Single Father, Day 1

It is good to start out optimistic; helps to gain some momentum when heading into a challenging situation. The four remaining Bowlings (with Emily in Kentucky and mom in London enjoying coffee and mimosas at Gatwick International) took the hour drive up to Lake Arrowhead, where I spent many years working. 

After 20 minutes of being sandwiched between her younger siblings in my car, Louise broke down, acted irrationally, and disobeyed her father, a very rare event. 

We swam in a pool shaped like an arrowhead, with dad winning the belly flop contest (I have my pride). 

We at lunch at the clubhouse, overlooking the 18th fairway. That's my lot, right there, through those trees; the one that I thought would have a great view of the golf course when I bought it, but was mistaken. I'll sell it to you for whatever you've got in your pocket. 

Eliza ordered chips and queso. Garrett ordered homemade potato chips with blue cheese dip. Louise ordered cheeseburger with sweet potato fries. I ordered a spinach salad.

We desired to go swim in the lake, but it started thundering. So we spent an hour on a fabulous playground until the sprinkle turned to pour and then returned home. Louise rode up front, which I'm not sure is legal; but I could not in good conscience put her between the tweedles. 

Garrett was in rare form. I have been convinced by my wife and a large gathering of other parents-of-young-boys that his combination of obtuse statements/questions and general cluelessness of his surroundings is 'perfectly normal'. At one point (and let me make clear, this is just one of many potential items to share), as we were getting out of the car to eat lunch, with 3 doors open and 3 people getting out of the car, Garrett asked "can I get out of the car?". To counter my internal sarcastic responses (they stayed internal for the most part), I reviewed 1 Corinthians 13, Love is patient, love is kind... it always perseveres.

Ready for Emily to return home, with her mom closely following.

Single Father, Day 0

Thursday, July 12, 6:30pm: finish our 3rd and final group hug and let Mommy check in at Maynard H. Jackson, Jr. International Terminal at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport (said name deserves its own blog entry), with the intent of heading to the Varsity with the kids.

Think to put a call into uncle JP to see if he wants to join us, as JP is more popular with my kids than I am. A quick conversation redirects us southwards towards Cracker Barrel in Union City. A bit out of the way, but worth seeing the Halls (adding Pollyanna and Maddie). 

Been to this particular CB many times meeting other southside college friends for a bite after work. Except... it isn't there. I turn around; not there... Turn around again, and confirm that what was a CB is now a cellular-phone store (where have our priorities drifted?). The exit is strewn with every form of fast food, but not a single proper restaurant. After another 10 minutes of indecision takes us another exit southward and 4 miles off the exit to the local Hibachi joint in Tyrone. It is 7:40, and time to eat.

For Louise, Garrett and Eliza, this is their first time. And while Garrett literally jumped out of his chair towards the back wall when the first flames leaped (even given notice), things settled into a great meal. 

Had to borrow $4 from Eliza (who brings her purse everywhere, thank goodness) to leave a decent tip (she negotiated $5 repayment, a 25% usury), and got home at 9:40pm. 

Welcome to life without mom.

Do you believe in Miracles

Well, I sort of do. I generally believe, and am happy to believe. But I'm not one to bother God with my own needs, and wouldn't think to ask for supernatural relief.

10 weeks ago (read here}, my jaw was moved east-west in what would seem some sort of hyper-extension (I don't know the medical definition of this term, but it seems to fit all the same). I spent a week drinking my meals, and have been dropping Advil in ever orifice I can find since then. 

Tonight I watched the independent documentary film Finger of God on Netflix. Not even sure where I heard of this film, but I put it on our queue sometime back and watched it tonight. The film centers on the healing work of the Holy Spirit. It was reasonable, not garish, and didn't ask for money; as someone who is happy to believe in God's miracles for others, I enjoyed the film, and allowed that its presence stretched me. Good job, God. Well done on that miracle; the recipient seems very happy. 

As the film finishes, a 'typical' flashy Reverend Mr. Pastor Jimmy Joe Johnson (not his real name, but you can get a flavor of my hesitancy) stares into the camera, and prays for the viewer, prays for their healing. And I sit there, quiet as a ghost, sweating and clammy, while my inner ear started cracking, a distinct cold feeling developed in my ear canal and traveled down my right neckline, and the chronic pain of the past 10 weeks subsided.

Holy moly. 

I haven't shared this injury with anyone save my wife, and need some time to process this before sharing this with others... (excepting you, my beloved readership). I am talking with God on this and hoping for the best. 

First trip from home

Emily left this morning for the first trip from home without parents or grandparents of any of our children. She's heading to Lexington, KY with a group of great kids and a few decent adults to help run a Vacation Bible School for a group of refugee kids there.
I pray she is safe, of course. But mostly I pray she is changed, in ways that cannot occur in our home. She's a terribly sweet kid, and generally willing to love others with open arms. This environment should be a good stretch for her, and an important step in maturing into a servant-child of God.

I love you, my dear little lady.
Her Updates can be found here.

The Unsung

This message is to serve as props for our eldest, who is so easy to get along with, care for, and be around that we 'rents often fail to recognize her value.

She sits next to me now, long and lanky like her father, voluntarily reading her latest Greek mythology library book, in case there are additional historical facts she has previously missed. 

When Dad B told her to get over her fears and hit the math books, she did. When told she was to learn to dive, she swallowed her nerves and dove in, again and again, increasing in elegance all the while. From her earliest moments we have learned together, "Fear on the inside, courage on the outside." She has consistently faced her fears, and is all the stronger for it.

The occasional "Hmph!" vented in emotional frustration are an anticipated expansion of her tween world. As a 2-year-old, Mom B obtained Dr. Dobson's Strong Willed Child, thinking that Em was of that type. Mom B soon realized that Emily is not such a child, evidenced 24 months later by her first sister and definitively proven in the succeeding 30 months with the Queen. In this light, the rents need to be grateful of this child, knowing that she is likely the highlight of now and future Bowling 11-year olds.

This is not a statement of favoritism. The impetus of said post is realizing that the non-squeaky wheel is overshadowed by her louder and more acrimonious siblings. She is asked to handle a task, and we mentally mark it off as 'done', while the speculation is opposite with the siblings, where disobedience (or 'lack of obedience' in the new world order) is assumed until tasks are proven complete.

She is a darling, a pleasure, and a source of immense pride for this writer.