Father's Day Reflections from a Non-Father

Yesterday was Father's Day. And to put it in admittedly unspiritual terms, it sucked.

That's all I could think to say through the tears as I drove home with my wife from a nice family lunch. What should have been a wonderful occasion celebrating my dad, my 91-year-old grandpa, and my younger brother on his first Father's Day as a dad himself, was a dismal day for me and Paige.

"How selfish of me," I'm still telling myself. "Don't be so sensitive."

But after more than a little self-examination, I really believe I went into Father's Day with the proper mindset. I sought to ensure my heart was right before I left for church in the morning, even the night before. I had spent time thanking the Lord for my dad. I thanked Him for my brother and the precious little gift God had given to Him barely two months ago. I prayed for the worship service that morning and for focus as I sat under the preaching of God's Word. And I prayed for strength, not knowing just how much strength I would actually need on this given Father's Day.

Our church service was blessed by God from start to finish. I left encouraged by the Spirit of Christ and excited for the family lunch to follow. But somehow, for some reason, our family lunch brought with it feelings of isolation and pain. And that's crazy, because I have such a warm and loving family! But as much as I tried to enter in on the family festivities around our meal together, I felt something missing.

Fatherhood, I assume: The life experience of every other male at that table. That's what I was missing.

And so it is, by God's design. While I don't always understand it, I can trust in a God Who does all things right and for the good of those who love Him. And even in my unsanctified, overly sensitive, selfish moments of tearful "This sucks!" cries, I can't help but remember that God's grace is sufficient for me, for His power is made perfect in my weakness.

~David

Father's Days Are Hard Too…

In our household, we prepare for Mother's Day. We start thinking about it weeks in advance. What's the plan? Should we go out of town this year? Should we stay home from church? Should we go late to church? Should we skip the festivities? And every year, after much prayer, we do the same thing we do every Sunday. We go to church. We celebrate the Lord's Day. We spend a LOT of time mentally and spiritually preparing for the day. We participate in the family lunch. We celebrate all the mothers. We survive and start another typical week.

It's a difficult day. We hold back tears. We try to be happy for everyone else. We try to smile and "ooo" and "ahhh" over the babies and play with the children. We try to engage in the conversations, all the while hoping we can leave this "awkward for us" situation as soon as possible. Inside, we feel like we don't fit in. The mothers get to go through the lunch line first. The mothers open their gifts. The mothers take pictures with their children. And we feel awkward and out of place. But we make it through the day, by God's grace, and move on. A sigh of relief is breathed out, and we thank God we have a whole year before we have to participate in this terrible day again.

And then, IT happens! Only a month later, without any forewarning, Father's Day is here. Only this time we have not prepared! We are not ready for the flood of emotions and uncomfortableness that this day brings. For just like Mother's Day, it's a repeat. The fathers get to go through the lunch line first; the fathers open presents; the fathers take pictures with their children and their fathers. And we awkwardly stumble through the day as if smacked on the side of the head with the broad side of a board. What was that?, we ask. Why didn't we prepare ourselves? we inquire within. And we walk away bewildered, confused, and usually in tears.

Some days it feels like infertility only gets more difficult. I don't have any words of wisdom or great advice that will magically make everything okay. I do, however, keep hearing the words of a chorus sung at our church this past Sunday, on Father's Day:

I cling to Christ, and marvel at the cost:
Jesus forsaken, God estranged from God.
Bought by such love, my life is not my own.
My praise-my all-shall be for Christ alone. 

We cling to Christ. We know our lives are not our own. And our hope and praise is for Christ alone.

~Paige