feel less lonely on the journey. Maybe together we'll even come out a notch or two more enlightened. No promises, but it is a possibility.

Here is what I will promise not to do in this site:

1. Preach. Heaven knows I'm a common seaman, not a captain (Contrary to La Bamba's songwriter, Yo sí soy marinero, no soy capitán, no soy capitán.) Please don't let my use of sacred texts or other quotes scare you off; when they show up, it's because that string of words is the life ring keeping me afloat, or the dive belt taking me to the right depth.
   
2. Tell all. This will be intimate, but within limits. For your sake and my family's, I will self-censor to a degree.
3. Go on forever. With rare exception, posts will be brief and will spare you the newsy details. Again, for the sake of both family and readers, I'm committed to pounds of fathering for every ounce of father-blogging.

Which reminds me, I've gone on too long.

It's time to dance with my girls.