A Good Diminishing

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance…
Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

When I think about my daughters, I imagine them in postures that capture something essential about them. Lillian looking at me quietly through her glasses, eyes slightly enlarged by the refraction, contemplating me gently but also guarding the secrets of her heart with a quiet ferocity. Shelby lifting her chin boldly and smiling the way she does when her heart is heavy but she wants to put on a brave face. Reiley flashing her million dollar smile that is almost perfect but retains a faint hint of the Copernican revolution that robbed her of her firstborn confidence and left her somewhat uncertain about her place in the world.

There is truth in all of these images - deep truths even - but still, what shallow and incomplete descriptions these are of three complex human beings.

And imagine what they would tell you about me. Imagine the simplified and coarse understanding they have of my personality. I am, after all, only a bit player on the stages of their lives. Mine is an important role, certainly, but nonetheless it is still only a role. When they are away from me, I am nothing more than a shadowy characterization that comes to mind when they wonder what dad might think about what’s going on.

That’s the way it is with children. When they are born you are a god-like character. They depend on you for everything. Then they develop their own wills and ways. Before long they march off to school and you begin to diminish. Eventually you become a parent of adolescents, meaning you are needed as a provider of certain material goods but your opinions are somewhat suspect. Now I feel myself moving slowly into the grandfatherly stage of life, where a man is much less essential - almost not needed - but is cherished and laughed at in an endearing way - one hopes.

After that there is a final step before oblivion. One day the full and robust life that I alone know - my mind, my history, my view of the world, all of it - will be reduced to memories and stories told at a funeral. Life will move on and Gordon Atkinson will be no more.

I suppose some might say this is morbid thinking, but I don’t mind it. I feel an increasing peace and even a comfort with my lessening role in their lives.

After all, there is far less pressure on me these days. Jeanene and I have launched these three well into life. No mistake I am likely to make now will unmake them. And those terribly important early formative years are behind us. Their personalities are fast hardening into more permanent states. Honestly, there’s not a whole lot I can do now but guide and advise.

Can you see the beauty of this? Young parents are hardly aware of the eternal consequences of their actions. Every time they have sex they might accidentally create a human being. Talk about pressure. Fortunately, they are too tired and inexperienced to realize they are playing Kick the Can with the building blocks of human history.

Later, most of the good you can do and the damage you have done is over. Things are out of your hands. You can relax a bit and watch these fascinating humans you brought into existence. Sometimes I turn to Jeanene and say, "Hey, look at these people we made." She shakes her head in amazement and I say, "I know, right?"

Far less depends on me with every year I grow older. The world, honestly, would be fine without me. I see the goodness in this and feel myself beginning to relax.

Image by Gildéric. Used with permission. Sourced via Flickr. Post by Gordon Atkinson