Category Archives: Fathers

Fathers, General

Memorial Day 2014

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The man on the right is my father-in-law, Brian. In 1968 at the age of 17 he lied on his entrance paperwork and joined the Marines. He was at Camp Lejeune.

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He was at Camp Pendleton.

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Then he traveled across the Pacific Ocean and joined the most notorious war in US history, Vietnam.

The marines are notorious for being sent into an area first. Because of his job as a heavy equipment operator, he had the daunting task of being the first of the first. It was his job to dig artillery emplacements and clear fields of fire around small bases.

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By his own accounts, as he operated this heavy machinery, he could hear the constant sounds of bullets whizzing by his head. He doesn’t talk about Vietnam much. I don’t think it’s because he won’t. I think it’s because he doesn’t want to burden us with what he saw and experienced while he was there.

After two years, in 1970 he returned to America. As he got off the plane he couldn’t even get a cup of coffee because the American Red Cross was charging $0.10 each. He returned home to his family in Odessa Missouri, and without any fanfare, and without any thought for himself, and without crawling into a corner like so many of us would, he went to work.

For the next 40 years he provided for those he loved. He worked in factories and machine shops for the first 20 years. Then he got a position at UMKC in Kansas City and worked on the college’s boilers and in maintenance for 20 years. During all this time he has suffered the lasting effects of Agent Orange. He has suffered severe hearing loss due to artillery fire and small arms fire. He has suffered a variety of physical limitations. He didn’t complain, he just did what a man does. He provided. Last January, after 40 years of work, he retired.

When I first met Brian I was kind of afraid of him. I have family members who were in Vietnam but Brian was the first man I knew who was willing to talk about it a little. He didn’t share a lot with me but when he did, and I realized how much he had been through, it just made me nervous. Simply put, I was intimidated.

It’s not like that today. I truly enjoy being around him. I can see the love for my family in his eyes. In the way he treats my daughters so well. Never a cross word, never an insult. I see his love in the way he bends down on a knee and checks the tomato plants my daughters are helping him grow. In the way he rubs the leaves between his fingers to gently smell the odor of the tomatoes that will eventually grow. The way he watches them work the ground, and the way he coaches them in the fine art of gardening. Something he is learning with them.

He’s a man who does the best he can with what he has. That jungle so far away tried to steal his spirit, but it couldn’t. He’s still a strong man who knows his place in this world, and he isn’t going to stop living his life.

Today I honor this man. I honor this man because 40 years ago, before I was even born, he honored me.

Elaina, Fathers

The Dibben Dip

I have seen hundreds of water baptisms in my lifetime. I have spent just about every Sunday morning for the last forty years of my life in church services. Over those years my favorite baptisms were the ones where the pastors were able to baptize their own kids. At our last church, parents were encouraged to baptize their own kids, so when Lydia and Jessica decided to be baptized I took advantage of the opportunity and baptized them both. It was a great experience for us all.

A couple of months ago Elaina told me she was interested in being baptized. She is such a daddy’s girl that I knew she would agree to let me baptize her. Since joining our current church about four years ago, I haven’t seen anyone besides our pastoral staff baptize anyone. I approached the leadership team and got permission to baptize Elaina.

I don’t usually get very nervous, but last Sunday we were both pretty nervous as we sat through the quick baptism class during Sunday school. There was a pretty small group of us in the class. Pastor Barry went through all the instructions. He explained what the baptizer would say and what the baptizee was supposed to say in response. We then went on a tour of the baptismal in the main auditorium.

Our church does the baptisms half way through the worship service, so we were instructed to find our way to the baptismal at the start of worship. Once the music began, Elaina and I made our way behind the stage. Everyone was engaged in nervous chatter. Our youth leader, Pastor Brandon, would be performing all the baptisms so he kept us engaged in small talk. Elaina was noticeably nervous, so I rehearsed all the movements and our lines with her. We were third in line, and when Pastor Brandon announced us as a tandem I moved into the baptismal first and announced her. The lights were bright but low enough for us to see the thousand, or so, people in the auditorium. It was a little overwhelming, but we were ready.

“Good morning,” I started, “this is my daughter, Elaina Dibben. I had the pleasure of baptizing our two older daughters, so I wanted to baptize Elaina as well.”

Elaina moved down into the warm water with me, and I turned her towards the audience and motioned towards them with my left hand.

“Elaina, before God and these witnesses, do you publicly profess Jesus Christ as your Lord And Savior?”

“Yes,” she said so loudly we got a few giggles from the crowd!

I helped her rotate to the left into the traditional baptizing position. She lifted her left hand to her nose; I placed my right hand behind her back and put my left hand over her nose to help keep it closed. She turned her head to look at me, I made eye contact with her and continued.

“Elaina, upon your profession of faith I now baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

We made eye contact, she smiled at me, and I lowered her backwards into the water. She closed her eyes just as the water rushed over her face. As I raised her back into a standing position Amanda Lapore took this photo.

Elaina Baptized

I don’t even remember who baptized me. I barely remember where I was baptized. A baptism needs to be more memorable, and I can’t think of a more memorable way than to have your own dad baptize you. I would love to make this more common in our church. I want to see more fathers step up and baptize their children.

Elaina and I will certainly make a lot more great memories together. I don’t expect very many of them will be as memorable as December 29, 2013.

Fathers, General

Movie Response: Saving Mr Banks

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If I were to sit down and take inventory of my all-time-favorite moves, the classic “Mary Poppins” would make its way into the top ten. I have loved that movie since I was a kid. I love Dick Van Dyke and the way he presents himself on screen. I love Julie Andrews’ voice and the way she can be funny with a stern look on her face. I try to make room for this film at least once a year. It’s one of those movies where you learn something new about the characters every time you watch it.

When I watched it earlier this year I remember being a little caught off guard by the ending. Like many of these films from that era it is quite long at two hours and nineteen minutes. I confess that many times I am considerably distracted by the time I reach the last bit of the movie. Often I don’t even finish the last half hour as the evening has gotten away from me.

If you recall, the end of “Mary Poppins” gets a little dark. Jane and Michael just finished causing a “run” on the bank where Mr. Banks is employed, and he is on his way to face the bank board and his impending dismissal. It’s at this low point in the film where Mr. Banks finally lets the joy and wonderment that Mary Poppins has brought into the home overtake him. He rushes home, repairs a broken kite, and takes Jane and Michael out to play. Earlier this year this scene finally made sense to me. This movie has never been about the kids, it’s about their dad. It has always been about their dad. I have been watching this movie for forty years and I finally got it!

Having finally “got it” this last spring, I was ecstatic when I saw the trailer for “Saving Mr. Banks.” It quickly became my must-see movie for this year, and last night we were able to attend a showing. I was really excited to discover who Mr. Banks was, and why he needed saving. I was not prepared for how deeply emotional this film would be. The trailers don’t even come close to revealing what this film is about. The film spent as much time in Ms. Travers childhood as it did with her and Walt in 1966. We discover the deep and painful inspiration that drove her to write the “Mary Poppins” series.

I don’t want to spoil everything about this film for you, but I wouldn’t even be writing this review if “Saving Mr. Banks” didn’t relate directly to the overall theme of my writing. Walt Disney and P.L. Travers share something in common with each other; they both had deeply troubled fathers. Through the film “Mary Poppins” both P.L. Travers and Walt Disney wanted to honor the kind of fathers they knew their dads wanted to be, but for various reasons were unable to become. They did something that is in really short supply these days. They honored men who did not always act in very honorable ways.

I have a great dad. He would be the first to tell you he wasn’t perfect. Before I had kids of my own I was more critical of him than I should have been. It’s easier to criticize someone when you have no idea what it’s like to live their life. I’m not critical of him anymore. It’s a hard job, and no matter how hard a man tries he will fall short. I have made a pile of my own mistakes. I’ve yelled, I’ve slammed doors in frustration, I’ve thrown my arms up in disgust, and I’ve said the wrong things at the wrong time.

My hope is that when my daughters get older they will choose to focus on what I did right, and show me grace in the areas where I didn’t do such a great job. I don’t expect them to write books or make movies about me. I’ll just be happy if they still want to spend time with an old man who did the best he could for the girls he loved.

Anjelia, Fathers, General

My Dad Died

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Photo Credit: Sarahnaut
Photo Credit: Sarahnaut

Last Saturday our church held its very first Foster Parent Day Out. We provided a place for foster parents to drop off their kids long enough to get some time to themselves to accomplish whatever they needed. We hosted about fifty kids from 11:00AM till 4:00PM. There were activities for every age. Kids from all over the Jackson County area came and spent the day playing foosball, air hockey, pool and the Wii. There were movies, a gym, crafts and fresh popcorn from a local theater.

I spent the last couple hours of the day at the rock wall in the Kids Zone. The Kids Zone is where we have our weekly children’s service. There is a ping pong table, two foosball tables, two air hockey tables, and in the back of the room, a rock wall that is at least fifteen feet wide and just as tall. When the rock wall is open, there is generally a pretty long line of kids dressed in safety gear ready to go. Last Saturday was no exception, especially since most of these kids have never had the chance to climb a rock wall before.

The oldest kids in our area were about ten, which is a perfect age for the rock wall. To a ten-year-old that wall is four times their height. It must appear massive in size, and it must seem like a real challenge. I spent the last two hours of the day hoisting a group of about four girls up and down that rock wall. My youngest daughter, Anjelia, was in the group as well. Being ten herself, she hit it off with them instantly.

With about an hour left in the day one of the girls looked at Anjelia, motioned towards me and said, “Is he your dad?” Anjelia answered in the affirmative. Without any hesitation the little girl looked at me and said, “My dad died.” She said it so quickly and so matter-of-factly that I was stunned. All I could think to say was, “Oh, I’m sorry.” She shrugged her shoulders and began climbing the wall. With tears welling up in my eyes I pulled on the rope as quickly and smoothly as I could. She flew to the top of the rock wall, giggling the entire way. I held her steady at the top of the wall. She spun herself around and looked out across the room and gave me a smile. I was ready to adopt her on the spot. I wanted to snatch her up in my arms and promise to be her dad forever. I would have signed the paperwork that very second. I know I can’t replace her birth father, but I was ready to give her 100% of my effort till the day I die.

For the last couple of years I have played around with the idea of adopting a son. Not right away, but eventually for sure. The idea of raising a son sounds fun. A different set of challenges and a different set of rewards. Completely new territory. After Saturday I just don’t feel the same way. I realized that after over fifteen years of being a dad to daughters, I have a hard time visualizing myself doing anything else.

I’m used to it all the Barbie dolls and teddy bears. The tiaras and princess dresses. The various sizes of of ladies undergarments slung all over the bathroom floors. The long-hair-filled brushes and clogged drains. The trash cans overflowing with feminine hygiene products. The long waits on Sunday mornings while five women jockey for mirror and bathroom time. The posters and magazine photos of boy bands taped up on all the room walls. The seemingly never ending text messages from gentlemen callers, and the frequent slumber parties complete with boisterous giggling.

At one time I was hopeful that raising a son was in my future. Last Saturday reminded me that I was meant to do something else. I was meant to raise women.

Fathers, Lydia, Mothers

Rare Hair

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“Do you ever get stuck?”

Julie and I have had a lot of conversations about how different we are. I like video games. She likes long walks. I like action adventure movies. She likes “Jesus Baldwin” movies. She likes Downton Abbey. I like…okay, that one doesn’t count but you get the point.

Yesterday Lydia left for Camp Del-Haven. She is a volunteer counselor this week. I can’t even describe how proud I am of her. She is growing up into an amazing woman of God. I really have no reason to complain. Still, she is a teenager and prone to poor decisions. Last week she decided to color her hair.

Fuchsia Hair

Like I said, “She decided to COLOR her hair.” If you know Lydia at all this won’t surprise you. What none of us stopped to consider was the impact this may (or may not) have on her opportunity to minister to the underprivileged kids at the camp.

As Julie dropped Lydia off at the camp yesterday, they were both hit with the reality of how this extreme change in appearance might be perceived. Like any good mom, Julie became concerned. After she got home she shared her concerns with me. I told her I had not thought about it either. A few minutes later I received a text message from Julie:

“I wish I could stop worrying about Lydia’s hair. Do you ever get ‘stuck’? Grrr”

My response was short:

“Constantly. Just about different stuff.”

Julie and I are different in all kinds of ways. The list I gave above is just the beginning. We are very similar in plenty of other areas, and no area more than our propensity to worry. We don’t generally worry about the same things, but we do worry.

I don’t worry about what Camp Del-Haven will think of Lydia’s hair, but I do worry about how to pay for her orthodontics. I worry she won’t drive safely. I worry that she spends too much time online. I worry that I’ll make some big mistake that will cause her to stumble in her faith, and turn away from God. I’m afraid to discipline her because I want her to like me all the time. I worry she won’t pick a Godly man to fall in love with.

Do I get stuck? Oh yeah, I get stuck. I get stuck all the time. I don’t have very many answers. Even when I try to give some answers, I’m not very confident in them. I’m really don’t feel very equipped to handle all of this.

I’m just a dad trying to get it right. Julie is just a mom trying to get it right. We both love our kids very much, and sometimes it’s all just hard and a little overwhelming.

Lydia is an amazing young lady. If Camp Del-Haven has the ability to look past outside appearances they will see what we see. For most people it doesn’t take very long to fall in love with Lydia.

Lydia during training last week.
Lydia during training last week.

Proverbs 31:30

Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,
But a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised.

Fathers

What size is my paintbrush?

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Artwork By Lydia
Artwork By Lydia

A few months ago in my Sunday school class I spoke about how we manage our time.

The overall concept was this: “There is cumulative value in investing small amounts of time in certain activities over a long period of time.”

I had a blast teaching this concept to the men. I guess if I speak out of my weakness I’ll never run out of ideas. I struggle so much in the area of consistency in the things that really matter. In April last year I wrote about how I wanted to have devotions with my teen daughters several times a week. Like so many other things of high importance I kept at this for a while, but it eventually fell off my list.

I fell into a trap that has detoured me more than once. I seem to think that life is made up of the big events. The year seems to be broken up into birthdays, holidays, vacations and summer. I seem to have the idea that as long as we have some big events each year I am fulfilling my duty as a good father.

This is like trying to create a masterpiece using a three-inch paint brush. This is something you use to change the color of your walls, not create art. It takes small strokes with a little finesse to create art. There is no detail with a big paintbrush. Big paint brushes get outside of the lines. They crash into the canvas and cause the colors to overlap too much. With a big paintbrush the final product is abstract. Abstract art is great. An abstract family isn’t so great.

To create deeper relationships in my family I need to be more committed to grabbing the detail-capable paintbrushes. It takes more time to paint this way. To achieve the cumulative value of the finished work I will have to make a lot of small deposits of time over a longer period of time. I have to get up close and personal with the canvas. I have to pay attention to the colors, mixing them carefully. The slightest missed stroke has the potential to severely alter the final product. I can’t just crash into the room every few months, make a couple broad strokes and hope to accomplish anything.

My life is just as busy as anyone else’s. I need to do everything in my power to avoid trying to make up for lost time by grabbing the biggest brush possible. In the critical areas of life it’s impossible to make up for lost time. I don’t want to look back in twenty years and wish I had paid attention to the size of brush I was using.

Fathers, Mothers

Too many lectures

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Photo Credit: munira mustaffa

I don’t know about you, but I always have a lecture ready for my kids. I’m grown up. I have forty years of experience, and I need to push it on my girls every chance I get. I have pre-written lectures stored in my mind on every subject you can imagine. Here is a quick list of just a few in my head.

“How you should treat your sisters”
“How you should treat your parents”
“Your attitude when you are asked to do something”
“What time you are supposed to go to bed”
“Who you are allowed to stay the night with”
“How long it should take you to obey me”

I could go on, but you get the point. Parents have lots of lectures we keep stored in our heads, and we can’t wait to impart our knowledge at the first opportunity. The struggle I face, and I would guess many of you face, is when is the best time to really let my kids “have it”. I’m still trying to figure this one out, but I want to share with everyone one time when I know for a fact it is the wrong time to lecture our kids.

How much do you enjoy apologizing to someone? How much do you enjoy apologizing to your boss, your spouse or anyone else? My guess is that your answer is something along the lines of, “Not very much” or even, “I hate it!”

Our kids are no different than any adult when it comes to pulling together the bravery it takes to apologize. It takes every ounce of will power they have. As bad as many of us are at apologizing I believe we are just as bad at forgiving as well. Here is a typical apology and forgiveness conversation:

Wife: “Honey, I’m really sorry that I ignored you when you were trying to talk to me.”

Husband: “I forgive you. I just wish you would pay better attention to me when I’m trying to talk to you. You get distracted way too easily when we are talking. It makes me feel like I’m not very important to you.”

Forgiveness that is followed by a long re-hashing of the issue isn’t really forgiveness. It’s really just the forgiver taking a little bit of revenge on the forgiven. I would argue that forgiveness isn’t even really in the heart of the husband in our little example.

Luke 23:42-43

42 Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
43 Jesus answered him, “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.”

Real forgiveness is instantaneous. It carries with it no lectures. No message of right and wrong. It acknowledges the humility that comes with a broken heart.

Real forgiveness experiences the humility of the one asking for forgiveness.

Real forgiveness just forgives.

Fathers

A father’s prayer

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Heavenly father,

You are a great and mighty God. There is no other name in earth or above that is greater than you. I am constantly reminded of your authority.

As I examine the earth and submit myself to the rules you have put into place help me to submit to You, the creator of the rules. I choose your plans. I choose your wisdom. I choose your leadership.

I want so bad to be a good father to my girls. Please help me to be patient. Please help me understand each of their personalities. Help me to be an example of how a man should treat a woman. Please help my girls to be patient with me. So many times I don’t know what to do when I’m faced with hard choices. Help me to have wisdom in even the smallest decisions. Help me to understand how I can balance work and family life. I feel so much pressure to provide well for our family, yet I know that wealth and possessions do not bring happiness. This is such an important time in all their lives. I have such a limited time to have my greatest influence over who they will become.

I need your guidance and your wisdom. I cannot do this on my own.

Thank you for being by my side. Thank you for promising to help me when I call out to you.

In Jesus’ name I ask these things, amen.