Fear in Fatherhood

I almost did it again. Most of my posts seem to start of with, "So here..." I suspect that my suspicions are true. Yet that is not what I am afraid of.

I remember Saturday afternoon. The Game was over. Our team lost. Again. That is ok. Sometimes failing is the best teacher. Sometimes. This time. Yet moving along. We were on our way back, having had the boys eat already because they were not going to enjoy the BBQ. So anyway, we are heading to the Leppin Ranch for the Harvest Festival. Carol was selling her soap. We made a few.

So where is the fear? I am a preacher. I have sons. I know many boys who are sons of preachers. They for the most part, do not like listening to sermons. Not their dads, not those on the radio. I do not look forward to that day. I pray it never comes. I have faith that as long as I look up, they shall never utter the words that I heard many preachers' sons utter, "I hate the ministry" or "I hate sermons". Yet most of them seem to be fulfilling a sence of family tradition. (That is another post.)

So as I was heading back to the festival, I was running a bit dry on Dr Pepper in my Mug. Seems that the Shell station happened to be on the way. So I pulled in. To expedite the errand, I turned the radio on, rolled the windows down and had the boys stay in the car and wait. (Relax. This is NOT Yuma. We are nice a cool. And I parked in the shade. Come warm or cold, I do not leave the kids in the car.) And to my shock, there was no music. Just preaching.

I tried to make it as brief as possible. I run in, fill up. Go to pay. Oops. The clerk wants to visit. So I take a few moments extra. Forgot that I left the radio on to sermons. Ok, just one sermon. I was only inside for 10 minutes. I could see the car from the register as well as from the soda fountain. Kids were fine. After I pay up, I head back out.

Arriving at the door, I hear the preacher's MC making a plea for support of the ministry. The boys had 15 minutes of sermon. I began to apologize. Then Precious Ricky, my real PK (His name is Patrick Karl, after his grandpas, and I loved that his initials are PK. Yet Another post,) interrupts the beginning of my apology.

"Papa, the sermon was about King Nebednuzzar. I like listening to sermons." WOW! Talk about a natural high!! That was to keep me soaring. But I decided to save this for the blog. Sorry Carol. Ricky made my day. He likes listening to sermons. My sermons. (Sure the radio is not playing my sermons, yet. But mine are what he hears the most.)

I pray that I continue to look to the Father so that I can be the papa to my boys. Instill a faith in them that moves greater mountains that God has used for me, whether they be preachers, or farmers, or perhaps both.

Yet it is also humbling. My boys are watching me, listening to me. I am not always the best. I don't always keep my cool. I want to break the cycle that has been handed down to me. By God's grace, that cycle is still broken. But by His Grace, His Strength, His Love.

Thank you, Father, for the boys you have blessed me with. May I continue to teach them to trust in You.

Thanks for reading. (Notice, this is a SHORT post. Not bad for a Giant. LOL) --smh