While he was still with us, but hobbled by Alzheimer’s, that sentiment was accompanied by feelings of hope that somehow, he’d come back to us. Somehow, he would be there to, at the least, watch me get my high school diploma. When he went on from this life, I was 4 years removed from graduation, so obviously my selfish desires were not fulfilled.

When I was letting my life degrade with alarming regularity in my early twenties, I yearned for him to be around to knock some sense into me. I needed some sort of model on how to do life, how to be a man, but the only one that I cared to learn that stuff from wasn’t there. Certainly, other examples existed, but not the one I wanted. I missed him, and just didn’t care about much of anything else.

After I got things back together, and I was doing fairly well, I had an encounter that changed my life. God happened, as it were. I was living in Indianapolis at the time, and immediately made a lot of phone calls and then drove to Royal Center and visiting Dad’s grave to, y’know, tell him. I like to think it was more than symbolic, but hey, who knows? I wanted him to know. He believed in God, and I just, well, am a sappy fool sometimes.

I’ve thought about him a lot this past year, what with trying to be a father myself, then actually being a father. All the implications that has. I’m not really big on asking a lot of questions, but I’d at least like to have the luxury of being able to ask Dad a few things. Part of me wishes he were still here so I wouldn’t have Early-Onset Alzheimer’s looming over me, leaving me wondering whether or not I am under its shadow.

Every now and then, when I miss Dad, I still mourn a little. Not so much for me, but for the people in my life who never had the chance to meet him. My wife, Amy, has only seen pictures. My daughter, Sarah, will only have pictures, and the few stories I can manage to dredge up. I resemble him; I think the main reason I don’t mind my bald spot is because, hey, it’s a little bit of him. I miss him, but instead of being overcome with depression and woe-is-me, I’m…a lighter shade of melancholy, I suppose. I smile when I think of him. I still get sad, but it comes laced with a longing, instead of with despair.

Okay, so maybe the relationship doesn’t start from scratch, but there are definite changes to the marriage dynamic. Some things certainly have changed in both our lives – being responsible for Sarah, obviously, tops that list. But how that responsibility manifests in our roles as mother and father is starkly different. The single biggest difference in our lives right now is that I go off to school and/or work each day, then come back home about 8 hours later, while Amy spends all day, every day, nurturing Sarah and trying her darnedest to get other things done, too.

Before Sarah, we’d both go to work or school, come home about the same time, and have about the same amount of time at home. The change in my life is that I’m a father. Amy’s a mother, but also for the time being a stay-at-home mother, having to adjust to a host of other things from which my job and education keep me insulated.

When you’re married without children, you’re still afforded some selfish behaviors that really don’t feel all that selfish, like waking up precisely when you have just enough time to get ready and make it to work on time. Once you have a child, things like that go out the window – if I do that now, especially when Amy has an appointment to be somewhere, I’m being completely selfish; Amy’s left to feed Sarah, get them both ready, etc. I obviously can’t do everything I can for our daughter, but if I get up earlier I can at least watch Sarah so Amy can get ready faster, have breakfast uninterrupted, etc.

That’s just one example. I can’t simply default to what works best for me any more. I simply have to develop a mindset that my family comes first, and that mindset has to be rooted from the perspective of everything that Amy does all day, every day. She’s wonderful, an absolutely brilliant mom and wife.

Even after I was pulled out of my depression, May has held a place of infamy in my life. In the midst of each year’s spring laid this blight of a month, a barren patch where on either side life sprung up anew. I loved spring, but I loathed May.

Oh, how that has changed. On May 17, 2008, I had the honor of taking the hand of Amy Burkhammer in marriage. Today, May 1, 2011, we added Sarah Mae to our family. This month will also mark the completion of my undergraduate work, not to mention the first Mother’s Day for Amy. May has bloomed new life, full of green shoots bursting forth from the scorched earth of my youth.

Reclamation is a nifty, nifty thing. I approve.

Ronald’s ex-wife, Joy, and their 12 year-old twin boys live in Charlotte, which is roughly 4 hours from Wilmington. The boys found out during the car trip that their father died, and their older brother was in the hospital. Candy Hug, a dear friend of Joy’s and mine, called me to get my advice on how to console the twins after such news, since I was dealt a similar blow when I was of a similar age. I rambled a bit, before giving the best advice I could muster: tell them to share their feelings, no matter what they are. Masking your feelings, putting on a tough façade, does nobody any good. With all of my heart, I hope they follow my advice. Learn from my mistakes, boys; it will save you a lifetime of heartache.

Monday, Trey departed this world for the one beyond.

Tuesday, Beverly McClellan, Candy’s mom, passed on as well, ending what was on many levels an incredibly draining year. Her death, while not unexpected, compounded the sadness of that household. Joy and the twins are staying with the Hugs. Collectively the three deaths represent the loss of a mother, grandmother, one-time husband, father, son, and brother. I grieve for them, individually and collectively.

An interview with Joy was on the local news the other night, and it was apparent that through the tears, her faith in God is unwavering. I’m certain the same is true for Chris and Candy. It would be so easy in this situation to blame God. Instead, they lean into Him, and it is my hope that moments like these reinforce our belief that we desperately need our Savior.

If everything went according to my initial plan, my degree would have been in either Biology (or English, considering how poorly I was doing in Bio 101). It would have been granted by Wabash College, and the year would have been 1997.

But, this plan was not the path laid out for me. My freshman year at Wabash wasn’t at all like high school; I reveled too much in my freedom, entertained too frequently my depression, and put far too much stock in my ability to get good grades without much effort. My time at Wabash ended after that year. My grades were horrendous and I had absolutely no direction; I took a semester off to “find myself.” This was after the spring semester in 1994.

That was one long semester! In the fall of 2006, I took some classes at Cape Fear Community College in Wilmington, NC. I was working at UPS Freight, and they had a wonderful tuition reimbursement program. I got straight A’s, and in the fall of 2007 I transferred to UNC-Wilmington. I had a love of poetry, and studied Creative Writing and, well, Mathematics. I briefly considered double-majoring, but, as one might imagine, there wasn’t any overlap of courses. So, I was going for a BFA in Creative Writing (concentration of poetry) and a minor in Mathematics.

During the fall semester of 2008, I was in the midst of completing my final math course, Axiomatic Systems, when my professor talked to me about switching majors to math. After much prayer and discussion with my lovely new bride, I decided to make the switch: I was now pursuing a BS in Math, with a minor in CRW. As it turned out, that semester was not the end of my math courses, but the end of my creative writing ones! I had exactly what I needed for a minor, and to graduate with my new plan of 2010, I needed to focus everything I had on my math requirements.

Unfortunately, that planned date wouldn’t stand for long. UPS Freight stopped being amenable to bending my work schedule to better fit my academic one, so I couldn’t take traditional, in-person classes in 2009. The fall semester, I took Intro to Statistics, Java Programming, and Multivariate Calculus online through various institutions. Spring of 2010, I was able to take some traditional courses again, but due to certain degree requirements, I wouldn’t be able to finish my degree until, you guessed it, May 2011.

But wait! The story doesn’t end there! UPS Freight went from being very willing to work with my schedule to being absolutely rigid, so much so that had I stayed there, my degree would have been put off at least one more year, possibly two. Amy and I prayed, and talked, and prayed some more and talked some more. Ultimately, we thought it was in God’s will for us to pursue my degree in lieu of furthering my career with UPS, so we trusted in that this past August. I thrust myself into my studies, worked as a barely-paid math tutor at UNCW, and applied to the math department’s 5-year plan, which would allow me to get a Masters in one more year. In December, I started a paid internship with Kendle, doing Statistical Programming. I’ve been told that it’s just a matter of time before that internship yields a full-time, salaried position (which will almost certainly pay more than I made at UPS). And, by the by, I really enjoy the work I do there, and I’m happy when I get home!

So, the long and short of it is this: In another, say, 6 weeks, I’ll graduate magna cum laude with my BS in Mathematics, minor in Creative Writing. In another year, I should have my Master of Science in Mathematics. Almost all of my academic work has been while taking between 12-17 hours of coursework a semester while working 40-50 hours each week. I would never have been able to do this without the unwavering support of my wife, and easily the most satisfying thing of this endeavor is that each step, God has been with us. His fingerprints are everywhere, especially over the past 9 months.

Speaking of which, also in the next 6 weeks we’ll be welcoming into this world the beautiful Sarah Mae Knebel, which is really the impetus of this post. See, as excited as I am about this degree, it pales into comparison to becoming a father. I won’t be speaking much more of this degree stuff, but wanted to take a moment to properly document this ride.

If you’ve read this far, you have my eternal gratitude for your indulging me. J

And, wouldn’t you know it, I’ve had this wordpress.com account for quite some time, and it has really done nothing except collect dust. This, though, is my third post in two days, and if I can get it to link up properly to Facebook, I might just be hanging out here more frequently.

See, while Facebook updates are fine and all, usually, if I have something of note to say, I want a more…I don’t know, solid?…platform on which to say it. A sandbox, if you will, where I can have a bit more control over how my thoughts appear on the page. Where I can easily integrate pictures into my posts. I’ve long since admired Marcie’s blog (go on, check it out! Hit up the kubiksquare link off to the left!), especially when she puts together photo posts of her lovely family.

Hopefully, people will enjoy hearing me ramble, rant, or rejoice on a more regular basis.

Actually, I think that should I ever take the time to make such a graph, I should make a family of graphs, possibly overlaid on the same set of axes. You see, my inward happiness has rarely mirrored my outward wealth. Also, my outward facade has had stark contrasts with my state of mind from time to time. I doubt there would be anyone that could make a direct correlation between these elements…why oversimplify your life?

But, such a graph would be the equivalent of just seeing the NCAA bracket after the tournament ends. Sure, you see the end results, which can be moderately revealing, but they don’t reveal the gritty details. The Pitt-Butler game was so much more than the final score. This graph of my life, while interesting, should only serve as supplementary material, you know?

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A final side note:

I have, on occasion, told people some of the details, the major turning points, of my life. Typically, the really difficult parts would, well, be really difficult, heh. My voice would get shaky, and my eyes would tear up, especially recounting things like Dad’s last years or my “dark ages” in my early twenties. On Sunday, I told a miniature version to a group of close friends. I didn’t get choked up at all, not until I started talking about my life as it is now, and the bountiful joy that surrounds me.

It’s a funny thing, that. If it weren’t for those low points, however many there have been, I would not possess this overwhelming gratitude for such an amazing life.

I didn’t have the pleasure of being with Amy as she had this ultrasound late last week. It was the first I’d miss and, wouldn’t you know it, the first time we’d get such amazing pictures of our baby’s face! Amy scanned these in and sent them to me as soon as she could, and ever since, my mind has been racing. She’s got my nose. What else will she inherit from her father? From her mother?

From both of us, I hope she learns to love deeply, and learns the source of all love.

From Amy, I hope she gets her eyes, along with that requisite sparkle. I hope she gets not only Amy’s sense of humor, but also her ability to tune into mine. Her ticklishness. Her compassion. Her social charms and graces.

Now, from me, I hope she gets my grin. And my joy. And my love of language, be it written, spoken, or symbolic, English or mathematical.

There are a host of things I pray she does not get from me, but I hope beyond hope that her eyes and heart be filled with the wonderment of God’s glories and graces.

I cannot wait to meet you, little girl.

Protect, while close, wasn’t quite the right word. As Mark Twain wrote, “The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter–it’s the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.” Almost immediately after going back to the drawing board, it came to me: Shield.

“Shield” is a word of great utility. As a verb, it invokes ideas of protection and guarding. As a noun, it’s an instrument of the former, but it can also be used offensively as well. As I continue to think of the word, its scope broadens. I want to be a shield to my daughter. To my wife. To my heart. My weaknesses. I wholeheartedly realize that my success at being this shield relies completely on God. I pray that He blesses me with His strength, provision, wisdom and discernment so that my actions can prove to be an effective shield to all that I hold dear.

I cannot wait to see the myriad other ways this word will apply to my life, not to mention the life of my family.

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Shameless plug: Head over to myoneword.org and read some stories, and read about finding a word that can be the catalyst for profound change in your life this year.

    John 1:14 (NASB)

Christmas is a celebration of an event that occurred just over two thousand years ago. Christ was most likely born in the spring, but at some point the observation was changed to coincide with the winter solstice (Why? I might have cared 2000 years back, but not so much now). I’m completely content with it being an approximation, and I’m completely content with people saying December 25 is Christ’s birthday (even though it really isn’t). After all, it isn’t so important as to when it happened, but that and why it happened.

I’ll try to keep my thoughts hovering around a single idea. This season, I keep coming back to John 1:14, and the use of the word “dwelt.” It implies much more than a passing through. Christ made his home among us.

When I moved to Wilmington, for the first few years, I was in very much a transitory state. I could have moved from there and never gone back, never kept in touch with anyone there, and that would have been fine. I never built any real relationships. And then, something changed. I suspect it was when I stumbled upon Amy, but I found myself not just living on my own any more. Amy’s a huge part of that, to be sure, but there are other relationships that I’ve made in the past handful of years that will be with me wherever I find myself. I’m dwelling with people there, now. We walking through life together, experiencing our highs and their lows and everything in that spectrum. The city is merely the place where we met; the people are what matter, you know?

Christ coming to dwell with us has a much, much deeper implication than simply passing through. It wasn’t a stopover. He may not have been here, physically, for that great of a period, but he walked with us. He laughed with us, corrected us, and wept with us. His love for us wasn’t and isn’t generic; it is incredibly intimate, and remains despite Jesus not being with us physically.