Tag Archives: parenting

parenting, personal growth

Running At Your Own Pace

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My 12-year-old daughter (Claire) recently attended a fall sports awards ceremony to celebrate completion of her first year of cross-country running. As her dad, it has been a fun experience watching her putting in hard work and striving to improve each week.

Unfortunately, Claire takes after me when it comes to athletic prowess. She’s tall, gangly and kind of awkward like I was in seventh grade. When I was her age, I got turned onto skateboarding, and after investing hundreds of hours into the craft, I got pretty good at it. But before skateboarding, I had zero interest or natural ability in traditional sports.

I don’t know if running will be Claire’s skateboarding, but there was an undeniable fire lit under her these past couple of months as she strived each week to better her time. She completed her first two-mile race in just under 19 minutes. In each of the following races, she was determined to get better.

Getting better was not always a linear path for her. Some weeks she excelled. Some weeks she slipped backwards in her time. But she eventually achieved her personal record of 15:51. Compared to her peers, her time was middle of the pack, but I was exceedingly proud of the improvement she made.

Shaving three minutes of her time was an admirable feat. I was even more impressed by her desire to keep making progress. Her commitment to show up to practice every day after school was truly remarkable. Claire has never been very competitive or shown much interest in team sports. But watching her compete against herself and her drive for improvement, filled me with hope.

The worry train in my brain often jumps off the track…

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parenting, personal growth

3 Lessons Learned from 3 Nights in the Woods

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I recently checked an item off my bucket list that, truth be told, was never actually on my bucket list. For the first time ever, I went to a church camp.

I was assigned a fourteen-year-old junior leader, given an unairconditioned cabin and entrusted with the well-being of four 10-11 year-old boys. I spent three nights in the woods hustling from one activity to the next, eating thoroughly mediocre camp food and hoping that these boys were hearing messages that might change their lives someday.

It wasn’t an easy time. By the end of our stay, I was exhausted. My tolerance for pre-teen boys was sapped, and I used up every bit of extroversion that this introvert could muster.

I needed alone time to recharge my batteries. I needed sleep. And I needed a shower.

Although camp came with some challenges, it was also very rewarding. One of the boys in my cabin was my son Alex. He’s the main reason I signed up to be a leader. I trusted this would be an experience that neither of us would ever forget. I wasn’t disappointed.

As I look back over the days spent at camp, there are a few ideas I want to ensure I remember:

  1. Say ‘YES’ to discomfort. When my wife first mentioned the possibility of being a leader at a church camp, I came up with all kinds of reasons why I shouldn’t do it. Taking off three days of work was at the top of my list. But I’ve learned that the most meaningful experiences in my life have occurred when I stepped outside of my routine and took on a challenge that I didn’t want to take on. Comfort is the enemy of change. The four days spent at this camp were void of the comforts that I cling to in life. It was awesomely uncomfortable!
  2. Be more childlike. Children possess some wonderful qualities that most adults have had wrung out of our lives. It wasn’t so long ago that I was a carefree boy, but seeing the contrast between these kids and myself reminded me of some traits that I’d like recapture. These boys haven’t set in concrete their opinions and prejudices. They were goofy. They made friends almost instantly. When they got upset at something or someone, they forgot about it 10 minutes later. I want to be more like them.
  3. I need more silliness in my life. One of my favorite parts of camp happened each night when we retired to the cabin to wind down. Each kid retired to his bunk with snacks in hand, and pre-lights-out silliness ensued. They goofed on each other. They made up names for each other. They talked about how awesome they were. And we laughed…a lot. It reminded me of when I was a kid. It also reminded me that silliness helps to lighten our load. It is good for the soul.

In the days leading up to this camp, I was dreading my decision to go, but in the days after, I found myself smiling at the memories. It affected me, and I trust that it affected the kids as well. I formed some lifelong memories with my son, and it sure beat sitting in front of a computer at work.

If you’re ever given an opportunity to do something like this, fight against your desire to say no. Step out on a limb.

Get uncomfortable. Get dirty. Get tired. Get blessed!

marriage & parenting, personal growth, self health

3 Days in the Hospital – 3 Lessons Learned

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Last week I was plucked from my life for three harrowing days. Stripped of my belongings and even my clothes, I was locked away from the world with my every move being monitored. I was stabbed repeatedly and even injected with radioactive material.

I was in the hospital.

After a couple day of dealing with dubious chest pains, I thought it prudent to visit my local ER with the hopes that they could dispel my suspicion of heart attack. Three days later, after running a gauntlet of examinations, an automatic sliding glass door powered open granting me freedom from the medical center.

Long story short, I did not have a heart attack, but I do have an enlarged right ventricle which will require that I log more hours in the sterile spaces of our health care system.

Three days of torturous day-time TV and conversations about mortality, afford one a lot of opportunity to reflect on life and to think about the things that truly matter. Three observations stuck with me and are still bouncing around my head as I still linger in the shadow of this experience:

  1. My family’s needs supersede my own. I HATE going to doctors. I avoid them at all costs, even at my own peril. If it were up to me, I would opt out of my company’s heath care program and stock up on duct tape and gauze. But I’m regularly reminded that it’s not about me. I’m the leader of my home, and my family’s needs take precedence over my preference. If I were a single guy, I would have skipped the ER. I would have washed down a pair of Ibuprofen with some beer and hoped for the best. But, it’s not about me.
  2. I need people in my life. As a raging introvert who’s pursuing the rugged individualistic American dream, I try to weather most storms on my own. I don’t like to bring people into my messes. I posted no selfies in my hospital gown because I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me or reaching out to me. Frankly, there’s something wrong with that approach to life. Some did find out about my condition and reached out to me to encourage me. I needed that. It made a difference. I felt fairly isolated from humanity during my stay, like a con locked in the bing. Freedom came in the form of encouraging words.
  3. I need to be more humble. Okay, this thought wasn’t some grand revelation. I knew this already. I’ve been praying about humility and about breaking down my wall of pride for some time. In a way, this experience was an answer to prayer. Being wheeled through a hospital in an open-backed gown, unshaven, unbathed, blood-stained, exhausted is a humbling experience. Remembering the frailty of the human condition gives laser focus. Recognizing that I’m not in control, nor have I ever been in control of my life is reorienting. I needed all that

Friends, we are all going to find ourselves in positions from which we want to escape. I almost yanked out my IV and ninja-walked out of that hospital on day two. But I trusted there was some reason I was there, and that I would take something away from the experience. I hated it in the moment though.

If you find yourself in such a situation today, my encouragement would be to figure out why you’re there. God brought you to it. How do you need Him to equip you or change you to get through it? Don’t face it alone. You are not alone.

If you need someone to talk to, you can email me at jwilloughby443@gmail.com or call (800) 273-8255 to talk to a professional.

personal growth

Less Is More

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As we wrap another orbit around the great gaseous ball of fire in the sky, humans scamper about our terrestrial sphere busier than ever, clamoring for more.

More stuff. More hobbies. More causes. More rights. More voices. More vices. More of everything.

More isn’t inherently bad. As we dream of what is to come in the year ahead, many of us are thinking of positive ‘mores’ we want in our lives.

We want to spend more time with family. We want to develop more healthy habits. We want to pursue more meaningful lives. We want more joy in our marriages.

But even in positive contexts like these, more can sometimes be harmful. As I think of the direction in which I want to grow and the healthy habits I want to adopt, I find I can bite off more than I can chew. I can set resolutions or goals that are too lofty or too broad.

If I say I want to be healthier or I want to be a better husband in 2018, I set myself up for failure because I haven’t defined what actions I’ll take to achieve this goals. When I read a blog that gives me 10 ways to have a happier marriage, if I go after all 10, I probably won’t achieve one of them.

While I do have overarching goals of becoming healthier and being a better husband, if I don’t break these large goals down into manageable, realistic tasks, I will never move forward.

If you have spent any time in the business world, you’ve probably heard of SMART goals. The acronym stands for Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Relevant and Timely.

For me, setting targets that are relevant, specific and attainable are the only way I will actually have success.

  • Relevant – How does it tie into my bigger goals? Will it be impactful to my loved ones or me?
  • Specific – What exactly am I going to do? Who, what, when and where?
  • Attainable – Can I actually achieve success in this area? Will I actually do what needs done?

For example, I want to be a better leader in my home. To that end, I will be scheduling family meetings in 2018. I have already purchased a white board calendar and a white board where I can schedule the meetings for all to see and to jot down our meeting notes.

Our first few meetings will revolve around establishing a family mission statement. So I have already listed out questions to guide our conversation. And I have committed to this goal in front of men in my life who will hold me accountable.

These are some of the specific and realistic measures I’m taking to move me towards being a better leader in my home. They aren’t that difficult or ground breaking, but they are happening.

I have set a few other goals for 2018, and they are similar to this one in that I am taking specific actions to move towards mile markers that I know I can hit. And they are moving me in the overall direction I want to go as a Christian, as a husband and as a dad.

I’m not going to win a Pulitzer Prize in 2018 or chisel my abs into a six pack. But I know I will take several small steps that will move me forward in my journey. And I will end 2018 a better man than I am now.

marriage

The Best Marriage Advice I Have Heard Lately

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The best marriage advice that I have received recently was this – emptiness.

I know; bear with me. I too sat skeptically back with arms folded when the speakers at the marriage simulcast flashed this word on the screen.

I was imagining an existential state of emptiness where nothing matters. But in this state of emptiness, things matter. People matter.

The speakers (Les & Leslie Parrott) are a married couple who explained that the way to move our marriages towards deeper intimacy is to empty ourselves of the need to change our spouse.

Achieving this emptiness is not easy, because most of us possess some innate drive to bend others’ wills towards our own. I want things done a certain way – my way.

If you don’t drive like me, you are an idiot.

If you don’t vote like me, you clearly don’t understand how the world works.

If you root for that team up north, something is fundamentally flawed in your DNA.

While none of these things are true it is easy, in my pridefulness, to believe them. I do the same thing in my marriage.

I just know there is a ‘best way’ to do most things around our house. In fact, I wrongly assume that I know the best way to do most things, period. When I cling too tightly to my certainty and to my rightness, it leaves a lot of room for those around me to be wrong, especially those who live in my house.

I think the speakers were onto something with this idea of emptiness. In Buddhism, emptiness is a state for which one strives. They teach of emptying self of preconceived ideas to see the true nature of things and events.

Jesus also requires an emptiness of sorts. He called himself ‘living water,’ and in that time, water was transported in clay vessels. Man is referred to throughout the Bible as a vessel. If we are vessels, and He is living water, we must empty ourselves before we can invite Jesus in.

I don’t know about you, but I am most often filled to the brim with my own junk. I have poured myself full of pride, selfishness, busyness, stress, anxiety, anger and gallons of meaningless filler. I am so full of all those things that it sometimes spills onto those around me.

I pour out my pride on my wife and my anger on my kids. My life is saturated with self-induced stress.

The times in my life when I have experienced the most peace are when I dump these dregs down the drain. When I empty some of myself, I create room for grace, patience and understanding

My effort empty myself starts at 5:30 each morning. After brief physical exercise to wake myself up, I have a time of meditation and prayer. To be honest, even quieting myself for 5-10 minutes isn’t easy for me.

But I repeatedly pray a simple prayer – ‘Less of me. More of You.’

The days when I actually live into this mantra tend to be better days than those when I go around slopping myself on the world around me. Some days I just have to get out of the way.

Emptiness begets fullness.

marriage & parenting

A Tale of Two Hospitals

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Last month, I had a day that started and ended in hospitals…two different hospitals, in two different counties, by the side of two different family members.

That was not my favorite day.

The first visit was a planned procedure for my wife. Arriving at the hospital at 6 AM, we were advised that Jody should be ready to go home six hours later.

I entertained visions of all the tasks I could accomplish in those hours and still return to the hospital before Jody’s anesthesia wore off.

But when Jody mentioned to the nurse that I was going to leave and come back, the nurse shot a glare at me that said, ‘What kind of heartless-monster are you?’

So I canned my dreams of yard work and resigned to the fact that my next six hours would be spent devouring every issue of Better Homes and Gardens and O Magazine that I could lay my hands on.

I did end up leaving the hospital briefly to grab breakfast, which elicited another ‘heartless-monster’ stare. Apparently, nurses are trained to deliver that stare to dopey husbands like myself.

Six hours of reading women’s magazines sort of felt like ten, but I survived and got some great recipes for summer salads. Oh yeah, Jody survived too.

Fast-forward five hours, and I am prepping the grill for dinner. My eleven-year-old son (Alex), who was shooting baskets in the driveway, bursts into the house frantically, trailing a stream of blood. He falls to the ground holding his toe, blood pooling on the floor.

And my response was, “Alex are you kidding me!?” It is responses like that which may prevent me from winning the Father of the Year award yet again.

But my reaction was based on the fact that two weeks earlier he burst through that same door missing a large patch of skin from the same toe. After which, we had an extensive conversation about the benefits of wearing shoes while playing basketball.

Apparently, my pro-shoe argument was not persuasive enough, and as a result, I found myself speeding up the interstate for my second hospital visit of the day.

Two hours and three stitches later we were home. Both of the patients were on the mend, and my patience was mending as well.

As I lay in bed that night reflecting on my day, I wasn’t pleased with my responses to the situations in which I found myself. I should have known that my role as a husband meant I was going to sit in the waiting room for six hours. The nurses’ glares told me that should have been a foregone conclusion, but it wasn’t for me.

And I should have reacted better to my son’s injury. My concern for his well-being should have trumped my anger. Both of my reactions were born out of selfishness. I was worried about my time and my inconvenience. As the leader of my home, my concern for my family needs to be on par or above my own.

I quietly and humbly recognized that in the still of the night and prayed for the strength and wisdom to react better.

Here’s to hoping that happens. And here’s to hoping I never have another two-hospital kind of day.

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How the Cleveland Browns Helped My Parenting

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My son, Alex, is destined for a life of disappointment. At the age of six, he made a critical decision that will haunt him for the rest of his days here on earth. He joined a pack of sad souls whose suffering knows no end.

He became a Cleveland Browns fan.

I’m really not sure how it happened. My wife and I are both Bengals fans, though neither of us is fanatical about football. To put it into perspective, the Bengals are 9-2 (best record in franchise history), and I’ve watched maybe three games this season.

Even though we are not body-painting, short-bus-owning football crazy, Alex is. He is a Browns fan through thick and thin – well let’s face it, mostly thin. With a 2-9 record, this team has created little reason for excitement.

Alex has shed many tears as a result of the Browns’ bungling. The Browns’ home field, FirstEnergy Stadium,  has been dubbed “The Factory of Sadness” for good reason. Once a week, its residents crush the spirit of my little boy.

However, one thing the Browns have done well is provide opportunity for me to step in with fatherly advice. We have had many talks and life lessons for which I can thank the Browns.

Almost weekly, we have a discussion where I attempt to put football into perspective. I share with him that it’s just a game, and in the grand scheme of life, football isn’t that important. Our lives will go on regardless of which team wins.

Alex has had to learn to cope with disappointment and to temper his expectations. These are actually valuable lessons for a boy his age to learn, because most of us will probably encounter seasons in life that looks like a Browns season.

Loss is inevitable. Disappointment is destined to occur. Some of us don’t learn that until we’re adults. So thank you Browns for that life lesson.

Because of Johnny Manziel, I’ve had conversations about alcohol with Alex. We discussed how dumb it can make people act, how it leads people to make really bad decisions and how it can destroy lives. Thank you Browns.

Because of Josh Gordon, I’ve had conversations about marijuana and other drugs with Alex. That’s a hard thing for a seven-year-old to wrap his head around. But now Alex hates drugs. He associates them with stupidity and the loss of the Browns “best player.” So thank you Browns.

We also do a lot of bonding over the Browns that isn’t so heavy. I follow the team pretty closely, even closer than I follow the Bengals, for the sole reason of starting conversations with my son. If I ever want to get him talking, football is a great jumping off point.

I’ve watched more Browns games this year than Bengals, only because it means time spent with Alex. And I secretly root for them on occasion because I want to see him happy.

Alex has suffered through this season like most Browns fans. He’s cried. He’s yelled. He’s called Mike Pettine an idiot. But I’ve been by his side through it all. When he cries, I comfort. When he yells, I bring perspective. I tell him ‘mentally-challenged’ is a nicer word than ‘idiot.’ Thank you Browns for a season of bonding with my son!

 

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Fear Not

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alex fishing2The sea was angry that day, my friends. Well, angry probably isn’t the right word for it…more like serene. The waters were pretty calm that morning as my son (Alex) and I waded knee-deep in the Gulf of Mexico.

On a recent vacation to Siesta Key, Florida, Alex and I spent the morning scanning the warm coastal waters for minnows.

With a net in hand, we searched the ocean diligently for over two hours trying unsuccessfully to nab at least one of the elusive little fish. During our excursion, Alex had the idea that we should try our luck at the Point of Rocks. It is what it sounds like – a rocky outcropping that forms the southern point of a crescent-shaped beach.

I have been to this beach several times, but I always viewed the Point of Rocks from afar. The idea of leaving the powder-soft sand to venture into unknown rocky depths had no appeal to me.

Don’t judge me; I have delicate feet. But where I saw the potential for scraped up soles, Alex saw the opportunity for adventure. These minnows were Alex’s Moby Dick, beckoning to be caught.

I fought against my instincts for foot preservation, and we trekked all through the craggy coastline. In the process, I did bang up a few toes on the rocks and scraped my heel pretty good, but they were just flesh wounds. The whole time we were walking through the rocks, I had to fight my urge to retreat to the sandy shore where I knew no toes would be injured.

But I resisted and we pushed on quite a while, enjoying some much needed father-son bonding time. Ultimately, we still didn’t catch any fish, but Alex enjoyed the adventure. The whole time, I was a breath away from passing along my fears to my son and from ending our fishing venture early. In the end I was so glad that I didn’t let fear keep us from trying something different.

Fear has a funny way of doing that – keeping me from venturing into the unknown. Fear is actually a good thing. It sometimes comes in the form of a biochemical reaction that steers us from danger and helps to keep us alive. It can also be a reminder that we are still alive. Sometimes we can use a little adrenaline jolt to shake us from the sleepy routines of life.

But the fear that most often gets me is the one that keeps me from stepping out of my comfort zone. It is a small, nagging voice that tells me I should avoid failure at all costs and keep to the familiar paths. Fear tells me that I am inadequate, that the risks outweigh the rewards, that the status quo is good enough, that change will require pain. Fear lies.

Did you know that the phrase “Fear not” appears in the Bible 365 times? The authors clearly understand the debilitating power of fear, how fear can take us out of the game. And yet we are challenged to, “Cast [our] burdens on the Lord.”

So if you are like me and find yourself stuck in fear, if anxiety consumes your thoughts, if the unknown is keeping you locked into a life of mediocrity, know that you are not alone. But you should also know that you are called shake off the shackles of fear.

Whether it is something as innocuous as sharing some adventure with your kids or something as life-altering as a career change, don’t let fear determine your next step or prevent you from taking a step. Lives worth living aren’t bound by fear.

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Urine Trouble

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chewyI have come in contact with more pee in the last 48 hours than anyone should ever have to encounter outside of a biohazard suit. I’ve stepped in it repeatedly, cleaned it off the carpet at least half a dozen times and transported clothing and bedding that were sopping with it. This is dad life.

Actually, my life was filled with very few involuntary urine encounters until recently. About a month ago we got a puppy. And curiously, around that same time, my potty-trained three-year-old started regressing and having accidents of her own. I’m beginning to think she’s conspiring with the dog against me.

This weekend, my wife (Jody) left me at home with our two kids and our Golden Retriever for a day and a half while she went to a conference. Jody had certainly earned some time away, and I was glad to give her a break from motherhood, if only a brief one. She works part time and then comes home to a full-time job serving the needs of a three-year-old, an eight-year-old, yours truly and now a puppy.

Puppies are awesome until you own one. I had forgotten how much I really don’t like having a puppy in my house until this last month.

Our last dog passed away back in November, and I had intended on taking a hiatus from being a dog owner. But that break only lasted about two months before the high-pressure sales pitches from the rest of my household started.

I made the mistake of showing the slightest crack in my anti-dog stance, and now my hiatus is over. It’s funny how I can say no to an army of Kirby vacuum cleaner salesmen, but my wife and kids can break me so easily.

At least I was allowed to name the dog, so there is still some illusion of power there. Now we have the most awesomely-named dog on the block – Chewbacca!

We call him Chewy for short, and he lives up to his name. He chews on everything in his path, including my kids. The chewing drives me even crazier than dealing with the potty messes. At least the urine can be cleaned up, mostly. Puppy teeth marks are more permanent. And with every bite mark, I see visions of dollar bills being tossed into a fire.

That is how my mind works. I have a tendency to oversimplify things and to see the negative more than the positive. And after a day and a half of seeing things around our house getting chewed or peed on, I painted a gloomy picture in my mind.

I envisioned our savings account dwindling to nil as we replaced furniture and flooring. I imagined a world where I would encounter dog or kid urine for the rest of my days. And frankly between my anxiety and fatigue, I lost my cool more than I care to admit during this time.

By the time my wife returned from her trip, she had to talk me down off the ledge. That’s one of the many things I love about her. When I let worries snowball in my mind, she gently brings me back to reality. When I get consumed with money and stuff, she reminds me that life isn’t about money or stuff.

Jody keeps me pointed towards the things that matter most in my life. My relationship with my kids ranks near the top of that list, and it is for our children that we got this puppy in the first place. My kids absolutely love Chewy, and truth be told, I do too. I have to learn to take the bad with the good and remember that into each life, some pee must fall.

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Love Is Owning a Snake

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heart snakeUnder my roof reside four humans, a dog and snake. You read that right. There is a snake in my house that I am not allowed to kill…that we feed…that has a name…that we paid money for…and that lives in my son’s room.

By now you’ve probably guessed that owning a snake was not one of the items on my bucket list. The idea of welcoming a creature into our home that could indeed aid one in kicking the bucket is far from logical to me.

But if I’ve learned anything in 15 years of marriage and in 8 years of parenting, it’s that love defies logic.

Love drives people to do crazy things like selling your sports car, spending a week with in-laws, holding your wife’s purse in public and, in extreme cases, becoming a snake owner.

I never thought the term “snake owner” would be attached to my name. That seemed like a title reserved for crazies like Alice Cooper, Brittany Spears or Jake the Snake. But I am the owner (by association) of a 3-foot long, female Ball Python named Pebbles.

Though I am anti-snake, my eight-year-old son (Alex) loves them. He is enthralled by pretty much all creatures, especially those that are potentially lethal.

Where snakes send chills up my spine, they excite Alex. He’s even caught one (non venomous) in the wild with his bare hands!

After months of me saying “NO” to snake ownership, my wife and I eventually reached an agreement with my son in the Great Snake Debate. We told Alex that if he saved half of the money needed to buy a snake and habitat, we would pay for the other half. In my short-sightedness, I forgot that my wife’s family almost always gives Alex a decent chunk of change for every birthday. And now I am a snake owner.

I don’t pretend to love having a snake in our home. But I do support my son’s interests. I am happy to read books or watch shows about snakes with him. I have taken him to see a herpetologist (reptile scientist) speak. And over the last few summers we have gone repeatedly to a local creek where snakes hang out so we can hunt them.

Love is a powerful motivator. It drives us to put other’s needs and wants above our own. In this case, love overrode my good horse sense and my instincts for self-preservation to the delight of my son. My sacrifice has been his joy.

I have overheard him in conversations with his peers speaking with pride about his reptile. He even works it into conversations with people he’s just met. Being a snake owner is a proud part of his identity, a scaly green badge of courage.

Alex talks about becoming a herpetologist himself someday.   I don’t know if that passion will persist in him. Perhaps he will fall off the snake bandwagon one day. But what I do know is that he will be taking his python with him when he moves out of our house. These things live 20-30 years!

I also know that I’ve helped to feed an interest in my son that has developed into a passion. I could have easily snuffed that passion before it ignited. But a little self-sacrifice has kindled his interest and is serving to shape his identity. He is a snake owner and proud of it!