Part 11 (1/2)

Sucker punch. My heart sank. Bewildered and distraught, I headed back to Chicago that night, having no clue what would become of my daughter. But even in the helpless ambiguity, I sensed G.o.d saying, ”I'm still near.”

It was around this same season of parenting that Shauna's brother, Todd, was getting his driver's license. His love of cars had been present from an early age. I had taught Todd to drive when he was eight or nine years old, by having him back cars out of the driveway or maneuver boats and equipment whenever opportunities presented themselves. By the time he was sixteen, he was chomping at the bit to get behind the wheel.

When he finally got his license, I noticed that Todd drove a bit too fast. He had been handling cars for years by then, but in my opinion he was simply over-confident. I knew that without some coaching, he could be a threat to himself and to others on the road.

One day I sat down with my son and said, ”Todd, you're one of the best young drivers I know, but you drive too fast. If you don't slow it down, there is going to come a day when you will injure yourself or someone else by your driving. I know how sensitive your heart is, and if you ever caused someone else pain because of your carelessness, I know it would destroy your life, let alone the life of the person you harmed.”

I thought it was a pretty good spiel-speaking to the sensitive way he was wired-but in response all I got was the teenager's cla.s.sic yeah-yeah-yeah look. He hadn't been dialed in to one word I had said.

About a week later while enjoying a day off in South Haven with the family, I decided to take a six-mile run. I was about three miles in, when suddenly I heard the screeching of tires behind me. I looked over my shoulder just in time to spot Todd, in his car, doing a power slide as he rounded a busy street corner at forty or fifty miles an hour. It was a perfectly controlled slide and looked like the sort of thing you'd see a professional stunt driver do in a movie. Actually, if it hadn't been so blatantly illegal and dangerous to others, I might have been impressed. In this case, I was not.

Todd hadn't seen me, but I had sure seen him. And I ran home faster than I have ever run before, determined to give him a piece of my fuming mind. I was filled with anger for how he had directly violated my warning of a week prior. I stood outside the cottage thinking, ”What are all the possible ways that I can punish this kid so that I can fully get my message of displeasure across?”

But something happened before I entered the cottage; the Holy Spirit intervened. In that instant, the prompting came, ”Instead of playing the anger card, let Todd see how much you love him and how brokenhearted you really would be if he got hurt or killed in a car accident. Let him know that you're actually scared that you're going to find him in a hospital or in a morgue someday, because of his over-confidence in driving.”

The whisper went against my reflexive response. When children break a rule, they must be forced to pay, right? That's how I was brought up, and that's how I intended for this situation to go.

I argued with G.o.d outside the house: ”You want me to show Todd fear instead of anger? He's not going to remember fear. What do you want me to do? Bear my soul to this kid, and then let him off scot-free so he can just go out and do the very same thing again?”

The Spirit was unfazed by my cynicism. ”Just trust me in this,” I sensed him saying. ”This time, show Todd your love, not your anger.”

I'm not sure if I was more frustrated with Todd or with G.o.d as I stormed into the house, but once I found myself seated across from my son, I caved to wisdom from above.

”Todd,” I said, ”I was jogging right up to the intersection where you did that power slide a few minutes ago. I saw the whole thing, and your actions were in direct violation of what we talked about last week.”

I couldn't tell from Todd's expression if he felt any remorse for being caught, but it didn't matter. I knew what I needed to say, even if it would require far more vulnerability than I felt Todd deserved-and certainly more than I preferred giving.

I took a deep breath. ”Had you not pulled your car out of that slide just right, you could have hit the curb and rolled the car. And the thought of picking your broken body out of that vehicle and you losing an arm or a leg unnecessarily...the thought of having to come ID you at the morgue like I had to do with my dad...it's actually terrifying to me, Todd.”

Tears flowed down my cheeks, and when I finished my comments, Todd's eyes too were red and swollen. I wrapped my arms around my son and said, ”Please, Todd. Please be careful in your car.”

To my knowledge, his driving patterns changed that day. I never had to have another conversation with him on the subject, and based on how I observed him driving from that point forward, I think my plea somehow hit home. Who knows what the anger approach would have done? Can you see why I love whispers so much?

Over the years, there were plenty of trivial parenting conundrums-messy rooms and nose piercings, ill-advised hairstyles and tattoos-that Lynne and I felt it wise to let slide. But when it came to matters of morals or character, or things of safety or legal consequence, we needed infusions of wisdom that could only come from above. And now that my kids are grown adults, I see the benefit of having paid strict attention to every syllable of divine direction received.

Within a six-month period some years ago, I received cards on my desk at work from my kids, both of which proved out the power of letting G.o.d guide each of our steps.

The card from Todd read, ”Dear Dad, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. The older I get, the more I realize why you raised me the way you did. You always challenged me, which made me more confident in myself and in Christ. This past week, I was thinking about all of the experiences I've had that few other kids my age have had, because they didn't have parents who would challenge them. So, thanks for the challenges. And for all of the love and encouragement you've poured into my life along the way. I love you.”

I just about lost it as I sat in my desk chair and read that card. For a timid, non-verbal son to express himself with words like that-it went deep into this father's heart.

Around Father's Day that same year I received a card from Shauna. ”Dad, I was just thinking about you,” it began. ”What a great friend and father you've been to me. You're a person I love to be around and love to share life with. Thanks for all the things you've done along the way, and for the flowers and Diet c.o.kes and long walks...and for forgiving me.”

The sentiment went on, but I don't type well through tears, so I'll let it close there. The point is, there is a payoff that comes when we stay wide open to G.o.d. Follow his promptings at key junctures, and you'll benefit from it too.

One of the greatest rewards of living by the well-timed whispers of G.o.d regarding raising your family is that one day things might just come full circle.

For many years I craved G.o.d's input so that I could steer my kids in the right direction. But last year, during a vacation in one of my family's favorite places in the world, it was my kids who would hear from G.o.d-and do some steering of their own.

Eighteen months before that vacation, Todd had embarked on his around-the-world sailing trip. He was midstream on the second half of his voyage, and he took a hiatus from his travels to join us for a family connection. On our first day together-as is our habit when we are together-Todd and I took off for a midmorning run. Now, typically I would be the one to set the pace, but that day I was sucking air. He glanced over at me mid-stride and said, ”Dad, you're in terrible shape! What has happened to you?”

My mind scrolled through everything that had occurred since I had last seen him: staff reductions and reorganizations, budget overhauls, too many back-to-back hundred-hour work weeks and an exhaustingly long international trip. It had been a tough spring. ”Just give me a few days,” I offered. ”I'll bounce back soon enough.”

I meant the words, but something deep inside told me I was being overly optimistic at best.

Late that night, after Lynne had gone to bed, Shauna, Todd and I decided to stay up and talk. We were sitting on teak chairs on a terrace that overlooks the harbor, just savoring each other's company, when suddenly I heard myself say, ”You know, I'm not sure that my old work patterns are going to serve me well in the new reality I'm leading in...”

The last thing on my mind that night was trolling for free therapy from my kids. But I think my run with Todd had surfaced some stuffed-down feelings about how distracted and disjointed my life had become of late. And for whatever reason, in the safety of that moment, it all came spilling out. Both of my kids engaged immediately, asking questions and scouring my answers for the truth of how I really was doing. The attention made me feel quite self-conscious, but I must admit, their concern touched me deeply.

After twenty minutes or so of conversation, and following what I now know was a prompting from G.o.d, my wise-beyond-her-years daughter said, ”Dad, what are some recent examples of times when you were relaxed and you felt like you were able to connect deeply with G.o.d?”

I thought about her question and answered as honestly as I could. ”The South American trip I took last month. That single trip yielded the most consecutive days of deep connection with G.o.d that I've known in a long, long time.”

She probed a little more, until it came out that the reason I had felt such intimacy with G.o.d on that trip was because I had fallen into my ”trip pattern.” I travel more than a hundred days a year, and I find that when I'm on the road, my early mornings in hotel rooms afford me the perfect opportunity to invest extended time studying the Bible, praying and journaling about my inner world. Typically my morning speaking engagements don't start before nine o'clock, so from five-thirty or six a.m. until my ride phones me from the hotel lobby, I can pour a cup of hot coffee, prop up my pillows on the hotel bed, spread out my Bible and study aids, and get centered spiritually. Without people knocking on the door or staff members coming in and out of my office like they do back at Willow, I can perch perfectly justified, uninterrupted in that position until I feel refreshed for my day and reminded of G.o.d's presence and power in my life. The added blessing is that none of my leaders.h.i.+p-oriented ”stacks” are staring at me from various corners of my desk while I do so. Being on the road definitely has its perks!

My kids took in all of this detail before Shauna continued. ”So, why don't you take your hotel strategy and turn it into an approach for your life at home?”

I knew my daughter was on to something. Todd nodded in agreement, and although it was nearing the bleary-eyed hour of two a.m., the three of us began talking about what my hotel strategy might look like at home, and how the proper execution of such a plan could potentially restore a sense of sanity and spiritual connectedness to my life.

At this writing, it's eight months into my experiment of inst.i.tuting my hotel strategy at home, and so far, so good. I awaken early, but instead of hurrying through a shower and rus.h.i.+ng off to work, I step into a room that overlooks our back deck and spend the first critical hours of my day with G.o.d. The difference it has made in my life could be a whole separate chapter in this book; suffice it to say, this change in my routine has been a much-needed source of sanity for me. And it all started with a two-a.m. whisper from G.o.d through my daughter and son.

Admittedly, there is no perfect parent, there is no perfect child and, consequently, there is no perfect family. I can't conclude this chapter on parenting without relaying an extreme example of this reality: While in a grocery store some time ago, I witnessed a family meltdown I never will forget. The father and the mother started arguing with each other in plain view of everyone else around. Their crudeness and rage kept escalating until one of their three young children got scared and started to cry. Not knowing what else to do to find comfort, the little girl raced up to her father and tried to wrap her arms around his leg. But the father, now completely out of control, was in no mood for affection. He backhanded that child with such force that she tumbled onto the ground and fell on top of her smaller sibling, who then fell against a shelf full of canned beans. Before I or other onlookers could step in, store management and security personnel came to break up the fight.

Talk about a devastating thing to witness! I left the store physically shaken and thinking, ”There is nothing uglier than a family that is out of step with G.o.d.”

When a family is not functioning well, its members often feel diminished and confused and frustrated and alone. And you don't need a Ph.D. in sociology to realize that an alarming number of families are struggling these days, not just with the mundane questions of who gets to handle the remote control or whose turn it is to clean up after the dog, but with significant issues like, Do we really love each other? Are we going to make it as a family? Will our kids turn out okay?

But when imperfect people make a point of receiving input from the One who is without fault, it's a game-changer for all involved.

When a wife obeys G.o.d's whisper to approach her husband with a tender, carefree spirit once the kids have been tucked into bed for the night; when a father follows a prompting to leave the office a few hours early and surprise his daughter by showing up across town at her volleyball tournament; when a set of parents listen for G.o.d's input on how to nurture and mentor their son as he steps into adolescence; when dads invite divine direction regarding drawing out the unique wiring patterns of their kids; when moms pay attention to the supernatural nudges that help them fulfill G.o.d's desired roll in the family for them-when these and a thousand other manifestations of being attuned to G.o.d's whispers unfold in the life of a family, a legacy of blessings, not curses, lives on.

You and I have got one shot at this thing called our heritage, my friend. We will pa.s.s on either goodness to generations that come behind us, or we'll pa.s.s on something less. My vote is for the good stuff, for the whisper-led way of life.

Parenting has proven to be one of the toughest challenges of my life, but knowing that to the best of my human ability I've invited G.o.d in at every turn rather than keeping him at arm's length, I rest in the blessed a.s.surance of knowing that I have done the best job I could do. My kids love G.o.d and give him free rein to guide their lives. It doesn't get any better than that!

CHAPTER 8.

WHEN G.o.d SPEAKS.

THROUGH OTHERS.

DURING MY EARLY DAYS OF MINISTRY, I HAD THE MIS-fortune of watching a friend of mine who was an integral part of our church self-destruct. For many months, I had noticed that he was spending quite a bit of time with a woman who was not his wife. I wasn't intentionally doing detective's work; I just kept spotting the two of them riding in cars together or enjoying dinner by candlelight at nearby restaurants.