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The other day I came home from work, and one of my sons was outside with wood and a drill.
I asked, “What are you building?”
He said, “I don’t know, but I need to build something.”
I went inside and told Sarah, “Did you see he’s building something outside? Where did that come from?”
She said, “He was watching videos of people building stuff and didn’t want to just watch other people do it; he wanted to build something himself.”
At The Chapel, we firmly believe that Jesus is God’s Son who showed us how to live and love, and then laid down His life so we could experience true life. He is our Lord and Savior, God and King, High Priest and Friend, and our Rabbi.
Now, in the Christian tradition, we don’t talk too much about Rabbis. But the idea is that a Rabbi is a teacher, someone who helps you wrestle with the Scriptures and grow in your faith and knowledge of God. To be a disciple means to be a student or apprentice under a Rabbi.
That doesn’t mean you show up to class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, listen to a 50-minute lecture, write a few papers, take a test, and call it a day. In Jesus’ time, you followed your Rabbi. You learned their ways. You wanted to be like them.
As I’ve said before, you want to follow so closely you’re covered in the dust of your Rabbi.
Recently, my youngest son lost one of his last baby teeth at school. On the drive home, we started talking about what happens to all those teeth the tooth fairy collects. Let me just say, the variety of suggestions on that ride ranged from, “The tooth fairy uses them in her own mouth, like a shark tooth situation,” to “Santa moonlights as the tooth fairy to help pay the bills in the off-season.”
Of course, you’re asking, But wouldn’t that cost Santa money instead of making money?
Well, naturally, he then profits by selling the teeth on the black market.
I have never laughed so hard at such a ridiculous conversation.
In that moment, I realized: our kids are becoming like us, and even adopting our humor.
They’re taking on our ways as they grow into adulthood.
When May hits, Sarah and I find ourselves absolutely wiped out. Life, work, church, a dog… I feel like I’m forgetting something… oh yeah, raising our kids. It’s like running a marathon where every step is good, every step matters, but every step also drains you. You’re further down the road, but something’s been poured out. Even elite ultra-runners eventually hit a wall where they just can’t keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Then summer hits.
The first few days of summer feel like stepping into a completely different world. We’re no longer waking up before sunrise, no longer sprinting from school to after-school activities to homework to that never-ending evening routine. No more late night cramming in extra work, replying to emails, prepping for Bible study, and collapsing into bed just so we can do it all again the next day. Suddenly, those days are gone.
For a few brief moments, summer feels like slower mornings, no strict schedule, no hustle.
But then… late July arrives.
21 years ago this week, I traveled up to the St. Louis area from my summer job to hang out with Sarah and her family for the Fourth of July. At that point, Sarah and I had only been on one date at the start of the summer… then she promptly left town for four weeks. (She actually went to the Emerald Coast, which felt a bit personal. I didn’t think our date went that badly—but apparently, she needed a month and a coastline to recover.)