Father, Fathering, and Fragility

As the son of a man who was diagnosed with cancer this week and the father of a boy who is 19 months old I find myself sandwiched in fragility.  For dad, this will be his second bout with cancer.  This time he is 20 years older and also fighting genetic heart problems that have caused 2 heart attacks in the last 6 months.  His faithfulness to a morning exercise routine may be a significant part of why he is still with us.

Even though Kai has transitioned from a baby to a little boy, he certainly is still so fragile.  Falling into the small pool we have in the back yard and tumbling backwards down cement steps are just a few of the "heart skipping a beat" moments that have occurred in recent weeks.  He is such a busy guy, the picture of both vibrant life and certain injury.

And here I sit between them, the two men who pull on my heart the strongest.  I can't help but feel their fragility thrust upon me.  Certainly it has always been there, but this week I am much more aware of it.  I was playfully tossing Kai on the bed when my wife came to talk to me about the news of my father's cancer.  I was aware of the edges of the bed, the angle of the toss as not to hurt Kai's neck, and the grip on my father that can't keep him from his edge, whenever and wherever that may be.  My love for them both makes me deeply yearn for a relationship between them that will stretch on for years to come.  But will they know one another much longer?  Will dad be around to see Kai grow up?

I can't help but feel the fragileness in me too.  I lay out my hope, my desire, my longing before my heavenly father and am so aware of my own powerlessness, so afraid to be too real with my longings.  If I don't guard myself against the depth of my desire for more years, more relationship, am I leaving myself open to complete undoing and the undoing of my faith?  It feels like familiar territory.  The depths of my wife and my desire to conceive children feels similar and though we have been pleading  for our heavenly father to intervene our cry has gone unanswered.  Kai is so fully our delight, but that can not remove the pain of  barrenness or the tenderness of hope so long differed.  Hope and longing are so fragile in me.

I know the answers that a heady, secure, stable faith offers.  "God works it all out for your good."  "Do not be afraid."  "He will never leave or forsake you."  I believe those things are all true, though I defiantly resist them if they stand alone.  They are not the complete story.  It is also true that the story holds, "My God!  Why have you forsaken me?"  "Walk with me through the valley of the shadow of death."  "Where are you?  I'm surrounded and the forces that oppose me are having there way with me!"  It is all there together.  I find myself sandwiched here too.  Some days that sandwich feels like a vice squeezing me without mercy.  Other days it feels like being enfolded in the arms of a father who sees my sorrow and holds me near.  And there I live, fragilely in the midst of hope and dispair, strength and fear, resilience and concession.... my dad and my son.