Wallace Family Hits the Road

Note: As of July 15, we are spending time with family in Atlanta but here are some highlights of the last month.

Getting Out of Dodge

Could it be true? We closed on our house, no hitches. God is good.

OK, we did hit one bump – packing. We bought the sales pitch - hook, line and sinker. Don’t rent a moving van. Try the convenient portable storage container approach. Here’s how it works. Some guy drops five (Five! Surely we won’t need that many. . .) storage containers on your driveway. For the next four days, you pack all your earthly possessions into the five (How on earth did we think we could fit all our stuff into five boxes!?) plywood crates. Now there are a couple of rules to keep in mind. No container can hold more than 2,000 pounds. Question: How many boxes of books constitute a ton of books? Answer: Far fewer than will actually fit into the storage container. . .bummer, guess we can’t put the kitchen table in that empty spot after all.

When packing, it’s important to remember that a truck/forklift driver with no particular attachment to Grandma’s china will lift the crate onto a flatbed truck, drive it to a storage facility, tuck it away onto some storage shelf three stories in the air, forklift it back onto a flatbed truck and then drive it 3,000 miles to another storage facility and . . .you get the picture. Needless to say, packing to prevent load shift is critical. Of course, I became far less concerned about our grill knocking into the television about 1 AM on our final night of packing. Thankfully, John persevered and strapped, cushioned and padded the final crate to withstand any kamikaze truck driver (we hope).

The next morning I realized I had inadvertently packed Samuel’s retainer. Where? In the very first box that went into the perfectly strapped, cushioned and padded crate, the one with bicycle tires jimmied to wire shelving bungeed to the grill which shielded the vacuum cleaner. We decided to make an orthodontist appointment when we got to North Carolina.

While waiting for the moving truck, we discovered several items we forgot to pack causing John to scrounge for space in the only two crates not pushing the weight limit. It’s probably best I had to make an emergency visit to the dentist for a tooth that really needs a root canal (we did a temporary fix) so I can continue to live in blissful ignorance regarding our wonderful packing job.

We had to call charity to take away several items we couldn’t fit, make a run to FedEx to mail the stuff we need but missed until the final sweep and beg our neighbors to take the remaining items, including our overflowing garbage. Never in our wildest dreams did we think it would be a problem to vacate our home by 9 PM. We pulled out of our driveway at 8:50 (a full ten minutes to spare).

Exhausted from the previous evening (three hours of sleep on the floor), we did well to drive to Ellensburg (about 90 miles east) where we crashed at the first hotel off the freeway. What a way to start a vacation!

FATHERHOOD: Can Men Live Up to the Image?

“A man of steel and velvet,” author-poet Carl Sandburg used these words to describe Abraham Lincoln. The phrase became for many a metaphor for the ideal male persona, the perfect combination of strength and tenderness to which men must aspire. Stu Weber expounded the vision in his groundbreaking book, Tender Warrior (1993). Weber defined “four pillars of a man’s heart,” identifying leadership, protectiveness, mentorship, and friendship as the essential masculine qualities. The last decade produced a flood of books, some calling men to a selfless cause, others highlighting their inadequacies, and still others deploring the buffoonish male stereotypes portrayed increasingly in the media. While the literature has been helpful, it has tended to raise the standard and guys are feeling the pressure. Can men live up to the image?

Complicating the challenge facing men are the apparent shifting expectations of fathers in our society. “After years of trying to domesticate me, now they’re telling me I need to rediscover my ‘wild heart’,” said one father in frustration. Having bought the vision of sacrificing his lust for adventure for the sake of responsible fatherhood, he was now being warned that his sons might rebel against his mild-tempered example. He’s asking a fair question, “Does my eleven year old really long for the father who will jump in a canoe and brave the Snake River Canyon with him or is this just my excuse to be reckless?”

When it comes to parenting, some men feel like they’re giving all they can and fear it’s not enough. “My dad was never expected to be my playmate,” said one father. “If he was a good provider and a disciplinarian then it was enough.” Today’s father is expected to be provider, teacher, coach, and friend. Balancing these roles can be stressful. If a dad passes up career opportunities in order to attend his daughter’s gymnastics classes, he has to live with the fact that he’s giving up resources that could benefit the whole family. These are not easy choices.

Is there any relief to the stress fathers are feeling? Perhaps one solution lies in helping men to deal with the bitterness they have felt toward their own fathers. Now that some have experienced the pressures of fatherhood firsthand, perhaps they’ll be ready to forgive their own fathers for not doing it perfectly. After they’ve let their own dads off the hook, maybe they’ll be in a better position to set realistic expectations for themselves.

In the end, fatherhood is about being a role model. Despite mistakes and struggles to keep up, whether we live selfless or self-indulgent lives will be evident to our children.

What kind of life do your children see? Do you care more about “getting it right” than you do about modeling honesty and humility?

© 2004, John Wallace

Seattle Blues

Seattle is in a bad mood. Yup, everywhere I go people are gruff, “nice spring we’re having, huh? grumble, grumble . . .” Maybe it was the rain, snow, sleet and hail that besieged us last Thursday and Friday . . .and Saturday . . .and Sunday. Maybe the lack of sunshine for the last eight months is finally taking its toll. Maybe it’s the fear of looming floods once the record snow pack begins to melt.

I must admit, I’m tired of feeling cold. I’ve had it with $300+ heating bills, muddy shoes and dirty cars. Where is my spring? My latest poll indicates the majority predict sunshine by July. Ugh!

Life is like that sometimes. The rain keeps falling, with no end in sight. On some level, we believe our situation will change, eventually. But we wonder if we’ll last that long. We may struggle to get out of bed and face yet another cold, gray day.

Funny thing happened today. I noticed some buds on my rhododendrons. No, they’re not quite ready to adorn my yard. But in this once dead-looking bush, I see signs of life. Perhaps, spring will show up before July after all.

Ultimately, life is about perseverance. Those of us who place our hope in Jesus Christ know we aren’t home yet. This earth will never offer complete contentment, absence of frustration or freedom from pain. Along the way however, God provides moments of bliss. Against the backdrop of our struggles emerges the beauty of his loving intervention.

Albert Einstein said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” I choose the latter. I trust the sun rose even if I can’t see it behind the clouds. So I’ll arise and wait for the buds to bloom. I hope you find a moment of bliss today.

~Joyce

An Honest Confession from a Hurried Mom

I picked up my purse and said to the kids, “Come on; let’s get in the van.” It was as though I’d fired the gun for the 100 meter sprint.

Both kids grabbed their shoes (to put on in the car) and said to each other, “Hurry, hurry, we’re late.”

For once, I wasn’t running late or short on time, but their programmed response revealed more that I cared to know. My frantic pace was reproducing itself before my eyes in the lives of my two children. I hadn’t intended to stress out my children, but I couldn’t deny it. My chaos had become theirs.

Other parents had warned me that I’d begin to see my own bad habits show up in my kids. I was prepared for a child with a stubborn streak, or a shortage of patience, one who was a little too bossy or independent. In fact, I’d probably laugh off those shortcomings in the same way I’d learned to dismiss them in myself. But this scene was uglier than I’d expected. I saw my children having ulcers by age ten. I knew I had to change my ways, for their sake as well as mine