our lives are filled with the present stresses of our time, and rarely do we ever have the chance to reflect, share and reveal the things that have impacted our lives. perhaps these are the things that are to be revealed around the dinner table to our children; God knows the lives of my own family have been repressed through the decades. we never chit chat about what dad did when he was at georgetown university, or what mom went through in nursing school.
we seem to detatch ourselves from our past and eventually, we forget what we did and how that impacted our future. there was one moment i remember, many years ago before i entered my first year at biola, my dad and i had dinner at perkins in richfield minnesota. it was winter and the snow fell on the other side of the glass, just a few inches from our booth table. i can't remember if it was of my prompting or if it was simply my father trying to connect with his first born son, but, what i do remember was him tell me a story of a time when one of his buddies got so drunk mid winter, he passed out on the edge of the street in the snow and they had to lift him into the car and take him home, all along knowing they were going to get in trouble.
these are the stories we are not supposed to tell our children, yet, i want this to be exactly what my children know of me. i want them to know who their father is, i want them to know i know who i am and why i am.
we continue to forget ourselves everyday, we continue to forget what we've done everyday and eventually, we become a product of what we are trying to become. it's so sad, but that's what we end up doing isn't it?
