Like Father, Like Son

Being part of a family, any family, has it's, ahem, ups and downs.  It is quite fascinating, actually, how we are born into a family with absolutely NO SAY in the matter WHATSOEVER.  We have zero input into when, where, or even why we come into this "assigned" family, forced to deal with the circumstances that are handed to us.  Some of us are handed quite a pleasant ride, while others are left to literally fend for themselves, wandering planet earth like a ship lost at sea.  Father's Day has had me thinking about my dad, my kids' dad, and, if I am being honest, the biological dad's who gave us the added arrows in our quiver. 
On Mother's Day, I was able to celebrate having all our children home under one roof and I spent the entire day with tears hanging onto my bottom eye lids for dear life.  I thought of Tyson's birth mother a million times that day, recollecting her gentle spirit, her obvious love for him, and her willingness to love him so sacrificially.  I am, this very second,  recollecting the lines on her young face, her small stature, and her quiet words, spoken with a shaky, tearful voice.  But, today is different.  Yet, it's the same.  It's the same celebration, as we celebrate Mark having all our kids home for the first Father's Day.  Different, however, because there are no photos or memories to pull up on Instagram to fill in this missing piece.  As I have grieved that in a fresh way today, I was drawn in, again, to the hope and truth of scripture that clearly speaks over that missing piece with words full of promise:  A Father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. Psalm 68:5.  As my heart was drawn into this truth, I am drawn to my knees with gratitude that Tyson is home, fully Mckeehan and given all the rights, privileges, and inheritance of Mark Daniel Mckeehan.  Pursued. Known. Loved.  No more missing piece.
Over the course of the last few months, we have been in a bit of transition, anticipating the possibility of having two more children for the summer at least.  These two beautiful girls are well-known to us, as we have been "Momma Carrie" and "Daddy Mark" to them both for several years.  We fell in love with both of these girls as they lived at Kay Libete in Haiti.  Our frequent visits there gave us the great privilege to walk them home from school, have many meals around their table, late night talks by flashlight, after school homework (hello physics in French with no power at 8pm), and sleepovers (for me) at their house where I adored tucking them in bed, praying over them, and singing songs until we were all giddy with fatigue.  We hoped, prayed, and dreamed about them coming to America, but it wasn't until just two weeks before they  arrived to us that they walked into the US Embassy in Port-au-Prince and were granted amazing visas, confirming they could come.   Both have been accepted into a crazy good international school in San Antonio, Texas where they will start 9th and 10th grade this fall. Our hearts have been so full having them here with us all summer. All the firsts have been so eye-opening, fun, and even heartbreaking at times.  Both Pursued. Known. Loved.
As Father Day has come and gone, I am just so grateful that all 7 children tucked comfortably into warm beds under our roof tonight know what it feels like to have a dad who listens.  The smell of  campfire smoke is still lingering on my clothes after our family fire pit tonight.  All 9 of us sat around having silly conversations, with belly laughs and jokes to serious conversations that bring our reality to a screeching halt when things are said that remind us of all the years before some of them had family.  Mark sat listening, teaching them by example, that they have a dad who values their words, their feelings, and their opinions.  As he listened, he was pointing them to the tender, listening ears of Jesus... trustworthy, interested, and intentional.

Like Father, like son.

I sat looking around the fire pit circle, mindful that three of the seven children around us did not grow up with a dad.  At all.  One grieving a dad killed while trying to be single parent to a six year old.  Two who have never known and will never know their biological fathers.  Yet, right there between the Dorito fingers of Hudson and the bug zapper light, I realized that this tribe, entrusted to us, represents both Jew and Gentile.  Some born into the lineage of Mark Daniel Mckeehan while others were grafted in.  And all the while, it doesn't matter one ounce to the pursuing father which way you came into the family.  All that matters is that each one is here and each one matters. Jesus set for us the perfect example.  Despite our being Gentiles, He made it clear that He came for us.  Pursued us.  Died in order to have a relationship with us.  His constant willingness to "take in" is a side of His heart that is so tender to me.  And, it's a side of Him that I see so often in Mark.  No longer fatherless, all seven sit around us with full knowledge of what it is like to have a dad say, "I love you.  I am proud of you.  You belong here." 

Like Father, like son.

Suddenly, Holy Spirit quickened my spirit to what He was wanting me to see, to know, to acknowledge... I no longer have to fear the ramifications of the gaping hole left in each heart and life from the years living with no father.  Grief is still real for all involved.  Difficult discussions will still, most assuredly,  have to happen. However, as with anything the entrust to the trustworthy hands of Jesus, there is healing and hope and new life.  I have had to remind myself throughout all my parenting years (all 15 of them) that my role isn't to try to bring healing from a broken world to these children.  Rather, my role is to lead them to Jesus, who CAN fully, sufficiently, eternally heal them. Jesus doesn't show partiality to the Jew over the Gentile, He simply loves.  He redeems. He restores. As I sat listening to the kids tell Mark what they loved most about him today, it was so powerful to hear them say, "He sings to me," "he does things with  me," "he loves me," "he teaches me," "he provides for me,"  "he makes me smile."  In an instant, I was drawn to a grin as I watched the fire's glow dance across each face:

Like Father, like son.

These days aren't always easy.  They are full of healing, of hoping, of laughing, of dreaming, of revealing, of confessing, of releasing.  Yet, they are seasoned with grace, kindness, gentleness, patience, joy, and perseverance.  Some days, everyone obeys and things go according to plan.  Other days, sigh, it feels like the wheels are coming off of everything in life.  But, Mark continuously leans into Holy Spirit for guidance, wisdom, and discernment and then fleshes out, with supernatural courage, the willingness and bravery of soldier following commands, walking straight into battle.  There are days all of the heaviness of the responsibilities weighs down and it all just seems so much bigger than what we can do (even when it is just the seven of us).  That is precisely when Mark will remind me that it IS too much for us to do, forcing us to rely on the One who called us to each task.  It isn't easy to obey when the Father calls you to something big.  Something scary.  Something heavy.  Jesus knows that fulfilling the will of the Father is hard.  But, it is also beautiful.  And refining. And freeing.   As I looked across the fire at Mark tonight, I saw someone who carries the callings of Jesus with such profound honor, with care, and with the realization that it comes at great risk, but also with great reward.  He sat with Tyson on his lap while the other six flanked each side.  He looked at each one as he or she spoke, taking in every word.  The risks are great.  But the rewards are greater.

Like Father, like son.

You have a Father tonight who pursues you, fully knows you, and deeply loves you.  I pray as this Father's Day comes to an end, you will rest in the comfort and confidence that He longs to father you, not from a distance or with a spirit of frustration and anger.  Rather, as One leaning in, listening, singing over you, walking with you, loving you, teaching you, providing for you.  I am grateful for the tangible picture, though not a perfect picture, that Mark brings to us, of the fight, pursuit, and love of our Heavenly Father.  I know this only comes as a result of his spending time with His father. You cannot imitate what you do not know. 

Like Father, like son.



Carrie