God Rest Ye, Uptight Gentleman

"Everyone who wants musicals are children in different ways." -Andrew Lloyd Weber

We should consider ourselves blessed. After all, only one church congregation could claim Andrew Lloyd Weber as a member. That's right. The acclaimed composer of Phantom, Cats, and Evita, among others, is now focusing on the smaller stage. The MUCH smaller stage: Christmas pageants.

This is Andrew Lloyd Weber

For the second year in a row, Mr. Weber graciously volunteered his talents and ran our church's pageant. What are the odds, right? Adding to our good fortune, My Director and I were able to see the genius at work since Peanut was a member of the angel choir both years. Double bonus.

Of course, Mr. Weber's involvement totally justifies the four hours - FOUR HOURS - we spent at church one Sunday, including the service. Still, I submit the only people who should be spending that much time at church on Sundays are clergy. What Mr. Weber doesn't realize is we've got other things to do. You see, he can't be bothered wasting his time with such trivial pursuits as food shopping, walking the dog, feeding children, and spending part of your Sunday relaxing and watching football. Why would he? A genius doesn't concern himself with such things. We should be honored to have him produce and direct our little show.

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I Saw a Little Girl

"Parenting is a stage of life's journey where the milestones come about every fifty feet."  ~Robert Brault

Baby Peanut, almost 1 year

I saw a little girl in church today. A baby girl. Her hair was just starting to grow. She couldn't have been more than six or eight months old. I can't tell the age of babies as well as I used to. I used to be really good at it. Then again, I don't have a baby anymore. I have you, my wonderful 5 year-old who's graduating pre-K this week.

I saw a little girl in church today. She was standing in front of the congregation among a group of parishioners who were all high school and college graduates. The pastor was giving them a special blessing. She's going to Princeton in the fall. She was one of your Sunday school teachers. We see her every time we go to the bookstore, because she works there. An impressive young woman. A role model.

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Working on Sunday

"Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." - from the Our Father

We decided to skip church today. Again. It's not a trend, and it's not a reflection of any crisis of faith. It's just that sometimes skipping church is a necessary evil, if you will.

I used to affectionately but a little guiltily refer to these days as "Lazy Sunday." But not anymore.

When we skipped church one rainy Sunday a few months ago, that description sparked an interesting conversation between me and another daddy blogger on Twitter (you can follow me here: @DKLblog). He was doing the same thing (from the other side of the country, mind you). And he gave me a new perspective. 

He said he doesn't consider it to be lazy... that we're doing His work by giving love and attention to the things that are most important: family, home. This blogger's name is Joe, he lives outside Seattle and calls his blog Manhood v. Dadhood.  Click and check him out. He's worth following because he's deep and one of the nicest guys I've 'met' in the daddy blogosphere.

His description has allowed me to feel less guilty on Sundays we stay home. Our decision to join an Episcopal church is also a big factor in my lack of guilt. I was raised Catholic, so I know all about the guilt. My mother still gives me a guilt trip about joining an Episcopal church.

Sure, our immediate motivation, or lack thereof, for staying home is rooted in laziness. That particular day back in May, we felt we needed a day to decompress after going non-stop for a few weeks and having several busy weekends in a row. Some long overdue projects in the house needed tending to as well. And like I mentioned, it was raining.

I do believe that sometimes we can better serve God by bettering our home and making those in it happier and more comfortable. What a great way to look at things. That Sunday, I cleaned out and reorganized our garage. We played more games and read more books with the peanut than we had the other six days of the week combined.

She liked this one because it reminded her of nighttime

On another "Skip Sunday," we took her to an art museum to see an Andy Warhol exhibit. She and I played a game. Every time we entered a new room with a new group of artwork hanging on the walls, we had to run to our favorite and then say why we liked it (sounds very Pagan, I admit). She loved it, though.

I think God understands. I think we all worship Him and love Him and follow Him in different ways.

The Monday after that museum trip, we arrived home after daycare pickup. The peanut wanted to color. I love when she chooses anything besides television to occupy her while I cook. I set her up with paper and crayons at her little craft table, and started dinner. A few minutes later, she came into the kitchen holding a picture.

She hung her picture on the fridge.

"Do you know who it is, daddy?"

"Is it me?"

"No. Look. He has a beard."

I was totally stumped. Santa? My Uncle Norb? Ulysses S. Grant?

She finally enlightened me: "It's Jesus."

Holy crap.

We hadn't been to church in two weeks. And she sat down at her table and drew a picture of Jesus, cross and all, without prompting.

If that's not God's work... I don't know what is.

This isn't the first time the peanut has reminded me of our faith. Click here to read about it

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One Fine Day

It's a simple statement, and it carries a simple sentiment. It's comprised of just three words, takes less than two seconds to say.

Not until they applied to me, not until someone directed those three words to me, did I truly appreciate how much they meant. From Friday through Sunday, everyone from co-workers to close friends, from people passing by in the park to the people who are nearest and dearest to me, wished me these three words.

"Happy Father's Day."

Every time, even if I shrugged them off with a quick "thanks," these three words sent a flurry of memories surging through my mind. In turn, those images from my brief tenure as a dad would make me smile on the inside, sometimes on the outside. Occasionally, I'd get chills. We've all said or heard those three words thousands of times. They now carry a whole new meaning to me:.

She wore her great-grandmother's dress

My first Father's Day was unique, in that it was also the day of my daughter's Baptism. I couldn't have dreamed of a better way to spend it, a better person to whom to defer the spotlight. I don't find the need to make Father's Day a 24-hour homage to me as a parent. I'm just doing what comes naturally, just being me. My father never required that kind of unnecessary attention. After all, my daughter is the reason this day forever carries an added significance in my life. So let her have all of the glory.

I enjoyed the simple things: my wife graciously did most of the straightening up after our guests left. She allowed me to take my daily 15-minute power nap without argument. She didn't even haggle for a second when I asked if it would be alright if we watched the Yankees at night. Not a single, "What else is on?" She's the best. I can't say it enough.

She also played along for the past month with my childish fascination with the greatest fun fact that we learned during Christening class. Did you know that any Catholic can perform a baptism? How cool is that? All you need is some water and a sign of the cross. I'm surprised there isn't a free-for-all of transformations occurring in public more often.

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