the swingset

 For my youngest daughter Kelly Hope it was a safe haven and a place she could always be found.  Through the emotional ups and downs of her teenage years--if she wasn't in the house she could be found swinging in the backyard under the big sycamore tree singing to herself and listening to her music.

As I was cutting the lawn the last two weeks I came to the realization of a sad fact...

The space underneath the swing was no longer as bald of a patch of dirt--grass and weeds were beginning to grow there and I had never seen those sights before.  It occurred to me that she was no longer gliding on the wind and singing to herself in her own safe place in the world...a place where she was the singing star--honing her talent singing to an audience of crickets, lightning bugs, rays of sunshine and an occasional fox or squirrel.

You see...everything eventually changes and we are left with the reality of the present.  Some changes and some new realities are welcomed...many times we are left longing for the past.

I stopped mowing the lawn to reminisce of the many, many years she would ride the swing without a care...the time of drama where she was burdened by acceptance and finding her place amongst groups at school...thought about her belting out a song's lyrics with precision and melodic passion.

The swingset had been there for all of it...a witness to the passing of time and coming of age. An audience member for the songs of years of melodies...

I am writing this now thinking about what my "swingset" in life growing up would be?  What and where was my place of creativity, safety and dreaming?

Was it the sun drenched summer days of endless fishing adventures in the Tohickon creek? Endless hours of shooting hoops in the driveway dreaming of playing playoff games against imaginary foes?  Playing softball and running like the wind with speed and reckless abandon?  Playing trumpet softly and sweetly to a self composed tune in my basement with the greatest of passion?

We all have had places--someplace that was that place of safety and dreaming...every now and then as we grow older there comes something of a ghost calling to us from the present age...something that reminds us --hey--it's ok to still dream...it could a trip to the beach and hearing the rolling ocean waves...the beauty of a walk in the wooded park...sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking majestic views....whatever it is...go there...go there and dream again and remember you were created for more than working long hours and solving problems at work....we need to unplug in the right ways to recharge and center ourselves...with our families...our challenges in life..and with our God.

We were created to unplug and sometimes to again find our "swingset" --and love and dream.  It actually makes us better able to re-engage the world and the challenges facing us each day. Ecclesiastes 3---a time for everything.

"even if he doesn't..."

"Mr. Taylor--your daughter is in the hands of God now..."

Of course she is in the hands of God I thought..."He has her--there is nothing more for you to do..."
I loved this doctor--he was so kind throughout...and observant.  My daughter was in a coma...not a calm one mind you...there is much more to this story than what I can pen to a blog today...it is a full chapter in our lives.

This doctor meant well...he really did.  You see--more than 80% of patients that arrive at the ICU--do not leave alive--or have even a remote chance for a happy ending. That's not a statistic I researched on the Internet --it is from talking with the nurses in the ICU throughout long stretches of time during sleepless nights.

I thought--I am really having this conversation..."we have to begin thinking shortly about whether to continue life support or not..."  Wow--we really ARE having this conversation now.

Up until now I had believed in a miracle but with each day that my daughter fought restraints and broke restraints with her strength--yet remained unconscious through test after test--and MRI's, and many more tests I don't recall the exact technical terms for..checking her brain activity and possible bleeding on the brain....my hope was fading...now I had taken a full frontal cannon fire to the remnant of hope that remained in my heart.

As I flipped through my bible that sleepless night I came across a story that peaked my interest.  I was looking for a crumb of hope to cling to like a life preserver. It was Daniel Chapter 3--I stumbled across.  Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego...they refused to bow down to the king's gold statue and so they were to be bound and thrown into a blazing furnace.

"If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God whom we serve is able to save us. He will rescue us from your power. But--even if he doesn't..." 

What-?! --don't say THAT...
And so there it was--even if he doesn't... So many begging prayers from others hurting...
For the family begging that Alzheimer's would be banished and their family member healed...
For the family that has a member stricken with mental illness--praying for peace and healing...
For the family where autism distorts the day and keeps a child from seeing and filtering actual truth and relaxing in who they are...
For the family begging that depression loosen its grip on a loved one...
For the family battling cancer for one of their loved ones--and begging God for a miracle...
For the family begging for the health of a child...

So many prayers...
All people desiring the miraculous in the middle of the mundane and even cruel world that has all but stopped as everything slows when the most important things raise themselves up in front of us---the fragility of life.

I began to wonder in my heart that if God didn't heal her--would I still speak of his greatness--his power--even his plans for my life?

Where else is there to turn...I could ache and hurt in my heart--even be angry if this went badly--but I did not blame God...I only wanted to understand why a healing could not or should not happen?  I called a few of my closest friends and asked the question "what purpose could God have for this other than to miraculously heal her--and her life be used in a way--as a purpose--to point back to the healer of the broken?!

The next day I was not myself...I was lost--without hope.  The past 6 years I had built my life on the rock foundation that I had a hope--and for the first time in all of this--even all 11 days of her being in a coma I found myself looking at reality and soaking in "even if he doesn't..."  I went through work--had short conversations with others--some not even knowing what was going on--they flashed strange looks and had no idea of the weight on my shoulders as the family leader, the one who sets the trajectory for the rest of the family...

Saturday we celebrated our other daughter's sweet 16 by leaving the hospital--all of us--and traveling into Nashville and eating out at a restaurant and even taking a horse and carriage ride downtown.  The guilt I felt knowing my other daughter was lying in a coma alone--while I also needed to be happy for my other daughter--this would always be in her mind--I couldn't lose her by scarring her memories to be treasured for the future...

As I rushed back from dinner alone as it was my turn to be on duty overnight (we were taking turns) it was right back into the fire--but the break had eased a little of the effects of the sleepless nights.  My daughter was anything but at peace as every 10 to 15 minutes would bring spasms similar to a seizure although we were told they were not seizures.

At about 430 AM I went home to get showered and back before morning rounds,  Because it was Sunday morning we would be coming back together.  I left the room...it was a retreat from the shambles of a torn apart bed and broken daughter's body fighting everything -fighting peace.

While showering I was playing some soaking praise music to try to soak in some new hope for the day that lay ahead of us.

When we arrived back at the room--it was as if I had come to the wrong room.  This girl in the room was at peace. She was calm and sleeping beautifully.  The nurse (a hero to us for everything she did) had her hair showered and clean--all combed out.  She even put her own hair band to make a pony tail. I felt the peace at that moment...

I prayed as I sat on the couch next to her...and as I prayed I heard the words "great joy."
Michelle--I'm telling you this so that someone believes me if it is to come true--I heard the words "great joy." I thought in my head--did I really hear this or did I place those words in my own mind?  Do we ever really know?  I hoped it would be true.

A little hope can do a lot... bring energy, patience, the paradigm shifts and even the sun shining becomes a little brighter.

The doctor came in for her rounds.  We want to try to excavate the breathing tube she said.  They all tried valiantly but my daughters body just would not cooperate...
The nurse had an idea...her body is fighting the total removal-but if we can get her vitals, breathing and pressure lower we might have a better chance.

All day long-each hour that nurse dialed back the pressure...she worked on her all day long--and my daughter stayed calm and slept still...that peace gave me some peace.  At about 1:30 we asked what she thought..."I think in two hours when they make last rounds that we have a chance to be ready" she said.

In the back of my mind--I also knew that that was only the first step and we would need her to open her eyes and follow a few voice commands or there would be no further attempts to remove the breathing and feeding tubes.

As the late afternoon shadows creeped onto the windows of the room--I clung to my growing hope that something was different about today...even the words I had received--which were different from the usual day so far...something was just different...and different at this point was welcome.

As the doctor entered the room our nurse had dialed back the last click to where all of the machines and readings needed to be.

The doctor tried to awaken her to get her eyes open and to obey a command. "Haileigh.....I want you to wake up--open your eyes...open your eyes and look at me."  No response.  She tried 3x...no response.  The long line of students that accompanied the doctor began an unceremonious procession out of our room.

"Wait" I found myself saying.  "I am the only voice she responded to and that was 8 days ago--but she did listen to me...please let me try."

Not waiting for the agreement I started..."Haileigh....squeeze my hand" now I had been holding her hand through spasm after spasm...I know what a clenched fist is versus squeezing just one side.  I felt the squeeze and everyone saw it...but they dismissed it quickly.  I said "Haileigh...now squeeze this hand and gave her other side a squeeze..come one squeeze this side."  Suddenly I felt the other side squeeze back.  The procession stopped dead--the line reversed direction...something was happening and we all knew it.

"Haileigh--now I need a thumbs up--come on --a thumbs up"....a
her right hand raised about an inch or two and a trembling thumb began a slow, shaking turning upwards."  The doctor and students let out a simultaneous ROAR of joy.

Last thing Haileigh--I need you to open your eyes.  Now this girl had more flashlights checking her eyes the past twelve days and none of it looked good--eyes unable to focus, darting back and forth, completely dilated...but now...one eye began to open small at first--the most beautiful blue eyes looking back at me.

Once that happened the doctor and staff jumped in and pulled those tubes out...they worked diligently to get her breathing on her own.  So much to the story--so many interactions that I couldn't share in a small blog.

Suddenly there was "GREAT JOY" as promised--it was delivered.

From the joy of that moment--I have travelled to a place of guilt as I realized my desperate prayers were answered and I never had to answer the full realization of "even if he doesn't..."

From Anne Voskamp's blog I read a few sentences that resonate within my soul--and complete what I need to say..."no one enters into the real joy of the Lord in spite of the hard times---but squarely through the door of the hard times."

paraphrased: And so even if the next time it doesn't go my way---and what I beg for doesn't happen....I am still His beloved son...

Even if He doesn't--He still is ...
His will is right and His heart is still good...

Even if He doesn't--He does give enough--himself...

Even if He doesn't --He does still love us...
Even if He doesn't I will still believe--there is no where else to go and take these prayers.

And so the things that we fear the most produce the deepest faith within us and change us forever.

It might have looked different.

It was supposed to, it could have, and it may next time---
yet even if he doesn't....

dodging Joy

                                               
   From my own junior high and high school experience...I remember playing the infamous game of dodge ball.  I was really good at staying in the back and ducking, jumping and using fast reflexes to avoid the bigger kids throws.  After getting to be the last player a couple games in a row I remember how a disgusted player from my own team told me I wasn't a real player.  Well I was a real player--but not 100% "all in" might be a better description.

--Although dodge ball isn't my life--I draw a parallel to how I played it....

I have discovered a truth about how I live and how I engage JOY.  I have watched many other people and I have noticed some similarities in talking with others about how they handle "the good times" or periods of joy in their lives.

Almost every time without fail I don't live out--feeling the full 100% of Joy that's been given and is standing face to face with me.

At first when I realized this I thought about how and why--and what's this about? I think I handle it like dodge ball, jumping away from the full effects, ducking, and shielding it away with other balls to stay alive in the game of life--never taking that head on shot.

Well it's been going on for a while and here's the deal...I believe that if I don't fully go all in with the joy--then somehow the difficult times when they come again (--and they come again for all of us) I will also not get both barrels of that blast straight on--avoid a direct head on shot. Somehow I will get a diminished or reduced life changing event.

"It's a deal with the devil" as Brene Brown writes in her book "Rising Strong"--"and the devil never pays...when we deny our stories and disengage from the emotion--it means choosing to live our lives in the dark. "

 The imagery of darkness is something I know all too well...Sometimes I feel like Bane in the movie--The Dark Knight Rises--comparing my level of darkness by quoting "you merely befriended the darkness---....I was born in it."

However--When we decide to own our own stories and live our truth, we bring light to the darkness.

That doesn't mean it's easy street--even long after naming it aloud--but it does mean we get to live transparent warts and all.  It does mean putting myself out there--and fully living in the joy of the moment...with no waiting for the other shoe to drop mentality...just living in the now--breathing and taking it all in.  Whatever this holiday season brings and moving forward I want to be courageous enough to really live "all in."

I don't want to dodge real joy a minute longer when it presents itself...I want to take in every ounce as a gift knowing it is a great gift that can't protect me from future pain--it's just today's gift.

When I think about living this way, I think about Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting---a young man with an extended smart answer for everything except not being able to commit "all in" with his emotions...

In the final scene Ben Afleck shows up to pick up his friend for work---but he's not there....he is embracing joy in all of it's uncertainty for tomorrow as he drives across the country to chase after a woman he loves..."ALL IN"

the last conversation

  This week is a difficult week for me.  You see it is the anniversary of the day my day passed away--Dec. 5th.

My dad and I had a rocky relationship...most of the time I craved his approval but I felt I didn't like the things he liked--and wasn't interested in the things he was--especially chores or fixing things around the house.  His length of focus in hanging in with hopelessly lengthy projects long exceeded my puny attempts at hanging in with him.  Mostly I wanted to be beyond his arm length in case he lost patience--which was far more of a concern.

Oh there were many issues and I could write about it from so many angles but they really won't change the story or where it intersects my own story.

My dad went in for an operation in June and all of my siblings went to see him...it was a serious operation.  I couldn't afford to go...I lost the opportunity to speak with him for the last time.

I did see my dad in November as all of my brothers and sisters gathered around him on a ventilator breathing machine to celebrate his and mom's anniversary.  He had been on the machine for months with many setbacks and infections and his lungs were just too weak from years of smoking.

I had him alone with everyone temporarily leaving the room.

These are the kind of moments that are made of courage--even if it doesn't end up with the result I want--I thought. If I don't speak up I'll be one of those men forever stuck by my own paralysis of action.

Dad, things didn't always go how I wanted, or how you wanted...some things have come out wrong...some actions came out wrong...but I want you to hear me that--I forgive you.

Forgiveness is a strange thing.  I didn't really feel it when I spoke the words to him, but I had to speak it while I had time.  Having believed this would release him from his mistakes in parenting me, or use of discipline that scared the life out of me and unplugged me emotionally as I attempted to build walls to keep me safe from everyone....something different happened.

Over time I realized forgiveness actually frees the forgiver much more than the forgiven. I guess had I read some books on forgiveness I could have come to this conclusion quicker...but our own stories always sear the lessons into our minds forever much more effectively.

I also realized that forgiveness is a decision that needs to be made daily.  You see, I could relapse into an unforgiving angry spirit--even after pledging my forgiveness--and many days I did.  It's not a perfect trail, it has many peaks and valleys.

I remember my dad once sharing that he was the baby of the family (many years younger than his 3 siblings) and I realized for the first time my dad was probably a "surprise" baby late in life. He had a father (my grandfather) who had been told by his dad (my great grandfather) "this farm isn't big enough for the two of us" and so he left South Denisville, NJ for the city of Philadelphia.  He never received his father's blessing as he embarked out on his journey of life and he had never passed one on to my father either.  No surprise that the story of generations of broken dads continued to my own story.

I realized something long ago--that I do believe he was doing the best he can do--given his situation and the tools available to him.  That doesn't make it ok--everything that happened...it really doesn't change any of the other characters but myself--it makes my heart feel more whole.

 When I believe that he did the best he could--it grants grace...and I'm the one who looks through a different lens.

The conversation wasn't perfect or even all that articulate...but it would be our final conversation--and in the absence of my father's voice I found I had a voice.  How the discovery of my own voice making noises--made me want to growl at the injustice...instead I granted the grace as best as I could.

Dad--with every year that you have been gone I long to have meaningful conversations with you...ones where we share our stories more. I want you to know that I'm sorry you never received what you needed or your dad's blessing--I know you desired it. I want you to know that I have one major thing I am proud of in my life---with this generation the story is being rewritten in the Taylor family.  I am passing on grace ---and creating a relationship with my son that would make you proud. I have given him words of encouragement and life.

The chains are broken with this generation and the story's ending is yet to be determined....but the trajectory has promise.

One day we will share new stories and you are free to whistle as many tunes as you want--it makes you happy.

My Dad shared a dream with me...he wasn't a man with grandiose aspirations...he told me he would feel happy and complete if he could own and run a small soft serve ice cream stand.  This probably sounds sacrilegious to some of you---I shared that with a friend this week--my belief is that he (dad) is in heaven and running that soft serve shop and talking with others welcoming them all into the heavenly courtyard-and believing that I can't help but smile that dad is now living out a dream...

the value of intergrity

                                                 The value of Integrity

 It is my opinion that men don't understand the purpose or value of integrity today.
In fact, I believe most men avoid looking at it seriously at all costs--it's too uncomfortable to have to look at this.

 Let me clean that statement up--I didn't see the purpose or value in my own integrity.

 That all changed one Monday night in 2010 as I came face to face with the wake of my own integrity--or lack of it.

 I went to that Monday night...clearing round...and then the integrity round.

 There's nothing like a crisis in a man's life to bring him to looking at making changes--to throttle him into movement...and I was throttled.

 I tried to muster up the voice and courage to get to my feet.  I headed to the center of the circle to face everyone.  I had always heard "the circle is strong enough for that" but was it strong enough for the good, the bad, and the ugliness of this?

 I had no choice--I had already lost my job, lost my reputation, my family's respect and my credibility.

 I confessed it all to that circle of men...it all came out...it sounded ghastly...it sounded depraved and awful...when I was finished I stood there, head down and full of shame...I was looking into the hardest place--the mirror. My integrity was ugly rags that couldn't cover me.

 I remember looking out at some of the men and seeing some faces that were angry and disapproving, others in shock and I couldn't look at them in the face so I bowed my head.  This can't be happening I thought...this can't be where and how my story ends...this isn't who I'm supposed to be.

 Some men indeed were angry at me....some never spoke to me again after that night.  One man cleared with me months later. Many men to my surprise decided to walk this journey out with me...and that was more than I had expected.

 I still stood in the center of the circle..shirt soaked with sweat, my head burning up and yet I was chilled by the AC that had kicked on. I longed for tears to shower me and clean me from the dirtiness of my own story...but they failed to come.

 Out of the awkwardness of the silence... as I stood there came a voice saying "I forgive you Glenn"...then a second..."I forgive you Glenn" ...then a third...a fourth and fifth.  I knew a few of the voices but they came from different directions--and I was shocked.

 Have you ever heard something and wondered if anyone ever heard it too? But you were afraid to ask-or talk about it?

 That's when I heard a voice--it came from behind me--it emanated from the empty spot in the circle where I had been sitting before I moved to the center---it said "I love you Glenn."

 Now I had rarely been granted forgiveness in my life, but I definitely had never heard these words ever.  To this day I believe it was the voice of God the Father giving me strength and courage for the journey that lay ahead.

 I turned my head and opened my eyes but no one was there in that spot. I started to sob heavy tears. How is it I could always be ready to fight but not prepared to hear love?  It came at me like a right hook that I never saw coming--and--It knocked me out...I haven't been the same since. It ruined isolation for me.

 I don't remember when the last time I had allowed myself to cry--but it had been many years.  The salty warm sensation brought back memories of growing up--memories long since locked away and that had been walled up--never, ever to be reopened or touched--and never to be felt again.  That sadness was from a deep reservoir that I dare not acknowledge or examine lest I be swept into its swift currents and never be found again.

 As I look back on this past Monday evening and what transpired, I can't help but smile as I recall the voices of many men challenging each other. I no longer hear something
unimportant, nothing militant or procedural...I hear the calling to have words and actions in congruency in the way I was challenged from the voices within--and then challenged from the outside voices.  I could fight against them or fake them, even stay silent to them...but to quote a New Adam Friday night quote--"but then--that's not why I'm here."

 The value of being in integrity as a man--to me is equivalent to having my fractures pushed back into placement and bandaged--it was the ER help I needed to begin to heal. It hurt bad having them set...

...But it is these scars that have now become my gold.

"seeing things" again

There are times when I have observed how others are gifted...how they find ease and satisfaction doing what it appears they were always meant to do.  I remember feeling a twinge of jealousy knowing how they were able to do good things...that were already in their heart to do.

I've watched my one brother stand up and speak his truth and see renovations of things--the end product was in his vision plain as day and he wondered why others couldn't see what he saw.

I've watched my son Grant step in and connect with others from his past in a way that protects and shelters his sisters, watched him connect with other friends in a way that only someone with a high EQ could ever see and accomplish. He connects to others with words in a way that is powerful to all he touches.

I've watched my friend Josh step into his gifting and begin to be seen and appreciated for what he brings.  It's very powerful to watch a person realize their own value and gifting--when others start to appreciate them and look to them for those gifts, vision and wisdom. None of it surprises me as he has spoken of his vision and painted a picture with stories for years...it's only surprising to him as it is coming to fruition as he saw it all those years ago.

It's only in the past year or so I really have come to appreciate what I can bring with ease and step into.  I had always thought that it was my strength of survival--  and long suffering that would be my legacy...far from it.

It was my baby sister Laura that worded it best for me--"you are the one who sees others."  I was at Chick Filet in Cool Springs and saw the dining room attendant "Rosa" and we were both excited to see each other.

Why????

I had worked in Cool Springs for the better part of 10 years and had seen her there like everyone else...She always took care of everyone and she did it well.  One day she seemed particularly down and I put down my book and my own issues of loneliness from my life--I approached her and inquired what was going on and if she was all right--but in Spanish.  Although my Spanish was very poor she seemed to appreciate the effort--and to appreciate that she was not invisible. That began ongoing dialogue on subsequent visits and I learned a great deal of her story and family history as it played into the life of who she had become....

And so to see her again after a few years--was something beautiful as she shared and updated me about her daughter and her family...and I got to share with my smile some of the gold from my trials--as only a man on the other side of an arduous journey can do.

I used to wonder why no one would talk about things after seeing the same things together as me...now I realize that it's only me that sees this in just this way and it is my job to speak into that...in fact if I don't speak into that it very well might go unnoticed or unspoken all together.

The moments that change our world in some way are small things...sometimes spoken words and sometimes simple actions observed by others...many times small actions not observed-done in obscurity--only seen by the one that matters most--our father above.

I have been taking stock in what I still want to do with the rest of my life...
Speak into lives to cause change and give hope...
Use my scars as my gold to those who really need to have that...
Teach and encourage others...
Work in a business with Grant before I retire...

That would be a full life--and would give me the legacy I want to leave-with the time I still have.

My mom also once observed and told me--you are the one who can inspire and bring others together for a cause.

Mom--you are right--I can do this-facing impossible odds and daunting circumstances--whether with my work teams--or missions trips to Ecuador, or Hurricane Katrina relief, or simply ball teams...I have found my voice, and my message of hope to go with seeing others--but it is the simple gift of seeing things in others that is the endearing and fluent overflowing gift I've been given to share freely that ultimately will define my life.

What is that thing in your life that you've been given that only you bring in that way...and with ease?

What are you doing with that gift?

I'd really be stoked to hear back from others what those things are...it redeems so much in my mind when others take time to connect back.

Please share back for everyone...you never know who's life you might change.

Esau moment for Father's Day

 One of the biggest issues in society today is the problem that men--yes dads do not affirm their sons...they give no blessing to send them out into the world.  It's a sad and dismal failure that I have personally witnessed over generations. The critical moment comes and there is silence where affirmation and blessing should take place.

The mere fact that men don't realize this is proof to how far we are from where we should be.

In honor of father's day I need to stand up and speak the truth regarding fathers today and this travesty.

There was a time when I was younger...about 20 years old.  I longed to hear some words from my dad.  I wanted his approval and blessing so badly--craved to hear some affirming words from him.  I wanted to hear something about my working hard and putting myself through community college without debt and moving on to the four year college, or about being the first in my family to get their degree...really I would have accepted almost anything he could have said --if only I could have heard something at that critical moment...but alas it was crickets. I remember the hollow ache deep inside.

As the years began passing I tried to set him up-- leading him to the juncture so he could "spike it" with some words or phrase, but he never took the lead and gave me what I longed for.  He never told me I had what it takes to be a man...and as that's what I needed-- it remained unfulfilled.

As I unpack that wounding and I observe and listen to so many other stories of people who have touched my life--dad's are a hot topic.  Their words have the power to bless but so many times have had the power to tear down.

I loved hearing stories from my dad about growing up.  He talked working at a soda fountain at the corner drug store.  He traded some good times for responsible work ethic.  I don't know everything about him but I do know his mom's words were more plentiful and meaningful in his life.  His own father "Harold" had no words for him.  So my dad went out without the blessing he longed for and started blazing his own trail with no tangible words of guidance or sage wisdom to be shared.

One of the stories that captivated my imagination was my grandfather "Harold" and his dad "Joseph" (great grandfather). They lived on a farm in south Jersey in a town called South Denisville.  Not much there but Jersey tomatoes, peaches and other vegetables...and lots of mosquitos.  Well as the story goes Harold takes the train to Cape May to attend high school and come home on weekends.  When he gets to the age of eighteen--the age a boy looks for affirmation of his growth that he is becoming a man--he does not receive his blessing...rather he receives the words "Harold, this farm ain't big enough for the both of us."  And so we discover how and why my family's roots headed through to Philadelphia in our journey.

I also realized just another generation that missed "it." It--as in the opportunity to affirm, and bless---and to launch that young man into the world with the confidence of who he is.

I can see the baton has been passed over and over--yet in the wrong way. Repeating the same mistakes and silence at critical junctions where a man's words would bring life to his son.

I wonder what type of man my dad would have been had he received those words he needed.  Maybe it would have changed our whole family's trajectory and story.  Instead of trading in his jovial outlook on life--for responsibility and playing it safe...perhaps he would have dared greatly and it would have changed so much.

This brings me to fast forward.  My dad was lying in bed at a nursing home on a ventilator when I went to him and told him "I forgive you dad..."...I released him from everything growing up.  I didn't really mean it at the time, but I wanted to...and he was gone from this world a week later.

Today as I look out into the distance-- so many men still act like small children floundering in their own brokenness and are unable to provide the words so desperately needed because they never received those themselves.

It's time to break the chain, stop this pathetic cycle.  This father's day I want to give back to dad--his Esau moment...the moment he needed and should have had. If I had the power I would let him hear this loud and clear...nothing about me--this is about healing...

Ken---you have what it takes!!! You are more than enough.  You are kindhearted and fun  loving...you are a good provider and tender caring husband to Dorothy.  You will take kids in and give them a future and a hope.  As my daughter recalls, your deep laugh bellows out and chokes out all other sound--swallowing it up and inviting others to laugh with you.  You love your American Indian heritage as a badge of honor. You enjoy any activity where you can provide fun for your children. Your whistle is the loudest and yet carries tunes better and with more joy-than anyone I have ever met. You are the Whistling Chief and "Friend to All." You are a man amongst men, and you are free to be these things that you are and that you bring to the world. I miss you Dad.

Happily I have seen some of my brothers break the cycle and pass on a different legacy than the one we inherited.  It is AWESOME to see those Scars become our Gold.
This father's day I pray that this gives you permission and the courage--especially if you never received those words yourself that you needed....to lay that down and forgive (yes forgive what was never spoken and never asked for your forgiveness), and to break the cycle and start your own legacy.

 Give the power of your own words to others...give them the words you always wanted to receive...what a spin on an Esau moment it would be if men stood up and not only affirmed their children and blessed them (the future generation)...but in the same moment could forgive and thus be part of the healing of the past generation as well.  Now that would be a generation of fathers I could only wish to be a part of...