Skip to main content

Dear Josh,

I wish I could tell you that I feel certain.  Certain about what will happen, what choices to make, what paths to go down. 

But I just don't. 

Some things are just hard.

We had a conversation the other night about choices.  It was a hard conversation for both of us, but I hope also a good one.  I had a realization of my own while we were talking, and I hope it's something you remember for a long time.

We talked about the road we have to take.  About how the easy path looks so tempting and so good.  And the hard path looks like it's straight uphill.  But the easy path is a trick, it's a foil.  The easy path only goes down, away from what you want and need, away from the rewards that are worth having.  The hard path goes up towards the things we want and need.  It might take longer, it might look too difficult, but it's the way that leads to the best rewards.  And everytime we take that hard path, we are only being our true, best self.  The one that's full of promise and potential.  The child of a loving God who is trying to be like Him.

You cried.  I cried, too.

I guess growing up is just part of that hard path.  Good thing we get to go up together.




Karisa said…
I think Josh is a great kid. Wait- scratch that. Young Man! And he has great parents.

He will find his path, and thank heavens, everyone's path is a bit different. It's the growing up part, and finding it part, that are tough. Hang in there.

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Carly,

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life.

People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a sturdy …

On being away from home and turning sixteen: a letter to my son

Dear Josh,

I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart.

It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it can be really hard not to like you…

Dear Carly (on your 9th birthday),

I can't remember what it is like to turn nine years old.  From watching you turn nine, it must have been difficult because it seems like everything is either really, really greator really, really bad.  Some days I think I might get whiplash from the mood swings (and you're not a teenager yet!).   But overall, I think nine must also be really wonderful.  You seem to be full of joy, even moments after being full of woe.  It's as if the joy just pushes the other stuff out.  It practically oozes from your pores.  More than that, on the days you choose to be happy, the whole world sings with you.  People are infected by it, drawn in to your sweet smile and shining eyes.  Attracted like bugs to a light.  You shine, dear little diva, so brightly sometimes it's blinding.

We just spent three weeks together in California, and I must have complained too much about your behavior because your dad believes we are oil and water right now.  I'd prefer to see us as oil and vinegar …