It's Hard to Say Goodbye

I have spent a lot of my life in a car, usually driving away from people I care very deeply about. I remember it most in the trips between St. Louis and Bowling Green. We would pile in the car after my dad got home from work and drive five hours "home" to St. Louis. We would spend time with my grandma and other family members. Sunday would find us back in the car headed back to Bowling Green.

Every few weeks we repeated this pattern. At some point, my mind began to see us as leaving for St. Louis and returning "home" to Bowling Green. We always went back to see family. It was the people we loved and longed for, not the place. Stores and streets that were familiar to my parents, and discussed frequently in reminiscences, were strange to me. But I knew the people.

Eventually, even the people became strangers to me. Time and distance eroded the bonds of affection that held us together. Cousins who were like siblings have become strangers. Many of those I loved so dearly have passed away.

For years the overwhelming sense of loss kept me developing relationships. I knew in time, I would pile in a car and drive away. Maybe the roads I traveled would bring me back again, but maybe they wouldn't. And I knew that if they did, it may be that the people I met were different people, even as I had become different through the journey.

For years, I resented having to go back to St. Louis. Not all of my memories are happy ones. But after I became a father, I started to realize why my parents took us back. The interaction with family gave us a sense of identity, a sense of continuity. I reminded us that no matter where we went in the world, we had family waiting at home.

I'm trying to give my little girl the same sense of identity, that same sense of family. I know when we go to see family there will be laughter and hugs and memories, but there will also be tears. I have never driven away from someone I loved without my heart breaking a little. The act of saying goodbye leaves me enveloped by a cloud of sadness. So I'm never surprised when Sophia cries after we leave a loved ones house.

I have learned that her tearful sobs accurately express the words I cannot say. I have learned that love is worth the risk of losing. I think there is some truth to that old saying: it is better to loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. So I'll keep piling in cars and driving to see the people I love, even though I dread the long, sad road home.

Spiritual Songs: "Family Man" by Andrew Peterson

We all get thousands of opportunities to reexamine our lives from time to time. We just have to seize the moments as they come. Each headline that seizes our hearts, stirs our anger, offends our sensibilities, or otherwise moves us beyond a mere mild fascination or morbid curiosity is an opportunities to search our souls. We have to examine our priorities, question our motives, and attempt to weigh both sides.


If we take the chance given to us, we can search our hearts, and when necessary make course corrections. In light of a couple of stories I heard today, I just want to reaffirm my commitment to my family. How do we honor the lives of children who have been abused? First, we become better parents. Then, we fight to make the world a better place. The gospel is the only weapon we have, but it is a mighty weapon. Live it.  Share it.

This song captures my feeling about my family. I have always wanted a wife and lots of kids. Sometimes, I forget that. God forgive me. I hope you enjoy this video.

As You Wish

If you have seen the movie, The Princess Bride, you are familiar with the characters Wesley and Buttercup.  If you haven't seen it, how did you discover the internet.  You should crawl out of your hole, and go buy a copy of it.  No, don' t rent it, you'll just wind up wanting to rent it again.  It's that funny.  All kidding aside, it is a great movie--you should see it.

Anyway, Wesley is a young farmhand who is deeply in love with his master's daughter, Buttercup.  Wesley reveals his love to Buttercup by simply responding to her orders with the expression, "As you wish."  In time, Buttercup realizes that Wesley loves her and she loves him.  It's a touching story, with a lot of humor thrown in.

I was reminded of the story this afternoon when Sophia asked for a peanut butter and marshmallow (cream) sandwich.  Yes, I am aware that they are probably not very "good" for you, but they taste really good.  So from time to time I make her one.

I realized, as I was making the sandwich, that I enjoy serving her.  I find my spirits lifted in the act of serving others.  As her father, my desire is to give her the desires of her heart.  Yet, I know that I cannot give into her every wish--like marshmallow or pizza for breakfast.  Nor can I give it to her every time she asks.

At times, I feel crushed by the urgent.  There is so much to do.  Then a little voice calls to me, "Daddy, can you play with me?" The temptation is to think that what I am doing is more important than play time, but much of the time it isn't.  She needs me to serve her in this way.

So at times, I smile, put my stuff to the side, and say, "As you wish."  Because I know one day, she'll understand it means, "I love you (more than me)."

Love Is a Good Thing

I thought I would repost this video in honor of my anniversary.  I hope you enjoy it.

Sophia the Saturday Morning Alarm

It is an incredible thing to be awoken by an energetic and excited little girl. I longed for the days that are here-days that are marked by willing service. As far back as I can remember, I have wanted a family. Now I am living that dream.

When the Lord blessed us with Ellie, I really didn't think I could be a father. I was afraid I didn't have what it took. I found out that the Lord often blesses us with the graces we need most, when we need them most. The moment I saw Ellie enter the world, I fell in love. I knew that I was a father, and no matter what happened I would do whatever was necessary to make sure she was taken care of. I realize now, as I think back on her struggle and passing, that God was stretching my heart. He was teaching me to love with a wider and deeper love than would have otherwise been possible.

When they first told us of Sophia, I was filled with fear, at least initially. "What if? What if?" became a constant refrain in my mind. What if the adoption falls through? What if we can't raise enough money? What if they don't approve us? What if we can't get the paperwork through on time? Then one day the Lord reminded me of his faithfulness. He reminded me of how he watched over Delia and I throughout Ellie's ordeal. The questions did a one-eighty. I started asking, "What if I miss out on the sound of children laughing?" What if we never hear the pitter-patter of little feet running through the house? What if I am never driven from bed on Saturday mornings by energetic and excited children, desperate to play with their daddy? What if I never get the honor of bearing the title, "Daddy?"

I knew in that moment, I would do whatever it took. I began to cry out to my heavenly Father for help and guidance, for wisdom and mercy. He began to open doors and move mountains. We got to spend Sophia's birthday with her. She was declared a Burns over a year ago. She has been with us since December 28, 2008, and here in the States since January of this year. The Lord has enabled us to overcome many obstacles to bring us to this joyous place. And for that we are eternally grateful.

I'm not saying that I the perfect father, but I am a loving father. Every day God stretches my heart and teaches me how to love wider and deeper. When you love, you serve. That is what Jesus did. Even as I lead Sophia, I must serve her. It isn't a burden, but a joy. This morning she came bursting into the bed room and let out a happy, "Dad-dy." It sounded like an eruption of love and joy, and it put a smile on my face. She came over to me, gave me a kiss, and motioning with her little hand she said, "Come on." The time for sleep had come and gone, the time to play had arrived. It's hard to argue with a child's simple logic, especially when you don't want to.

Brotherly Love

"Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity!" (Ps. 133:1)

David's words have spiritual overtones to them, but they also speak to the reality of earthly life. It is a good things when brothers live in unity. I got to hang out with my brothers tonight. I don't get to do it as often as I would like. We usually have a good time together. We all love to laugh, usually at each other, but in a gentle loving way. We never know what all will come up in conversation. Sometimes we start with a game of "catch-up," where we lay out the details of our lives since we last saw each other. Other times, we stroll down memory lane. Or we talk about our families, hopes, and dreams. We may discuss our difficulties or heartaches. Occasionally, we may talk politics, but never for long. We meet together as friends and equals, the sibling rivalry of childhood long ago laid to rest. We are the products of our parents, raised to love each other, to overcome division and strife, to pull together and lift each other up.

I'm not saying we don't ever disagree. Sometimes there has been great disagreement, however no matter what occurs we always find ourselves coming back together. The struggles never truly diminish the love we have for each other. I am convinced that we are all aware that we stand the strongest, when we stand together. We have learned through the years as we age and mature that we need each other. As we gather together, we seek to keep the past in check and focus on the here and now. We have made our peace in times past and let by-gones be by-gones. We are all close to our mid-point in life, of course, they are closer to theirs than I am mine. I think that reality has driven us to seek unity. None of us know how much longer we have, and we don't want to waste it on petty disagreements that we would regret, if we were to loose one another. Life is too short. So I say with David tonight, It is good when brothers dwell in unity.

A Real Family

Webster defines "real" as 1) of or relating to fixed, permanent, or immovable things (like land) and 2) not artificial, fraudulent, illusory or apparent. Real love defines a real family. Genetics are important, but not ultimate. I am not just saying that because I have no biological children. I say it because it is true. In Christ, we have a family that transcends genetic, ethnic, geographic, cultural and all other bounds.

Paul states, "For you did not receive the spirit of slaver to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, 'Abba! Father!' The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are the children of God, and if children, then heirs--heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him" (Rom 8:15-17).

This Spirit of adoption brands our heart with the love of God. The love of God in our hearts brings us into a deeper love of his other children. This reality if evident in John's words, "We know that we have passed out of death into life, because we love the brothers. Whoever does not love abides in death" (1 John 3:14).

Our love for Christ and obedience to his Word may drive us from our biological families, but it will never calls us to part ways from our real family. I am not saying that biological families are not real, only that they are not eternal, not permanent. There are many believers in the world today, and who have gone on before us, who have had to forsake or who have been forsaken by their families. Yet, not one of God's children will ever be forsaken by God.

Earthly families should be patterned on the heavenly family. The glue that bonds the heavenly family together is not a mixture of guilt, or manipulation, or familial loyalty, or sense of duty. Love bonds the heavenly family together. It is a love that looks remedies imperfection by sacrifice. "Love covers a multitude of sins." We should esteem others better than ourselves, because that is what Jesus did. He willingly took the place and punishment of sinful people and gave up his life for them. In his act of self-sacrifice he extended forgiveness to those who receive it and demonstrated the kind of love we must have.