The Gift of Chaos

On November 28, 1998, the priest presiding at our wedding asked, “Will you accept children lovingly from God and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?” Jill and I answered, “We will.” In the moment, the question didn’t seem especially significant. We had no idea how profoundly it would impact and shape our married life.

Both Jill and I were cradle Catholics who came alive to our faith during college. We shared a vision for a life together on mission, and shortly after our marriage, we landed in Wellington, New Zealand, for the first of many evangelistic adventures. But just before we arrived for those months in the land of kiwi fruit, our life was turned upside down by a diagnosis of infertility. While we were growing as disciples of Christ, we were grieving as Mr. and Mrs.

“We Want to Be Their Parents.” We were confused, angry, and sad, but not defeated. Remembering our wedding day yes to children, we began imagining other ways God might want to bring kids into our home. Private and international adoption, working with birth moms considering abortion, adoption through foster care—each of these choices presented unique opportunities and daunting challenges. Our hearts moved toward foster care, the one option that didn’t seem to be attracting a long line of applicants.

Top Left: Adam, Malachi, Andrew, Christian, and Jill (Summer 2018)

In our first eighteen months as licensed foster parents, thirteen children came through our home. Some would return to their birth families; others would be adopted by another family member. Jill and I decided that if any of our foster kids didn’t have those possibilities, we wanted to be their parents. That’s how our family grew to include four boys, each one as lovable as he is unique.

Andrew is the barefoot snake lover and winner of pie-eating contests. Christian is the imaginative, tree-climbing bookworm. Then there’s Malachi, the high-energy, athletic, and risk-taking socialite. Finally, there’s Adam, the cautious, cerebral Lego master.

Adopting these boys turned out to be the easy part. Becoming a virtuous father for them is a much harder process—not because they are bad kids, but because the challenges they present have often mixed poorly with my dreams and expectations.

Mysteries and Mayhem. Growing up, I was a son who knew what was expected of me and gladly fulfilled those expectations. There wasn’t a rebellious bone in my body. Getting grounded or opposing my parents was foreign to me. Our home life was remarkably free of conflict. It was peaceful and happy, marked by deep mutual respect and great love for one another. From Sunday morning hikes to regular card games to cheering on our favorite sports team, our family genuinely enjoyed being together.

Naturally, this is how I envisioned my own family would be, even if it came together through foster care and adoption. Joy, love, mutual respect. It’s what families are made of, right? Why would ours be any different? But it hasn’t always been that simple.

While there have been times of profound love and happiness, my experience of being a dad has been marked by seasons of pain and heartbreak. What caught me off guard was the sorrow of not recognizing myself—my mannerisms, preferences, or personality traits—in my adopted sons. Kids, even biological ones, don’t come with user manuals, but my boys were an absolute mystery to me.

They love mud, snakes, and danger; I want things neat and tidy, nonreptilian, and safe. But it wasn’t mainly our differences that distressed me. It was the fact that, like many kids from homes without safe and trustworthy parental figures, these boys found it normal to openly challenge authority, treat each other without respect, and damage property like it was their job. My response was to blow up and scream, “You just don’t do this!” What I was really screaming was “You aren’t behaving like I would!”

I was at a loss. How much patience and self-control was it going to take to be a dad? Apparently, a lot.

A Father’s Day Gift. One Father’s Day morning a few years ago, when my boys were between five and ten years old, I reached the limits of my endurance. Even before we were able to start breakfast, a disagreement broke out. It might have been about who would lead the prayer, where someone might sit, or what was for breakfast. Chaos again—and on Father’s Day no less! It was better to walk away than blow up.

I lumbered into my bedroom and wept. Loudly. I knew everyone could hear me, but I didn’t care. Years of heartbreak over “how things are supposed to be” came gushing out. “Why did you do this to me?” I asked God. “I wish I had never said yes.” There it was: my first admission of something akin to regret.

And then, from within, I heard a still, small voice. It whispered, “Gift.” Immediately I thought, “Yes, God, you are right. Jill and I are a gift to these boys. Where would they be without us?” Again came that inner voice. “Not only are you a gift to them, but they are my gift to you.” Life-altering words spoken into a heart hanging on for dear life.

The Gift of Chaos. With those little whispers, I realized that the very chaos of our situation is also God’s gift to me. He is transforming a judgmental, demanding dad-heart into something more patient and understanding, amid the uncertainty that is our family life.

How else was I going to be released from the hold that selfishness, a thirst for praise, and a desire for control had on me? God knew that it would take a calling much bigger than myself and my own resources. Now I can better imagine how Paul might have felt when he begged God to remove the “thorn” from his flesh and was told, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:7, 9).

Since that moment of surrender, my parenting style has changed. Instead of reflexively yelling and doling out punishments, I now value remaining calm and responding in a way that fits my sons’ actual needs and temperaments. Harsh punishments aren’t motivating for them; love, patience, and understanding from Mom and Dad are.

And here’s another change. Now, the joy of being right where God wants me outweighs my old dreams of a “perfect” family.

There’s the joy of watching my eleven-year-old serve at Mass, as he does his best impression of a Little League right fielder: winding his altar server ropes instead of holding the prayer book for the priest.

The joy of lying in bed with my nine-year-old, helping him get to sleep by talking about what heaven might be like—even though the football game on TV awaits.

The joy of repeatedly reminding my ten-year-old to twirl his spaghetti with his fork and not his fingers—and remembering that it’s an honor to be his dad, no matter what he does with his food.

I’ve come to grips with the truth that God never promised me a perfect life, only a perfect Savior. And that Jesus has been—and always will be—for me.

Question: Let's keep the discussion going in the comments below. How has 'chaos' been a blessing in your life? What would be different for you if problems became opportunities for growth, not simply nuisances to be avoided? 

Note: This article was originally published in the June 2016 issue of The Word Among Us. (www.wau.org) 

Want to Lose at Ministry? Five Recipes for Burnout.

Growing up I was always the kid who was sick on Christmas.  Our family photo album is full of pictures of me, surrounded by wrapping paper and new socks, sick as a dog on the couch.  This pattern persisted into college and even into my young adult years. Was I allergic to mistletoe and midnight mass?

Nope. 

I was allergic to slowing down.

Whether it was the emotional energy I expended anticipating Super Mario Bros under the Christmas tree or the frenetic, non-stop, get-no-sleep approach to college I took each semester, once I had to slow down (Christmas Eve and Christmas day) I crashed. My body shut down the first chance I gave it.

This pattern has played itself out in ministry too. I love to work, probably too much. So when I cut back to part-time to better serve my family, in the spring of 2014, I crashed hard that summer.  I was overweight, out-of-shape, and emotionally and spiritually empty.  It was the first time in seventeen years that I allowed myself to actually slow down.  It was as though I had just barely beaten the avalanche of burnout to the bottom of the hill. It made sense then that just a few months later the weight of years of relating poorly to my work would bury me. 

I didn’t realize what I was doing to myself. 

In Evangelii Gaudium, Pope Francis describes it this way. 

““The problem is not always an excess of activity, but rather activity undertaken badly, without adequate motivation, without a spirituality which would permeate it and make it pleasurable. As a result, work becomes more tiring than necessary, even leading at times to illness.””

— Evangelii Gaudium, Paragraph 82

Guilty as charged.

The 'problem' that he is referring to is pastoral acedia, or in his words, "a tense, burdensome...and unbearable fatigue." This sort of burnout comes not just from working too much but from thinking about and approaching ministry in the wrong way.

If I'm honest, at one time or another, I have adopted each of the five attitudes Pope Francis describes below, and until now I hadn't realized the way this contributed to my ministry candle being burnt at both ends. 

1) "Some fall into it because they throw themselves into unrealistic projects and are not satisfied simply to do what they reasonably can."  

This is the temptation to over promise and under deliver; to have unrealistic expectations (of yourself and others) for what is possible, even with God on your side.  Bigger doesn't equal better and aiming at louder, faster, cooler often sets us up for disappointment. 

2) "Others, because they lack the patience to allow processes to mature; they want everything to fall from heaven."

This is when you expect to see fruit tomorrow from the apple tree you planted today. It's just not going to happen.  As in agriculture, spiritual growth, is slow, steady, unpredictable, and ultimately out of our hands. 

3) "Others, because they are attached to a few projects or vain dreams of success."

Have you ever referred to a ministry project you are working on as 'my baby'.  If so, Pope Francis would say you are a candidate for burnout. The work was never meant to be about you (or anyone that you happened to give birth to.) It's like doing heavy lifting with your back (your strength) and not your legs (the strength that God provides). 

4) "Others, because they have lost real contact with people and so depersonalize their work that they are more concerned with the road map than with the journey itself."

This is the temptation to put people on the back burner and only pay attention to processes, systems and planning.  You remove mission from your mindset and exchange it for maintenance. How many instances, just off the top of your head, can you recall of Jesus and 'insert someone Jesus personally connected with'.  From Nicodemus to the rich young man to the woman at the well to Mary Magdalene to oodles more, Jesus touched individual person after individual person.  Our mindset in ministry should imitate this ideal - people before programs.  

5) "Others fall into acedia because they are unable to wait; they want to dominate the rhythm of life."

Sometimes we just want to be in control. Our way or the highway. We fail to collaborate or invite others to contribute. We quickly forget that we're not the smartest most-gifted person in the room, just the leader.    

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Question: Which of these five attitudes about ministry have you fallen into? What have you done to prevent yourself from being tripped up by one (or more) of these traps? Share in the comments below or on your favorite social network.

The Only Thing Parents Can (and Must) Control

Growing up I never thought of myself as a control-freak or knew very well it's emotional bedfellow, anger.  Sure, as a 10 year old I might've gone berserk on my neighborhood friends about the rules of Ghosts in the Graveyard or publicly berated my high school buddies at Burger King over the merits of Notre Dame football (and the demerits of Nebraska football, go Irish!).  But really, no one who knew me well would've described me as a kid with anger issues.  

Years passed, college came and went, and these occasional flareups of anger and control faded into the background (like the parachute pants I wore in the 80's), presumably never to be heard from again. 

Until I became a dad. 

Fatherhood has brought out the best in me, but also the worst.  How about you?

Think back to day one. The baby comes home and you can control virtually every aspect of their life (what they eat, what they wear, and where they lie down), except for one very important thing: when they sleep. 

So it begins. We as parents are confronted, immediately, by the fact that what our children choose to do is ultimately out of our control.  

As they get a little older and learn to walk and then to run, the stakes get a little higher. And as they get a little older and learn to say 'no', the stakes get even higher. 

At times, as a Dad, it feels like very little, if anything, is under my control. A house full of boys has a way of making this even more real. The holes in the walls (many), the broken windows (multiple), and the autographs in pen on the backseat of the van (Malachi) are all testimonies to the fact that I am not the only one with access to the nuclear launch codes.  Stuff happens in my house whether I authorize it or not. 

After watching my blood pressure skyrocket, vocal chords weaken, and the relationships with my sons suffer, I cried 'uncle'.  Something needed to change.  For many years I thought it was the boys that needed to shape up. After a lot of reading, prayer, soul searching, and a particularly powerful trip to confession I discovered it was actually someone else that needed the work: Me. 

Here's he truth that was staring me in the face all along: I can't control what my kids think, say or do, only how I respond to what they think, say, and do. I can't control them, I can only control me.  

Holy emotional bombshell, Batman.

When this realization sank in I experienced a deeper level of peace and freedom than ever before.

• Freedom from the emotional tether that chained my highs and lows to my son's good and bad behavior.  
• Peace from knowing that a storm of craziness could unfold around me, but I didn't have to respond in kind.  

So, as I learned to push the pause button between what my kids do and how I respond, I've noticed three amazing outcomes when I focus on self control (rather than the unattainable kid control): 

1. Better consequences Have you ever been rash in doling out punishments for your kids, like canceling Christmas? That's how crazy it got one year, because my overreactions were having overreactions. A calm demeanor means I can stop and think and talk things over with my wife before a reasonable sentence is handed down.  
2. Setting a more worthy example There is a far cry from being confident of the example you are setting in the face of adversity and the ongoing sadness and guilt of being an 'angry dad.'  Choosing my response rather than simply 'reacting' has afforded me this joy.
3. Stronger father/son relationships Rather than immediately seeing my disgust and disappointment my sons are more likely to experience a dad that loves them no matter what sort of mess they've gotten themselves into. My hope is that they experience the difference between my disappointment with their choices and not my disappointment with them as human beings. 

If meekness can be defined as strength under control, I now see why this term described Jesus so well. He had all the power and strength a person could have, but channeled it to respond in the right way under the most extreme circumstances.  

• Asking the Father to forgive his executioners.  
• Confronting, in love, the men who accused the woman caught in adultery. 
• Turning over tables when his Father's house was turned into a den of thieves.

This sounds a lot like what big strong dads are supposed to do. See the big picture, demonstrate patience, compassion, and mercy for the last and least, and only flex their muscles in the gravest of situations.  I'm not yet like Jesus, but I sure want to be. And the sooner I start acting like him, the sooner my boys might too. 

Question: What about you? What other benefits can you see for parents in putting a priority on self-control?

The Question that Haunts and Motivates Me as a Dad

Just recently my parents moved to the Twin Cities.  This marks the first time in 20 years that we’ve lived in the same city.  Now that we see each other multiple times each week, rather than just a couple of times a year, I've noticed that I’m a lot more like my mom than I ever knew. For example, it turns out we both really like things neat and tidy and we really really really don’t like conflict or going to the dentist.  

And now, looking back at my childhood I can see that I picked up these (ahem) preferences by just observing my mom, day after day, year after year.

It's true, apples don't fall far from trees.  It's also true that if your apples are adopted they don't fall very far either. 

Even though my sons (all of which are adopted) won't have the incredible blessing of my fair skin, thinning hair, and small hands, they will have something else I'm not always certain I want to pass along either - my example. As that uncomfortable truth sinks in, an equally menacing question pops into my head.

If my kids turn out just like me (which there’s a good chance they will), will I have done my job as a Dad?

Basically, I am asking: "Am I living a life worth imitating?"  It's an ass-kicker of a question for anyone, but none more so than for parents.  It can hardly be disputed that there will be no more formative influence on kids than mama and papa bear. 

Wait a minute, Catholic Ryan. What about Jesus? Shouldn't your kids imitate Jesus and not you? Yes, they should, but they will learn what a life lived in imitation of Jesus actually looks like from me.  Like Paul, I'm saying to my sons (until they can stand up on their own as disciples of Jesus) "follow me, as I follow Christ". I'd love to be able to say, like Jesus did of the Pharisees, that my boys should do as I say, not as I do, but it doesn't work that way in family life. 

So as a result I am smacked in the face with three truths about the importance of a parent’s example in a child’s life; three truths (two of which present daunting challenges and the last an incredible opportunity) that every parent has to wrestle with at one point or another.

1      Our kids are watching

Just last week I got the dreaded “you spend too much time looking at your phone” comment.  For a long time I thought they hadn't noticed how much time I spend looking at my phone.  Nope.  Sherlock One through Sherlock Four don't miss a beat. They are observing my every move trying to make sense of the world through what they see me repeatedly doing. For better or worse, they are picking up whatever I am laying down. 

2      Our kids are absorbing  

Have you ever watched one of your kids scold another one of your kids and think “I hate it when they do that” or “who taught them that?" Then seconds later it hits you, “oh yeah, that must be what I sound like.”  Shoot!  They are not only watching us, they are absorbing us.  I'm not sure what else I expected.  I guess I hoped my kids would be the first on the planet to learn more from words than from actions. 

3      Our kids are growing

Our kids are growing, which is to say they aren’t done yet and there is still time to adjust the mold.  Isn’t that incredible?  The story isn’t finished.  It is still being written for them and for us. Our example can (and must) help guide the way.  While we can’t control the outcomes for our kids, we can significantly influence the inputs they receive from us.

Whether I like it or not my kids are watching. The stakes are getting higher and more so than ever I am aiming to give them an example worth following.  In fact, on not a few occasions recently my behavior has actually changed as I've thought: "would I want my boys, in the same situation, to make the same choice when they are all grown up?"  

So, it's starting to sink in, one privileged dad-moment at a time. 

Question: What about you? How have you seen kids picking up on the example of their parents? Please keep the discussion going in the comments below.

4 Reasons I Get Tongue Tied with the Name of Jesus

Photo Credit: dno1967b via Compfightcc

Often I substitute other words in conversation, in place of ‘Jesus’, because I fear what comes with the territory. How about you?

• God, Church, Faith? Easy. Rolls off the tongue. They keep the conversation going.

• Jesus? Hard. Like Flappy Bird hard. When it’s time to fill in the blank with the word “Jesus”, I often take the chicken exit.

Think about it. How many times in the last week did you bring up the name of Jesus in conversation? Probably less than you could have. I certainly missed a chance or two.

In fact I’d suggest the average Catholic would rather drop an f-bomb than bring up the name of Jesus. Why is this? I’ll throw out four reasons. 

It’s not socially acceptable. In some situations an f-bomb (or a curse word in general) actually helps. A well placed swear word can take you from being super-dork to being one of the guys, just like that. If it worked for me as a 10 year old on the playground, it can work for you. The name of Jesus, on the other hand, often has the opposite effect. Who can stand the funny looks, the fidgeting, the labels, or even the rejection? I rarely can (but I need to, more).

Nobody else is doing it. Why stick out when you can fit in? Very few Catholics at your parish are talking that way, why should you? It’s just not a part of our everyday vocabulary. For better or worse, we absorb our surroundings. Like when you move to Minnesota and you start talking like Marge Gunderson. It just happens. If other Catholics you know are brave enough to talk about their ‘faith’ it’s often still in more generic than specific terms. Baby steps are good, but the world isn’t gonna be changed by doing what we’ve always done.

People don’t talk about what they don’t know about. When the conversation turns to managing a corrugated box factory I stop contributing. I know nothing about factories and even less about corrugated boxes. As soon as I open my mouth about nuances of such a product you’ll immediately see I’m in over my head. The same thing is true with the name of Jesus. You can be a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic and still know nothing about Jesus. Heck, even if you know a lot of facts about him, you may not say that you actually ‘know’ him. Like me and Peyton Manning. I know a lot about him, but don’t know him personally. 

The devil don’t like it. There is more power in the pinky finger of the name of Jesus than all the words in the English language combined, and the evil one knows it. Probably far better than I do. So he gets us talking about really really good things (God, faith, Church) so long as we don’t mention the absolute best thing there is (Jesus). I’m convinced he’d rather have us talk about faith generically than Jesus specifically. Why, you ask? Because Jesus is “the name above every other name” (Phil 2:9), the ”name by which we are saved“ (Acts 4:12), and ”the way, the truth, and the life.”(John 14:6) If your whole goal was to prevent people from connecting with God (as I’m sure is somewhere on Satan’s to-do list), keeping Jesus off the minds and lips of Catholics wouldn’t be a bad place to start.

So, here’s a thought.

For the next week take a leap and substitute ‘Jesus’ where you might otherwise default to a word like God, Faith, Church, etc.

For instance, when you might say to a friend: “My Catholic faith is important to me”, say “Jesus is important to me.”

or to your kids when you might say “let’s pray about it” say “let’s talk to Jesus about it.”

It’s one part new habit, another part courage, where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. You aren’t just substituting one word with equal value for another.  You are setting the stage for the person you are talking to to consider another person more important than you - a person who loves them and wants to lead them through life.

Don’t get me wrong. It doesn’t work like like Find & Replace in Microsoft Word.

As such, don’t substitute it if it’s not true. The first step for you, rather than bringing up a stranger’s name in conversation, might be in discovering better who Jesus is and how you can have a relationship with him.  Also, some instances do call for more generic terms. We can’t get away from the imperative to meet people where they are at (so long as we don’t forfeit our position along the way).

Most of the time we over think it, are scared, or are simply unaware of our speaking patterns. It’s time for a change.

So, be discerning and wise, but also bold and brave. 

Who’s with me?