Calling Him Father

"Well..."

That's how the Peanut starts some of her sentences to explain what's going on or how something happened or how she's feeling about something.  It's so cute.  Adorable.  And funny sounding coming from a 6-year old.

And then there's the Ninja, whose team I am coaching in basketball.  He has the emotional intelligence to know that Coach Daddy yelling to get on a man or shoot the basketball makes him feel the same as when Daddy Daddy has to tell him for the third time to put his shoes on (and yes, on occasion, the voice does raise a little bit).  But he doesn't have the emotional intelligence to discern that encouragement and coaching on the court isn't the same as frustration at home - he's seven and I don't expect otherwise.

And the Bear lives in a sometimes imaginary world where he thinks about doing stuff and even can see himself doing it, then tells a story like he's actually done it.  The vast majority of it is innocent exaggeration of a kid who's trying to find his place and understand his role in the world.  Trying to help him navigate waters between the Scylla of truth-telling and Charybdis of the loss of creativity is a hearty task.

I love my kids.  They are so much a force of joy in my life.

And then it hits me.

I have a Father too.  He enjoys my funny sayings.  He knows I don't have the capacity to handle everything that's in front of me right now and He's pretty okay with that.  He is wise enough to shoot a narrow gap with me and enjoy the company along the way.

For me, in this moment, that's what it means to call Him Father.

But that's just me thinking thoughts...