photo Christine Sine
My garden’s primary export is weeds.
I’m new at gardening – this is only my second year tending to this little plot of land in my care. So I try to have grace when I pluck more dandelions from the soil than I do vegetables.
I find myself thinking a lot about Jesus’s story of wheat and weeds — the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares, as we normally call it. He tells this story about wheat (God’s children) and tares (the evil one’s children) growing all together in a field. The two are allowed to grow together until, eventually, at maturity, the weeds will be gathered and burnt.
It seems that Jesus views humanity in two distinct types of people. The first sort of person is wheat, which is useful and good, the intended and desired children of God. The second sort of person are the weeds: unwanted, undesirable, competing with and detrimental to the health of useful plants like wheat.
Sometimes people are certain of knowing exactly who is in which category.
On the news recently, I saw a woman — she was at a protest for stronger border control between Mexico and US America. She was shouting: “Jesus wouldn’t break the law.” She was so certain that those labeled “illegal immigrants” are the weeds.
Across the country, Christians organize outside women’s health centers to pray for life while holding signs that say “murderer,” certain that the only reason a woman would need contraception or an abortion is because she is a child of the enemy, an invasive plant that chokes out life.
Many people are certain of knowing just who the weeds are. I’m not here to tell you that border-crossing children and pro-choice women are going to burn. Rather, I want to ask: how do you feel about the people who do say such things? Are you certain of their weediness?
Perhaps you work to follow God’s call to care for the orphan, the widow, and the foreigner — how do you feel about those who, in the name of the same God, oppose such a call? How do you feel towards those who actively work against caring for the orphan, the widow, and the foreigner? Perhaps their behavior seems not dissimilar to the way an invasive species of weeds hinders the goodness and usefulness of wheat.
Jesus’s parable, by sorting humanity into two groups, seems to condone this sort of classification of human souls, yet perhaps the story is not about the fact that humanity could be easily categorized into two groups, but rather the parable might be about the tendency, the desire to place humanity into two groups. Perhaps the issue is not that weeds exist; perhaps the issue is that our desire to name people as weeds does exist, and this breeds the desire to distance, to separate, to grow apart from those people.
As any gardener knows (and I am certainly learning), the presence of weeds may feel like a cause for battle. But, my wiser garden mentors tell me, weeds are actually a very useful tool. To the gardener who knows how to read the signs, weeds are an indicator of the condition of the soil. If the soil is too wet, it will attract certain weeds; if it’s too compacted, different weeds; if it is too acidic, too alkaline, too full of phosphorous — each situation will attract its own type of weeds.
A wise farmer pays attention to the weeds, digs down into the dirt to discover what they are indicating about the soil, and learns from their presence.
What we would like to tear from the field, remove from ourselves, and dismiss as problems are actually very useful tools, when we pay attention. When we want to remove something from the field, perhaps we would be wise to first move closer with curiosity.
Jesus tells us a crucial step in this work: “Let the wheat and the weeds grow together.” He does not say to let them grow at the same time, in parallel and yet separate from one another, but to let them grow together, their roots intertwined.
If we are wise gardeners, we will not ignore the people with behaviors that we might tend to view as weeds. If we are wise farmers, we will pay attention to what those weeds are indicating about the world in which they grow. We will not obliterate them, but will move closer to them to find out what is going on to grow such a plant — Move so close as to allow our root systems to become entangled and intertwined so thoroughly as to be inseparable. We will allow God to grow us together so intimately that the well-being of one plant is deeply connected with the well-being of the other. When our growth is intimately tied to their growth — whoever we might understand “them” to be — the field will be changed; and the flourishing of all people will be possible.
The protester that I mentioned earlier, the woman desiring stronger border control: if she spent time learning from the ones she calls law-breakers, perhaps she might be able to see their illegal weediness not as a core characteristic of their souls, but as a symptom of the soil of our world, a symptom of scarcity and globalization and desperation. The Christians outside women’s health clinics might be surprised to discover that those who enter such clinics often do so because of uncertain relationships and insufficient community support — deeper concerns in the systems of our world.
And if we allow ourselves to grow together with the Christians that make some of us want to say “I’m not that kind of Christian” –perhaps we can see them as symptoms of a struggling church in a broken world, if we can be wise gardeners. Perhaps we can recognize that what looks like hatred is the sincere attempt to follow the call of a God who is beyond all understanding in a rapidly shifting culture. Perhaps we can learn that what looks like hatred is fear of a God who is beyond our control; fear of a God who tells us to grow together with those we fear.
Please visit Kate’s website Here
Kate Rae Davis
By Andy Wade –
For me to gain means you must lose. That’s the basis of a zero-sum relationship. This kind of thinking is deeply embedded in our western culture, especially within the “free market” culture. Life is a competition and, while I might choose to be charitable from time to time, for me to get ahead means others must sacrifice.
This is also the approach we take with nature. It’s assumed that to grow a plant means the soil will lose nutrients. On the surface, that makes sense. But what if that’s not the way God designed creation? What if God’s design was one of interdependence and self-sacrifice? And what if our misunderstanding of creation and our part in God’s creation plan has influenced our theological framework? Could it be that we have oversimplified the purpose and message of the cross? Have we over simplified Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, reducing it to “God sacrificed, I win” –zero-sum in action.
But a closer look at what Jesus actually says about it reveals something quite different: Jesus sacrificed so that we all may become one as he and the Father are one. Or as the Apostle Paul phrases it, “ For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.” Col 1:19-20). This is not zero-sum but rather self-sacrifice for the flourishing of the whole creation!
It’s interesting that when we go all the way back to the story of the Garden of Eden, zero-sum is introduced by Adam when he blames Eve for their mutual disobedience. The result? Fractured relationships between God and humans, between human and human, and between humans and creation. In the very next chapter (4) Cain takes the life of his brother, Abel, and when confronted by God exclaims, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Choosing to live into the fracture rather than the hope, Cain experiences dislocation from the flourishing life of mutuality God intended.
These are some of the thoughts swirling through my mind as I watched Michael Pollen’s presentation on restorative food systems at the Bioneers conference in 2013. While his is not an intentional theological reflection on our relationship with creation, it is, nonetheless, deeply theological. God’s power and purposes are visible in creation. Anyone, no matter their theological persuasion, can observe God’s creation and see how it was designed for mutual flourishing and sacrifice. As I’ve said in other posts, we may choose to live into the “curse”, our broken relationships with each other and the whole creation, or we can live into the promise and hope the whole creation was founded upon, and to which the cross beckons, healing, wholeness, mutuality, and sacrifice.
Watch the video and see what you think.
This post was first published on the Mustard Seed Associates blog
Love by Johnhain, used with permission
By Rowan Wyatt
“But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you”. Matthew 6:6 ESV
As an ex professional musician I have always sought to take care of my ears and my hearing. When I first started out there wasn’t a lot of choice for hearing protection, either foam earplugs, which made it impossible to hear what you were doing, or nothing at all which at times was just as bad. I learned to position myself better so I could buffer the other noises away and just hear my own guitar amplifier and if the stage was big enough I would position myself right at the front to get as far away from the, very high wattage, amps we would use. Then a few years ago, as I was winding down my music and just playing for fun I discovered some new types of ear plugs on the market. These silicone buds fitted in your ears but had different filter levels you could adjust to achieve your desired filter level. I could finally hear what I was playing without the deafening distraction of all that was going on around me.
I like to pray in the way Jesus prescribed in the above scripture, for as much as praying is talking to God a huge part is listening to him. I like to spend time in intimate reflection and quiet contemplation to hear that still small voice, sometimes a ‘knock you off your feet’ gust! Free from distraction and conducive to being able to hear with a degree of clarity, away from distracting noise. Filtering out the distractions just like I did with the expensive ear plugs I mentioned above.
I love this poem by my fellow Welshman W.H. Davies which I first encountered as a quiet boy at school, to me it is a total reflection of modern spiritual life, it’s lack of quiet listening and its words should be heeded: –
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
How wonderful those words and how poignant with the rush and immediacy of the modern world. Everything is required immediately, a quick fix whilst bustling on with the busy, noisy and hectic lives we lead. Who wants to waste time listening for Gods voice, see his beauty in nature or feel his hand on your back. It seems few people do today, lost amid the fancy big screens, ego laden worship bands and the game show host leaders of the mega churches. I guess God does reach people in these places but not this pilgrim.
Listening to God is the most important aspect of your Christian life for if you are not taking the time or even bothering to try and listen to what he has to say to you then prayer just becomes a one sided babble. You hear it said so often that people are waiting to hear from God despite their constant prayer, are they taking the time to listen?
I had been struggling with some issues recently and despite praying I wasn’t hearing from God, felt no presence, felt no comfort and so whilst out one day I popped into the local Catholic church to sit and spend some time in silent contemplation. I began to pray and after giving thanks I asked for help, I heard from God, dramatically, to the point where I had to fall to my knees shaking. I realized that before while praying I was talking AT God not WITH Him and that all I could hear was my own voice, my own self-pity drowning out the voice of God.
But Rowan, surely God is all powerful and omnipresent and can be heard no matter what or where? I hear people asking that as they read this and I totally agree with that statement but I feel, and have experienced many times, that God likes and prefers to talk with us when we are in a peaceful place together, a conversation between just the two of us, intimate, a ‘just between you and me’ state, at least that’s how it works with me. Often when I pray alone, I sit or lie on the floor and as I talk to God I feel a hand on my back, comforting, protecting, fatherly. You don’t get that experience of God if your sole prayer time is a quick two minutes whilst running for your train.
Just listen. Talk to God and then be quiet and wait for him to talk to you. It may be a direct word or just the faintest hint of a whisper in the breeze rustling some leaves in the yard which brings you comfort. Take that time out, make time for it and let God talk to you.
Just listen and see what you can hear, filter out the unwanted noise of life. It may change your life.
Book Review of The Power of Listening: Building Skills for Mission and Ministry
by Lynne M. Baab, a monthly contributor to Godspace.
Reviewed by Sarah Sanderson
I’m not a natural-born listener. I’m definitely not one of those people who chose a vocation as a counsellor at age twelve because her friends were always confiding in her. No, I’m more of a natural-born interrupter. Start to tell me something important, and my tendency is to get so excited about whatever it is you’re talking about that I have to share my own thoughts, right away, right now, before you’ve even finished.
When I first tried to reform my ways, I thought that listening was simply the opposite of talking. Instead of jumping in and interrupting my friends, I would bite my tongue and concentrate on keeping my mouth shut. Remaining silent equals listening, right? Not if you’re so worried about not talking that you still can’t hear anything the other person says.
It turns out that listening is a much more complex and nuanced skill than simply putting a clamp on your tongue. Thankfully, God has graciously given me role models and road maps as I seek to grow in my listening capabilities. Lynne Baab’s book, The Power of Listening, offers both: the role models and the road map. Sharing quotes and examples from great listeners, as well as laying out a broad framework for how listening functions in many different settings, this book is a trustworthy guide. Baab has much to offer both for listening novices like me and for those lifelong listeners out there who seek to understand and apply their innate skills in new ways.
Listening requires not just staying quiet, but paying attention. In this fast-paced world of ours, we can become so overwhelmed that we stop paying attention to much of anything. The Power of Listening shows us how and why to bring our attention back into focus.
The book begins with a compelling true story: a missionary returned, after years of overseas service, to a declining congregation. By patiently listening for the latent passions buried deep in the hearts of the beleaguered church members, and then showing them how to listen to the needs of their community, the missionary helped to spark new enthusiasm, outreach, and growth. In this real-life example, listening was not confined to a single conversation, but became the bedrock of a months-, even years-long process of revitalization.
How can we learn to listen like that, in a way that matters, for our church, our community, and our world? What does it mean to listen to communication that is unspoken, such as creation, art, and even the architectural spaces and online messages around us? What role does posture play in prayer? What do we do with the anxiety that naturally arises within us as we listen to another’s pain? The Power of Listening raises and addresses question after question like this, ranging from the practical to the profound.
Baab gives particular primacy to the role of listening in churches. This book will be useful for clergy and lay leaders, as well as for church members. Each chapter offers questions at the end for use in small groups or personal reflection.
I first read The Power of Listening when it was released a couple of years ago. One story in particular stuck with me. Baab relates a time when she was recovering from surgery. She noticed that well-wishers often didn’t sit with the topic of her recovery process as long as she wished they would. Her experience as one who needed listening led to an insight: when talking with trauma survivors, it can be helpful to gently return to the topic of trauma again, even after the first “how are you” question has been lobbed and volleyed.
I used this concept just this morning. A friend told me how she was struggling with her mother’s advanced cancer. I listened, and prayed for her. The conversation continued on. But I sensed further sadness in my friend.
“I’m still feeling sad about your mom,” I offered. This kind of reflective empathy is one of the practical tools Baab offers in her book.
“I’m sad, too,” my friend replied, and she went on to give me new information that hadn’t come up in our first conversation. We continued on to have an even deeper time of prayer.
If The Power of Listening can help even a natural-born interrupter like me become a better listener, it’s a powerful book indeed.
(Sarah Sanderson is an MFA student at Seattle Pacific University, a pastor’s wife, and a mom of four. Her writing, on topics like faith, mental illness, parenting, and everyday life, can be found at confessionsofahumanmom.blogspot.com and www.sarahlsanderson.com.)
Photographer Daniel Etter.
There are few who haven’t been moved by the visible anguish of Laith Majid as he and his family finally landed safely on the shores of a Greek island. Clutching his little ones, he arrived drenched and freezing in a rubber dinghy barely afloat, with an entire nation’s pain written on his face. His bravery and suffering awakened my heart like a stinging slap of icy salt water.
I wept for him. I tried to imagine what it was like to be him.
I have never been so very desperate as to dare to bring my family and others across a huge sea in a rubber dinghy meant for 3.
I have never had to leave absolutely everything behind, showing up in a new land as a pauper with children in tow, fully dependent on the good will of others.
I have never had to test the courage it takes to simply choose to live.
It’s easy to go throughout my busy week and forget that millions of people live on this planet with refugee status. The UN says that there are “currently some 43 million uprooted victims of conflict and persecution worldwide. More than 15 million of them are refugees who have fled their countries, while another 27 million are people who remain displaced by conflict inside their own homelands — so-called ‘internally displaced people’.” The sheer numbers of desperate people are overwhelming. They are people who love and are loved, people who have hopes and dreams. And for the many who are housed in refugee camps, generations will pass before anything really changes for them.
I don’t believe we forget because we don’t care. A good many of us are simply trying to love God and our families, do our jobs, pay our bills, and surf the ups and downs of our lives. It’s not lost on us that in America we have it pretty good.
But here are desperate human beings asking the world for help.
This brings up lots of legitimate questions and concerns. How many refugees can a local economy take at once? How do we designate resources for all the people in need? Is there enough to go around? Is there enough for us? And what if they have terrorist leanings? Are we inviting the horrific cruelty of ISIL into our midst? We all know that the political struggle over the issues has been divisive and brutal.
I’m tired of arguing a “side”. I can only dare myself to gaze at Mr. Majid’s face and encounter his need. It scares me.
I am grateful that we have our stories, our sacred narratives that can speak to the humbling truth that I have no idea what to do. The refugee situation is a worldwide crisis. The battle of the Left and Right keeps us stuck. But I have been reading some of the work of theologian Walter Brueggemann who brings us to the stories that deal with overwhelming pain and stuckness.
[Note: These next paragraphs are my attempt to synthesize and summarize Dr. Brueggemann’s brilliant words and work from The Prophetic Imagination. The first edition of this book was written in 1978 but I find it uncannily fitting for today. Any and all brilliance in the following paragraphs is purely his.]
The story of the Exodus is a powerful point of identity for Israel. They had been were slaves in Egypt. They had become accustomed to life under Pharaoh. It was the only social reality that could be imagined. Even the religion of the Hebrew people was subverted to work for the Pharaoh’s purposes to keep the machinations of his kingdom moving. Life was hard but at least there was work and food. But Israel cried out under their bondage. And God heard.
In the stories that follow, we see that the claims of Pharaohs’ empire are ended by the disclosure of the freedom of God, that is, that God is not beholden to maintain the purposes of the dominant culture. God is not captive to anyone’s social perception or purposes. The God of Moses subverts the comfortable reality of Pharaoh and sides with the oppressed and the marginalized. The God of Moses dismantled the politics of oppression and exploitation by countering it with the politics of justice and compassion. The Hebrews found themselves being formed into a new way of being, to match the vision of God’s freedom.
The revolution of Moses was sustained for generations (with some significant ups and downs) until under King Solomon, Israel itself became “empire”. The kingdom of Solomon was one of incredible affluence. Whereas the alternative consciousness of Moses arose in a time of scarcity, there were enough consumer goods in Israel under Solomon to remove much of their anxiety about survival. The alternative consciousness brought by Moses began to lose ground. It is difficult to maintain a revolution of justice and freedom when there is satiation. In our own economy for example, says Brueggemann, it is hard to maintain passion for civil rights when we are so overly fed.
However, he continues, the great Solomonic achievement was achieved by oppressive social policy. The affluence was hierarchal and unevenly distributed. Brueggemann also suggests that the religion of the Hebrews once again became a static religion in which the freedom of God was subverted into servicing the purposes of the King. He calls this a “religion of immanence” which means that the prevailing idea was that God was at the disposal of the King. When religion becomes static in order to maintain the purposes of empire, the people are conditioned to become afraid of anything that might change the status quo. The passion for real freedom and justice has been co-opted for lesser things. Those in power know that all it takes to counter an alternative consciousness is satiation.
Brueggemann describes the effects of the empire’s numbing satiation of the people: In the royal program of achievable satiation there is a religion of optimism in which God has no business other than to maintain our standard of living. There are no mysteries to honor but only problems to be solved using the cost accounting of management mentality. The value of a soul is calculated by statistics and financial speculations. This numbing satiation also requires the annulment of neighbor as life giver. It imagines we can “live outside history as self-made men and women.”
America, in all her splendor, is not unlike the empire of Solomon and Pharaoh. We boast unprecedented affluence and yet, the distribution of such affluence is extremely inequitable. As with Solomon and Pharaoh, the working class supports the upper echelon. American Christianity has in large part become conflated with the American dream, the religion of optimism. Being self-made and pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps has become a religious value. American Christianity has become static in that we cannot see beyond our infighting to imagine a different reality this side of heaven. In our sleepy satiation, pockmarked with bouts of fear, we only can see to preserve ourselves.
But just as it was with Israel, it seems we have come to a time when God has tired of indifferent affluence. Like the prophets of old, the sopping, traumatized travelers that are washing up on the earth’s shores serve as a means of startling our hearts awake beyond our fears, our politics, and our comforts. The reality of human suffering – all of our suffering- can awaken us to seek a better vision that matches the freedom of God.
Even as empire lives by numbness and controlled perceptions, Jesus penetrates numbness and enters into the hurt of desperate people, and eventually comes to embody it. He reveals a very different value system than empire, where the outcast and the loser are the valued ones, where he calls into question even all moral distinction on which the society was based, and where he transforms through his own vulnerable solidarity with poor, empty and grieving.
The answers we seek lie in the awakening of our consciousness. Our future is not bound by this present. It cannot be assured or guaranteed by the values of empire. However, Jesus shows us the way to this alternative consciousness, this new mind. It is the way that empire can never imagine. It is the way of self-emptying. Jesus does not numb himself to the pain of the hurting; he joins it. He is mercy.
Brueggemann says that the future is an unqualified yes from God. God is free from the mechanistic ways of our best systems, our “what if’s”, and our fears around fairness and deservingness. If we believe this is true, we are also free to imagine a reality different from the one we have created. We are free to risk and to enter into the pain of the refugee. We are free to awaken the passion of mercy.
“Passion is the capacity and readiness to care, to suffer, to die, and to feel is the enemy of imperial reality. Imperial economy is designed to keep people satiated so that they do not notice. Its politics tend to block out the cries of the denied ones. Its religion is to be an opiate so that no one discerns misery alive in the heart of God.” The misery of Mr. Majid is the misery of God. As we awaken again to the freedom of God, we may just find a way to join Mr. Majid there in God’s aching heart. We may awaken enough to dare to imagine God’s alternative reality, and we may just heal the world.
I sit this morning amazed by the stillness around me. We had a thunderstorm last night with pounding rain and flashing lightning but it is hard to imagine that as I sit quietly drinking in the beauty of God’s world. The air is clean, the mountains crystal clear, the birdsong loud and exuberant.
This has been a stormy week, and like many of us I feel battered and worn. The shootings in Orlando first of a young Christian singer and then the mass killings at the Pulse nightclub, as well as the shooting of a young British politician left us all reeling. Hatred and vitriol have thundered around us exacerbated by the growing political animosity and name calling. In my own life the sudden death of a friend and the turmoil of my own uncertain health issues swirl around me. Even the internet trolls had a go at me.
Storms make it hard to focus and even harder to draw close to God. It is not easy to move beyond the thunder of strident angry voices raised in judgement and condemnation. The supercharged atmosphere caused by violence and animosity incites us to respond with our own violence and anger. But in the aftermath of a storm, the gentle whispers of God’s voice can be heard with amazing clarity, if we are willing to listen to them.
After a storm is always a good time to look, to listen and to take notice. Colours shine with a vibrant light, sounds resonate with fresh melodies and sights seem vivid with new life. And in the stillness I become aware of God’s gentle whisper, beckoning me to rest, to refresh and to receive comfort.
Yet taking notice of the vibrant clarity that comes in the aftermath of a storm is a deliberate choice. We must stop and look and listen. Sometimes we would rather hide from God and live in the chaos where supercharged emotions control us. We are afraid to reach out for the inner peace that God’s gentle whisper offers us because it comes at a cost we may not be willing to accept – the letting go of our resentments and prejudices or the loss of personal freedoms in the pursuit of the common good. Or perhaps it means the letting go of fear itself in order to allow the love of God to embrace us.
What is your response?
What are the storms in your life that have cleared the air, and made your perspectives of God more vibrant and alive?
Watch the video below and imagine you are sitting in the middle of a storm. Clap your hands imagining the sound of thunder, and the flash of lightning. How do you feel? Now think of the storms that rage in your own life and in the world around you. Clasp your hands tightly together. What thoughts and emotions thunder in your mind? What fears and anxieties flash like lightning for you? What fears and anxieties rise the the surface and overwhelm you?
Now imagine the storm has passed. Sit quietly with your eyes closed listening for the gentle whisper of God’s voice. Open your eyes, unclasp your hands and sit with your palms upward. What do you notice? What seems most vibrant and alive to you? How does it change your perceptions of the chaos within and around you? Offer a prayer to God releasing the fears and anxieties of your storm. rest in the stillness of God’s presence.
Father from pixabay with permission
What to say about fathers, I thought to myself, and prayed, which has not already been said? I have known a lot of fathers, some wonderful like my own, some pretty good, some indifferent, some harsh and abusive. So much judgement we bring to the idea of fathers, measuring them against one another and deciding on their merit or otherwise! We do the same to mothers of course, and we blame the failures of our lives (often with good cause, often without) on our parents, and seldom credit them with our successes.
But the truth is that there are as many different fathers as there are men. And that all men are father figures whether or not they have had their own children. Oh, we all have our ideas of what a father should be like, and our own regrets perhaps, about the fathering we did not receive, or we did not give. We think, maybe, that a father should be strong, a doler-out of discipline or a teller of epic tales of derring-do. Some kind of epitome of masculinity, depicting all the best qualities of whatever we’ve decided maleness ought to be.
In point of fact, there is only one perfect father, and the comparison with him is always going to be a rather unfair one, yet we do it instinctively, and perhaps that is why parenthood is one of the toughest and least respected roles in our society. It is also one of the most important to do well.
Pondering a little more, I think that acceptance of the idea that our dads did and are doing their best is the wisest course, putting our judgement to one side. Because whatever standards our dads did or don’t measure up to, the best thing that an earthly father can do is be present. To just be himself, offering of himself, loving us as himself. Just as the manliest thing a man can be is himself, whole and not held to anyone else’s idea of what he should constitute as a human being.
Is the worst thing a father can be, then, absent? Well outside of abuse, perhaps. But that depends what we mean. Sometimes the best dads are ones who don’t live with their children, but who still spend time with them, making sacrifices of hours, money and travel to do so. So it is maybe emotional absence that is the most harmful, and emotional presence the best thing a man can do for his kids.
That we or they know love, this is all that matters. It might only be half an hour being pushed on the swings in the park once a fortnight, or a phone call grabbed between shifts. As long as during that short time there is love, that’s being a great dad. So is giving up your job to look after the children, as both men and women do. Because sacrifice and time are key in any act of loving.
So this Father’s Day, I counsel that we give our dads some acceptance, that we cut them some slack. That we let them relax into being themselves with us. That we recognise that they do all deserve that “Best Dad in the World” card. Because there is no magic formula to family, and if we are showing up, we are doing it right.
©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt
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