I’m up at first light trying to rally the troops for fishing or hiking or eating. To no avail. My coffee is in hand as I soak in the thick morning grace before I’ve made my first parenting mistake. Heat warms my hands through the cheap ceramic mug as I soak in the brilliance of morning and caffeine. I’m cutting fresh tracks on the first coat of snow. I wait for the world to wake with all the responsibilities and expectations it will soon thrust upon me. Soon my family will stir and the earth will shake from the screaming and from another meaningless squabble. 

Eight years ago we stumbled off a rickety plane on an Ethiopian runway and fumbled our way into parenthood. We were utterly spent, and we hadn’t even started yet. It’s been hard, harder than I imagined if I’m honest. And why not be honest? Nothing injects honesty into your veins like parenting. 

It knocks down our most carefully sketched walls and preferences and ideas and notions we didn’t even know we clutched so tight. There’s a fine line between honest, gritty parenting and getting the life beat out of you. I’ve sipped on a cocktail of both the last eight years. 

Four kids and eight summers later here we are; alive. Breathing. Pushing forward. Dreaming again. Even stopping to take in the views along the way. As hard as it is I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re built for this. The soil of our soul is made to tend the endless needs of little humans around us. On the surface it wrecks us, but in our bones it sanctifies, purifies and even glorifies us. 

Parenting doesn’t shimmer like it does in the commercials. Don’t wait for those magical moments or you’ll miss everything else along the way. It requires a shovel to unearth the buried treasures. The gems are smiles and moments and sticky s’mores and unforced laughs and unexpected compliments and brotherly love and sisterly affection. It’s the moment we skip the nap and choose to live with eyes half open instead. It’s passing over the chance to complain about cleaning up puke or losing sleep or endless whining and choose to see how good it is. It’s bedtime stories with one and conversations with another. 

And suddenly I catch myself acting and thinking like a dad. I’m not afraid to slip off the granite cliff myself but terrified my son might stumble off. I turn down the nice place to stay for the fun one. I forgot my sunblock but they better not.  

Alas, my mug is empty, but my cup is full. So are the pressed pages of my journal. I’m ready for the challenges of today, ready as I’ll ever be. Dog barking, kids fighting, fishing lines strung and the van still in utter chaos. My family is calling. My life is calling. These days are so rich. Someday I’m going to miss them.