A move, a dream, and a hope

Last week, Erin and Josh moved out of the one-bedroom apartment they had been in since their wedding. As newlyweds should, they spent most of the last year focused on each other. Now they are looking for extra space to accommodate their expanding lives.

Their new place is 60% larger than the previous one. It has room for a dining table, hobbies, and office space. It also has lots and lots of space for their houseplants that fill a space to rival a tropical rainforest. Erin has been giggly for weeks just thinking about it.

I offered to help coordinate the move. My hope was to wrap the young couple in community support by helping them carry some of the load and once everything was securely inside, to pray together over their new home.

It was a simple project compared to the dozens of others I’ve coordinated, except this one took place in a pandemic. The dates changed unexpectedly. Some of the people had COVID-19 symptoms and were a question mark for being able to help. Whether or not to wear facemasks became a question.

I spent a lot of time considering details. I asked if they had enough boxes, whether they needed to borrow a tape gun, what they should pack vs carry by the armload. I checked frequently on whether or not the manager had confirmed the date and peeked through the windows of the new place to see if any surprises lay inside.

I built a new dining table for them and refinished chairs for them to use. I offered to build shelving for extra storage. I wanted to do anything I could to make their new place perfect.

Somewhere along the line, Kim warned me to back off and let them control their own destiny. At the time, I didn’t listen. I pushed her counsel to the back of my mind and went scurrying about my details.

Just before moving day, I had a troubling dream. It was one of those dreams that you can’t shake loose when you awaken.

I was living in my childhood home in the same bedroom I had when I was 16 years old. I was going about my routine getting ready for the day when I opened the closet door to get my clothes. I looked down and saw that the closet floor was falling apart. Not only was the carpet gone, but the subfloor had holes in it that revealed the basement below. The floor joists were also damaged. It was a mess.

After recovering from the initial shock, I started to make a plan for repairing the damage. When I told my dad about my proposal, he pointed out potential problems and left me to start over developing a new course of action. Time after time, the same thing happened. No matter what idea I had, it wasn’t good enough.

Although I had never done this specific job before, I felt confident in my ability to figure it out. However, my patience was exhausted by seemingly endless conversations and Dad would never release me to do the work. His well-intentioned criticism was as persistent as my desire to do things by myself.

My frustration level climbed with each concept I proposed that Dad found some reason to challenge. The dream became one of those endless loops that seem to last all night.

I woke up in my bed in my house, but still filled with the same resentment that had haunted my dream. As I got my day started, the emotions I carried into my waking world simmered just under the surface. When Kim woke up and came downstairs, I told her about my dream. I described my exasperation that my father would never just accept that I had things under control.

When I looked at her confused expression, I realized that all of it had merely been a bad dream. My dad doesn’t overreach his boundaries or constantly meddle in my affairs. There isn’t anything that he has prevented or even discouraged me from moving forward with.

It has been thirty years since I stepped out on my own. Back then, I wanted so badly to emerge from my family’s shadow and begin to do things my way. It was not because their lives or solutions were bad or wrong, but I wanted to grow up. Their offers for help were a chain around my leg that snapped taut whenever I tried to run free.

As those memories flooded back, I began to recognize the same expression on my kids’ faces. It is especially evident with James. When I offer him advice, he looks back at me as if he wants to plug his ears and yell “Bah, Bah, Bah, Bah!” until I stop talking. Most of the time he disappears from the room within a few moments.

Erin’s response is different than James’s, but the message is the same. She quietly ignores my advice and waits for me to become weary in my efforts. Now that I think about it, she did that several times when I was “helping” her plan her move.

The slow realization began to sink in that my dream was a warning. What I had suppressed when Kim told me to back off and give the kids freedom on their moving day had escaped through my subconscious. I had only viewed the dream wrong. In it, I was the son who had now become the father.

Ultimately, her move was a success. Their new place is perfect and with the help of some fantastic friends – Steve Hermann, Rick Clark, and Hank Cates – their keys to the old apartment were ready to turn in by 5pm the same day.

The kids are becoming the leaders of tomorrow. Upgrading an apartment is a small step toward setting a broader vision for their lives. By pitching in to ensure their success, James is setting aside his own priorities and placing others above himself. One day at a time, one decision at a time, they are learning to fulfill God’s command in Genesis 1:28 to be fruitful, to subdue the chaos of the world, and to remake it in God’s image.

It is still early and they have a long way to go, but the smell of change is already in the air. The seeds they have begun to plant are showing small sprouts emerging through the soil. Soon enough, they will take my place as the leaders of a generation.

I will have to learn to offer assistance generously but to be satisfied if they decline. Hopefully, they will find ways to involve us in their plans. They wil have to learn in their own way though.

For now, it will start with surrendering control of our Christmas schedule to them. Because their work schedules are more pressing than ours, they will choose when we open gifts and when (or even if) we have a formal meal. It is a small thing, but it’s a beginning. I trust them to figure it out and watching them is better than getting my preferences.

Exiting 2020 and entering 2021, more of my thoughts are drifting to how to help the kids establish their lives. I have accumulated a lifetime of wisdom, skills, and other resources that I would love to make available to them. As my dream reminded me, it is a lot harder to help than it seems at first glance.

Hopefully, the kids will begin to see that my offer to give them full access to anything that is mine isn’t an effort to control them. It is a sign that I have faith in them. We will have to proceed at a pace that satisfies us both.

That’s just how it is with God, right? He is ready to throw open the floodgates and give us the full authority of his name. We aren’t ready yet, and we resist him while we fight to do things our way. But He is patient with us too. One glorious day, we will find our peace in full communion with him. Then everything He has will be ours.

Until that day comes, Merry Christmas!