What exactly is compassion? And how can I show more of it?
I often find myself writing down thoughts of things I need to work on. Lately those thoughts have revolved around how I can be a more compassionate human.
Overall, I think I’m generally a decent person with an ability to feel love and show compassion to anyone around me. I’ve never doubted for one second the love I feel for other humans in my life, especially my wife and children. That love is unconditional, of course it will always be there, no matter what. But the older my children get, and the more strenuous the turmoil they tend to put me through, I often find myself realizing that I need to work on my own compassion.
If love is a deep and lasting feeling, compassion is how that feeling is expressed.
There have been moments when a child of mine has expressed that they don’t feel loved by me. This causes me enormous pain and confusion because it’s so ridiculously untrue. I can’t believe my child could actually feel that way. And it’s in these moments that I have to evaluate how I show love to each of my children, my wife, and other humans in my life.
I know that I love my family, and I try to express that to them verbally and daily. Verbal expressions of love are the low hanging fruit on the tree of compassion. But how do those verbal expressions of love stack up against the many other memorable and/or unfortunate expressions throughout the day? Expressions of frustration, annoyance, impatience, intolerance, and even anger. If I do an honest intake of my interactions with my children at the end of a difficult and stressful day, from the perspective of my child, it doesn’t take long for me to start to feel guilt for the many mistakes I often make as a parent.
To a child, verbal expressions of love are slippery, they might go in one ear and out the other, like most words a parent speaks to a child. However, visual and tonal expressions of anger are sticky. They don’t go anywhere for a while. There have been several times when my young children have reminded me of some mistake I’d made in the past that still sits with them. It breaks my heart. But it also provides me an opportunity.
I can’t go back and change any mistakes I’ve made. But maybe I can create new memories of sticky compassion.
“Your compassion is a weakness your enemies will not share.” -Ra’s al Ghul
“That’s why it’s so important. It separates us from them.” -Bruce Wayne/Batman
It’s a classic quote from a fantastic movie. And 100% true. Compassion is not weakness. It’s strength. Strength to not react to the anger of the moment. Strength to take a step back and consider the effects of my actions on others. Strength to hold my mortal tongue from speaking words I will regret, and may remain imprinted on the minds and hearts of someone I love.
Of course that’s not to say that we should never feel or express those feelings of anger, frustration, or pain. Holding in frustration and anger creates longer lasting damage within ourselves and likely those around us at some point when we inevitably explode.
But the few times in my life that I have been able to temper my emotions in the moment and allow myself to feel love and express compassion to that person I love, that’s a moment that sticks with me. Whether it’s acknowledged or not by the person to be loved, I can feel the strength of the moment. The strength of compassion.
Like a muscle, I feel it get stronger every time I’m able to do it. It gets easier the next time I feel the weight of the moment. Sometimes it’s too much for me to bear, and I give up and don’t push through the pain. And that’s ok, life is just plain unbearable sometimes. The weight is too heavy. And in those moments, I have to remember to be compassionate with myself. I’m often too hard on myself, or get in my own head with the woulda coulda shoulda’s.
In those moments, I look to others. Who seems to show this strength of compassion better than me?
Sometimes it’s the very people I’m struggling to show compassion for, like my wife and children. For me, a gentle hug from a child instantly kills any and all feelings of frustration. It invites forgiveness and magnifies compassion. I’m grateful for amazing children who’ve given me this gift many times.
Of course one of the greatest examples of compassion is Jesus Christ. He is not remembered for his wielding of earthly positions of power, political prowess, or unmatched strength of legions and armies, besting his foes and parading about as a man of great pride with important possessions. He’s remembered for his compassion. For his humility. For his ability to feel love for his fellow man, and express that love with a perfect strength of compassion. And he taught us how to do it.
I’m a witness that it’s easier said than done, and that I’m far from perfect at it.
But there is strength in compassion. It may not be flashy or bold. It might seem quiet and content. And some might even call it weak. The loud voices of arrogance tend to drown out the whispers of compassion. So often humility is a hard pill to swallow, but it’s the fuel that keeps the strength of compassion burning.
I will never understand someone else’s life experience. I’ll never be able to feel everything they feel, or know why they make the choices they make. And I can (and have) easily sit back and judge people from a distance. From my limited world view and understanding. And unfortunately we live in a world today that not only praises that kind of behavior, but encourages it, and even claims it as necessary righteous dominion. Holds it up as a thriving and positive way of life. Something to be exonerated and worshipped.
But it’s dispassionate, unkind, and causes tremendous pain.
I firmly believe there is a whole world, an entire life experience, that we have just barely scratched the surface of. There’s a power that’s waiting to be tapped into. And the only way to tap in is to access our own internal sticky strength of compassion. It means letting go of judgement. It means finding some common ground. It means learning from someone different than you.
I hope that, especially as a husband and a father, I can increase my own strength of compassion. As I get older, I’m learning that the main purpose of me being alive is to show love and compassion to everyone around me.
That’s it. Anything else is secondary.
If I can do that better, maybe it will stick, and others can do it with me.
The story of my experimental lifestyle change of unplugging from my phone to recharge my life.
For the past month or so I’ve been experimenting with a new lifestyle:
I ignore my phone as much as possible.
Let me explain…
I Hate Cell Phones
I bought my first cell phone in 2007 at the age of 22 when I was in college. From the moment I walked out of that Cingular store til now, I’ve hated the idea of having a cell phone.
Up until that point in my life, I had never needed nor desired a device on my person that would put me at everyone’s beck and call anywhere, anytime. Up until that point, if anyone wanted to reach me, they could call my home or apartment phone and if I happened to be there, I would answer. If not, too bad, leave a message I’ll call you back whenever I get to it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but there was something freeing and liberating about this way of life. And it wasn’t unique as it’s how everyone lived an operated until some time in the 90’s when I remember my parents getting their first cell phones.
Don’t get me wrong, as a kid I was fascinated by the technology of cell phones. I was a master of the classic game “snake” on my mom’s Nokia. As a teenager I enjoyed calling my girlfriend from my home phone to her cell phone and chatting for hours, possibly wishing I had my own cell phone so I didn’t have to worry about my parents breathing on the other line listening to my inspiring, eloquent, love-captivating, flirtatious sweet nothings whispered through the electromagnetic radiation waves of technology.
Besides that, I don’t remember ever asking my parents for a cell phone or ever feeling like I had to have one. And for that, I’m grateful. I may have been part of the last generation of teenagers that spent our high school years happily without a cellular device.
After high school I spent 2 years in Ecuador as a missionary and when I came back to college in January of 2007… EVERYBODY HAD CELL PHONES. Apartment landlines became obsolete and I was forced to buy calling cards just to use it. As if I didn’t have enough financial stress as a poor starving college student, I caved and found myself buying a cheap flip phone on a basic plan, something like 250 minutes and 250 texts per month.
I reluctantly entered the next technological paradigm shift of my life.
Dumb Phones
Dumb phone, oh dumb phone, I miss you so,
Your screen was so grainy, your buttons so small,
The satisfying feeling of snapping you shut,
Your cheap plastic shell was more than enough,
Your camera was crappy, your service was bad,
Your buttons were clicky and sticky and sad,
But hey, I could text just about anyone,
With eyes closed, one handed, with only my thumb,
You served your purpose, no more and no less,
You felt no desire to technologically progress,
When “smart phones” arrived, therefore labeling you dumb,
You took no offense as you knelt to succumb,
And now, in a world where smart phones reign supreme,
Surrounded by videos, noise, GIF’s and memes,
I recall the sweet silence that felt just like home,
Of using a boring, plain, quiet dumb phone.
Smart Phones
Some time after college while working in my first job in 2012, I decided it was necessary for me to finally upgrade to a smartphone. An iPhone seemed like the logical choice, and while I’ve occasionally drifted into different android and Google phones over the years, iPhone has really been my solid foundation. And for a while, I was a sucker for anything and everything that had to do with the iPhone. I wanted the latest iPhone as soon as possible, the newest software, the best features. I would watch the Apple events and even download the beta versions of iPhone software updates to experience them first.
I was hooked. There was just something about having that little expensive rectangle in your pocket that affected the way I felt about my life. I became dependent on it. Addicted to it.
And not just the phone, but everything ON the phone. Apps, games, and social media. In a matter of almost no time at all, the distractions of everything I could do on my iPhone that kept me so connected with the world, actually disconnected me from the world and most importantly the people in my life around me. It became an escape, a dopamine fix, a place to temporarily sooth my shallow soul while I looked at everyone else’s glossy life and hoped for more comments and likes on my own shared social media.
Any feeling of pleasure I’ve ever derived from any app on my iPhone is very short lived and kept me coming back for more. I hated that his little device designed for communication became like an all-powerful evil genie, pretending to grant me wishes and trapping me in it’s lamp.
Smart phones are the epitome of phenomenal cosmic powers trapped in an itty bitty living space.
Dumb Parents
As I’ve become a parent heavily involved in my children’s lives and activities, I’ve had to learn to be more and more cautious about the use of my phone. I’ve seen way to many dance performances, touchdowns, and soccer goals from within the frame of my 6.1″ display. In my effort to capture the moment, I miss the moment, and I can never get that back. Sure I can watch it later on my screen, and maybe post all over social media for other’s to enjoy, and I know there’s a time and place for that, but… I felt like I was missing out on a lot of real time moments that would be more impactful if I would just put the phone down and take the experience in.
I needed to stop capturing moments in 1080p and live in moments of full HD. The resolution from watching something happen live with my own eyes beats any kind of resolution replayed in 4k, 8k, or even a 120k screen.
Also, I hope I’m not the only parent who experiences this, but one of the negative effects of posting photos and videos of your children to social media is that your children will start to think that EVERY photo and video you take will end up on social media, and they (smartly) don’t want that! We’ll be on a family walk, and the kids will start saying or doing something funny, and I’ll pull out my phone to capture the moment, but as soon as they see that I’m recording, they’ll stop and insist I delete whatever I recorded because they don’t want it shared to the world. Most of the time, in those kinds of moments especially, we as parents have no intention of posting anything, we just want to capture a fun family moment. But the moment is ruined by a fear of potential social media posting, and the result is we aren’t able to capture what would have otherwise been a funny thing to enjoy again later as a family.
How many goofy and silly pictures and videos did we all take as children and teenagers? We felt free to be ridiculous, creative, and funny on our 80’s and 90’s camcorders because we figured nobody would ever see it but our ridiculous, creative, and funny family. The idea that any of that could be potentially shared with the world on a public platform wasn’t even a thought.
But now, it is. And it’s ruining some of those moments.
On top of that, there’s also an emotional effect that occurs inside me that connects me to my child, in that moment, where nothing else matters but my full attention and focus on my child. A smile and a cheer from the sideline or from the audience, feelings of pride and happiness expressed without distraction or interruption. Allowing myself to be fully present.
Then there’s the example I set to my children as a parent. How often do they walk into a room and try to talk to me and I’m on my phone? I may even be doing something productive and healthy, like listening to a good audiobook or uplifting music, or catching up and responding to important family messages and events. It doesn’t matter what it is, I have to pause or stop and say to my child “sorry, what was that?” They don’t know what I’m doing on my phone, they just see me on my phone, and in their eyes, mom and dad are always on their phones, and they will follow that example when they someday get a phone.
I have a teenage daughter who has a phone and preteen son who has a watch. Now these are very limited devices and can pretty much only text and call, NO INTERNET WHATSOEVER, but even still, they are drawn to them. We can’t keep them off them! We give them a little bit of freedom with a communication device and they very quickly feel entitled to use these devices however they damn well please.
And why not? We’re kidding ourselves as parents if we think that we can expect our kids to not want to be on phones or communication devices constantly if we ourselves are on them constantly.
Smart Parents
I finally decided it’s time to be smart, and I hope it’s not too late. I don’t want my kids to see me on my phone anymore. I don’t even want to carry it with me when I leave the house. Maybe if they can see that I don’t need to be on my phone all the time, they don’t need to either.
I understand that especially as my kids get older, more and more of their friends will have phones at younger and younger ages. My third-grader informs me that kids his age on the bus regularly watch episodes of “The Last of Us” on HBO Max on their phone. I’m in a loosing game here if I think my example can compete with that of their peers.
But at least it’s something. Maybe they’ll remember me as an always present non-distracted father, maybe they won’t.
More than that, I want to be accountable to myself. I want to eliminate the distractions for myself. I want to empower myself to function in the world I live in without being so heavily reliant on or addicted to my phone.
So how do I do this?
After some research on the internet of how other people have taken similar approaches, I landed on the best answer for me.
Apple Watch.
I learned that I could leave my iPhone at home, or even turned off and tucked away in my drawer, and still have a fully functional communication device in the form of my Apple Watch.
For a few years now, Apple Watches have had the ability to have their own cellular number or companion connection through an iPhone to function away from your iPhone. Due to cost and unnecessary hassle, I never bothered to look into it much. It seemed like a luxury service. But now that I was considering using my Apple Watch as my main communication device, this seemed like a viable option. I did some research, found a very affordable way to make this happen (US Mobile), and now I barely touch my phone. I answer all calls and texts, listen to music, audiobooks, podcasts, access maps, etc on my Apple Watch, without the need for my phone close by.
I ignore my phone as much as possible.
There’s some sacrifices (if you can call them that). No more sitting and scrolling through Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, or YouTube. No Netflix, Prime, Max, Hulu, or Disney+ whenever I want. The longer I keep my iPhone tucked away at my bedside, the easier it is to ignore it.
The biggest drawback is if you have any texts from your green bubble friends, Apple being the way it is, they won’t come through to your Apple Watch without your iPhone nearby. So occasionally I do need to turn my iPhone on and check messages from my long lost android and google phoned friends. Incidentally I’ve learned how few people I know and regularly communicate with that DON’T have an iPhone. So this hasn’t been a dealbreaker for me.
The only other drawback is taking photos. If I’m out and about with my Apple Watch, I’m unable to take any photos or videos. At first, I was really worried about this, especially with all of my kids in sporting and dancing events. I’ve always been the screaming dad behind the camera filming my children doing every little awesome amazing thing.
Now, after a little over a month, it’s totally fine and I addressed my feelings about that earlier in this post. If I feel that strongly about taking photos or videos, my wife has her iPhone or I could bring my phone along for photos. Or I could go buy an actual camera (something I’d love to do!). I’ve basically learned for myself that I don’t need to take as many photos and videos as I think I do.
Other than that, if there’s something that I need to accomplish on my iPhone, I’ll just do it on my iPad. Or my MacBook. I go to my home office and do those things. I typically don’t carry those devices around the house.
Unplug to Recharge
I realize this lifestyle change just plain won’t work for everyone. For example, thus far I’ve failed to mention that I do actually have a day job that requires me to use the phone a lot, and I’m fortunate in that my job provides me a separate work phone to do that. I’ve had past jobs where I’ve had to use my personal phone for work purposes, and ditching my phone at home all day trying to operate on a watch just wouldn’t be possible no matter how much I might want to.
I do still post to social media when I upload a song, or a post like this one. I do enjoy using Marco Polo still to connect with friends. This isn’t 100% all or nothing solution.
This post is less about the means and more about the problem I was facing and feeling, and how I chose to solve it. And I’m far from perfect at it. I still have to watch myself constantly and stay vigilant.
I’ve read that if you keep a phone plugged in at 100% capacity at all times, this accelerates chemical aging and degrades the battery’s capacity faster. Today’s cell phones have protections built in to prevent this, but we’ve all had past phones with rapidly declining battery capacity.
I don’t think we’re much different. The more we stay plugged in to our phones, these lighted screens in front of our eyeballs, we drain our capacity. To function, to succeed, to get through the day with enough energy to survive. I’ve been raising 3 kids for 13 years now, and it’s utterly exhausting. I falsely believed that the solution or at least minor relief to my exhaustion during or at the end of the day was to relax and look at my phone for a while, but now that I’m doing that much much less and instead finding other things to fill my time, I am less exhausted. I feel more capable. My capacity seems to have increased.
The more I unplug, the more I’m recharged.
More than anything, I’m allowing myself to be alone with my thoughts more. Heaven knows there’s nothing wrong with listening to a good book or music or podcast, and I generally still do that quite a bit. But more often than not nowadays, it’s just me and my brain. Doing the dishes. Making dinner. Mowing the lawn. Cleaning the garage. Playing with my kids. All without the distraction and buzzing of a phone in my pocket.
I don’t have studies and I don’t have science or facts, but I’m pretty sure that sitting on the toilet without a phone not only enhances pooping efficiency, but also enhances brain stimulation and activity, lowers your water and electric bills, saves the whales, cures cancer, and slows climate change.
I’m still in my experimental phase of this lifestyle change and it’s safe to say that thus far, I think the experiment is going well.
I was terrified. Of being a dad. Of feeling helpless at the hospital. Of the earth-shattering life change that was coming.
Then, all of a sudden, pure joy. The world stopped as I watched a tiny head and delicate body immerge from an opening that should defy the laws of physics. It shouldn’t be possible. But somehow it was, and I saw it happen. The image is burned in my brain and imprinted on my soul forever.
A child. My child. A taste of creation.
I had never seen anything so incredible in my life. A healthy, beautiful, baby girl.
My amazing wife. How the hell did she just do that? My love and appreciation for her as a woman, my wife, and now a brand new mother, deepened. Everyone faded away and it was just me, her, and our newborn baby.
“Dad, do you want to cut the cord?” a male voice asked from somewhere.
“Huh? Dad?” I mumbled, my eyes glued to my daughter. My DAUGHTER. I’m a DAD. Wait, who was speaking? I really wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t involve staring at this child.
I re-awoke to the reality that there was a doctor in the room and a nurse standing next to me holding up a tray of sterilized surgical instruments, indicating to me what looked like a small pair of scissors. Honestly, I didn’t really want to, but I was so hypnotized by what was happening that I unwittingly just went along with whatever he said. He probably could have asked me for my wallet and the keys to my house and I would have given them to him. I grabbed the little sterilized scissors from the sterilized tray, he pointed where to cut, and I cut, and set the now unsterilized scissors back on the sterilized tray. Oops, I guess I wasn’t supposed to do that I thought to myself as my eyes caught a quick glimpse of panic in the doctor’s face staring down at his now tainted tray. Well, he’ll figure it out because that’s all the energy I could put towards anything else in that moment. My focus returned to my family.
My FAMILY. No longer just my wife and I. Just like that we were now a family of three.
Little cries filled the room as the nurse handed our baby girl to my wife. A precious moment. This tiny human, miraculously grown and carried inside her body for the past 9 months, now being held in mother’s arms.
“Hello there” my wife says as she embraces our daughter, the first of many consoling hugs to come. Already connected and familiar, just seeing each other in a new light.
What happens next is something that I’ll never forget. Something that will grow to define our daughter for years to come.
She’s placed on a scale, poked, prodded, and cleaned up. Nurses lovingly work hard to making sure our baby is healthy and strong. Often babies cry big gulping cries when all this is happening (this is exactly what my boys did when they were born a few years later). They’re naked, cold, and scared. But none of this seems to bother our little girl.
She doesn’t make a sound. I get up close, my first real good look at this heavenly creature, and I see these big beautiful eyes. How can her eyes be this big? Immediately it’s her most defining feature. These eyes are darting all around the room, taking in everything she can from her surroundings. I know she only sees light, dark, and blurry shapes, but I get the sense that she is not going to waste any time to take in and take on the world around her.
She’s perfect. And in that perfect moment, her eyes tell me exactly who she is. It’s as if she was saying “Hello daddy, I hope you’re ready to show me all the beauty here on this earth, because I can’t wait to see it.”
Feelings of terror resurface like waves pounding on a warm beach. Am I ready for this? I have no earthly idea. But maybe this heavenly human will teach me to overcome my earthly ideas.
We spend the next few hours feeling all the joy and fear of new parenting. A strange powerful feeling enters into me. It starts small, but slowly electrifies my body. I’ve felt slivers of this before, for my wife, my family and siblings, my baby sister, and even other small children. But that feeling really pales in comparison to this. What is this?
It resembles the feeling of love, but it’s more than that. Connection. Belonging. Furious and raging. Then gentle and soothing. She is a part of us. A part of me. Something that can never be separated. The feeling was expansion, like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes that day. All of my heart. The pain and the elation. The sorrow and the happiness. The fear and the fierce. She tugged on every emotion. She picked up the violin of my heart strings and let me know she would not only become an expert musician, but she would turn this into a symphony.
We named her Zoe. Can’t explain it other than it just felt right.
Zoe Dance Christensen
Beauty Mark
When Zoe was four years old, my wife took her and our two boys to the zoo. It was a weekday and I was at work. Sometime in the middle of the day I got a stressed phone call from my wife that Zoe had climbed onto a big rock and fell, cutting her forehead just above the left eyebrow. It was a deep cut and there was a lot of blood. I left work and met up with my family at the urgent care.
There was a panicked calm on my wife’s face as she dealt not only with the stress and sadness of the situation, but also 2 little boys clueless to what was going on. She took the boys home and I stayed with Zoe to meet with the doctor who would let us know what the best course of action was.
Stitches.
While we waited for the doctor, I chatted with Zoe about what happened. She said she climbed on top of a rock to see something and then lost her balance and fell. I asked her if it hurt when she fell, she gave me a 4-year look of duh dad, of course it hurt, what a dumb question. It was a dumb question, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to ask it. I’ve never cut myself so deep to need stitches, I live life much too cautiously, so I genuinely wanted to know how it felt. At the age of 4 she had experienced an injury that I, at age the age of 30, had never experienced, and I was curious.
Overall, she had cried her cries and was in a good mood. The doctor came in and let us know that she would need some stitches. Zoe, a much braver soul than I, sat nervous but calm in the chair while the doctor went to work. I watched her face while each stitch went in. I could see her reaction to the pain and her tears leaking out slowly as he went. But she endured it well and within seconds of completion, jumped up at me for a hug. I was truly impressed. Wow, how did she do that?
9 years later, a tiny scar remains. Over the years, I started calling it her “beauty mark.” Obviously she is beautiful with or without the scar. It’s more of a reminder of the beautiful life that she lives. Zoe is adventurous, daring, always wanting to try new things, and not afraid to get hurt along the way.
The reminder really isn’t for her, although it can be if she wants. But her memory of that day has faded. She now only knows what we have told her, and seen the evidence and photos. No, the reminder is for someone like me. Someone who looks at her. That there is beauty in imperfection, and she is proof of that.
Her scars don’t make her more beautiful (that would be quite impossible!) but rather her scars show anyone that sees her or spends time with her that Zoe knows how to live, and that life is beautiful. All of it. Including the painful parts.
Matilda
When Zoe was 9, she surprised us when she expressed interest in wanting to try out for a musical production our local theater group was putting on of “Matilda the Musical, Junior.” She had been involved in dance for a few years, living up to her middle name, and put on a few performances with her dance studio, but she hadn’t yet showed an interest in theater. Since my wife and I both grew up doing theater, we of course encouraged her.
Now this was during the early years of COVID. So auditions for Matilda were held virtually. First she submitted a song and a monologue. Now I knew my girl could sing, I’d heard her many times and she had even sung with me a few times on my YouTube channel. Singing with Zoe is one of my favorite things to do! But I did not know the full extent of her ability to be a little expressive sassy convincing actor! My wife says that Zoe inherited my facial expressions and mannerisms so combine that with her inherited gift of dance from her mom and Zoe’s outgoing and explosive personality and, well, we may have created a theater monster!
She blew us and the directors away with a great audition tape and then virtual callbacks. It was her first show audition and she was cast in the ensemble AND Matilda understudy! Wow! We did not expect that for her first show! For the next few months we dropped Zoe off every week to rehearse. Because of COVID, we were unable to enter the building and watch any rehearsals whatsoever. So we really had no idea how things were going besides listening to her practice at home.
When Zoe wants something, she will work incredibly hard at it and give 110%. As Matilda’s understudy, she had the opportunity to perform one show as Matilda, and we were so nervous and excited. Performing on stage and especially playing a main role is incredibly nerve wracking! I’ve been there, but not at the age of 9!
It’s another one of those moments burned into my brain. I’ll never forget Zoe entering the stage, all eyes turn to her, she literally steps up onto a box, the center of attention, and she starts to sing. Solo. I’m sitting close enough that I can see her shaking, I hear the nervous pauses in her voice and breath. I’m on the edge of my seat. Is she going to make it through? Of course she does. We applause. I’m crying cuz my heart to tears valve broke a long time ago.
I’m so proud of my baby girl. She is so brave. I’m in awe of her.
Zoe singing her solo “Quiet” from Matilda the Musical.
She sang with heart. She performed with confidence. And she had a blast doing it. For the next few years, theater became her thing.
Heart
Look I could go on and on gushing about my daughter. Music, dance, theater, piano, saxophone, flute, cross country, basketball, track… It really doesn’t matter, if it’s something new and there’s a chance Zoe can experience it, she will, and nobody can stop her. Her talent, creativity and imagination knows no bounds.
She has incredible heart.
If you’re lucky enough to know her, you don’t need me to tell you any of this. You already know. Her eyes to heart valve is wide open. One look and you see exactly who she is. She’s your friend. She can talk with you. Whether you’re 5 or 50, she is fun to be around.
I love being with her. I love giving her rides to dance or church activities. Sometimes we chat. Sometimes we sing Taylor Swift songs. Sometimes she reads in silence and I just enjoy being next to her.
Today, my baby girl, my little buddy, my cuteness wonder, today… she turns 13. I feel like she’s already been a teenager for a while now, she is so grown up. But today it’s official.
I’m still that same terrified father. I have no idea what comes next or what to expect. But I do know Zoe. And that’s reassuring.
Because Zoe lives with her eyes and heart wide open.
In preparation for a talk I recently gave in church, I thought a lot about this. There have been several instances in my life that have taught me what it means to be a peacemaker. Here is what I’ve learned.
My Family
I’m all about family. I always have been. As number 5 of 8 children, I come from a big one. Too big, I’ll say, yes too big. Don’t get me wrong, as a kid I loved it. I was smack dab in the middle and always had someone to play with. But as a parent now, with my own children, the idea of having 8 children puts me into a coma. For us, three is good. Three is the number and the number shall be three.
There was something about being in the middle of all of my siblings that had a profound effect on my life and personality. I observed silently as my older siblings would summon conflict with my parents and each other, and I learned how to avoid said conflict. I watched my older siblings get in trouble, get grounded, and receive a wide variety of creative punishments my parents were quite expert in crafting. I, of course, never got in trouble… And since they aren’t likely to contradict on a blog post you’ll just have to take my word for it that my parents would wholeheartedly agree I was a perfect child.
Not because I actually was, but because I was a certified expert in avoiding conflict. Something that would later come back to haunt me in my first few years of marriage. But that’s a story for another time.
I guess as a result, I was told multiple times by my siblings that I was a peacemaker. I rarely ever got contentious, angry, or visibly upset. I developed a very passive and easy going personality. I thought I had it all figured out. Was this really all there was to being a peacemaker?
Missionary Companionship Inventory
The first time I ever had to forcibly deal with real conflict resolution was as a missionary serving in the Ecuador Guayaquil South mission. For those of you that have served, you know what I’m talking about. It’s called companionship inventory, and we scheduled it every Wednesday. It was your time to sit down with your companion, someone you did not choose to spend 100% of your time with, begin with a prayer, and then proceed to tell each other that they walk too slow, chew too obnoxiously, snore too loud, or talk too much. As much as I tried, I could not avoid the conflict of having another human around me 24/7, especially one I didn’t get along with. Luckily not every companion was like this, and for the ones that were, there was an end date in sight you could look forward to.
In the mean time, however, I tried as hard as I could to remember the words from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”
This attitude was also encouraged from my mission president, who must have intentionally stuck me with certain companions to provide me this conflict learning opportunity. What this meant as a missionary was, if you aren’t getting along with your companion, go make their bed. Fix them some breakfast. Offer to do something kind, in spite of whatever conflict there might be. I wasn’t always great at this, but the few times I did do it, the tension in the room would cease, tempers dampened, and love increased for that companion.
It’s amazing how quickly service brings love and peace.
Among the many things I learned as a missionary, I learned that being a peacemaker was more than just avoiding conflict, but putting forth some conscious effort, in spite of that conflict, to choose to love that person with acts of service.
BYU Folk Dance Performance in Belarus
After my mission I went back to BYU provo, where I was immediately placed on to a folk dance team that would, unknowingly at the time, determine my future in more ways than I knew, despite my lack of dance experience. I entered the rehearsal room and introduced myself to the team, my awkward posture, perfectly parted hair and thin frame glasses speaking louder than any words I may have said about how recently I had just returned from my mission (it had been 1 week). Nobody on the team knew me and many faces stared back at the skeletal figure before them with wonder, possibly fear, at the idea that it seemed nobody had fed me the entirety of my mission. But there was one freckled face that saw past the gangly body and instead saw a future husband, father, and friend. Her name was Amanda and it was everything I could do to keep her off of me, to give me some space and not smother me as she relentlessly pursued me for a year and a half until I finally gave in and agreed to marry her.
Ok, Amanda’s version of those events might be slightly different, but since I have a blog and she doesn’t, you have no choice but to believe everything I say.
While attending BYU, Amanda and I both had the amazing opportunity to perform internationally with BYU’s Folk Dance Ensemble. Now before you get overly impressed, please understand that while all of the amazing women, including Amanda, were incredible dancers who had trained and prepared themselves most of their lives up to that point to be on a team like this, it was always difficult to fill up these teams with men, so for most of the men, including myself, if you could walk and chew gum you were on the team. Regardless, I began to grow an immense appreciation for the power and emotion that dance could bring to everyone we performed for.
While Amanda and I were dating we got to go to many eastern European countries with folk dance. One of those countries was Belarus. As we entered the country by bus and prepared for our show, we were instructed several times from our leaders that we were not to talk to people on the street or even smile too much, so as not to be accused of proselytizing in any way. We were even given expectations that many people might not come to the performance, and those that did might not give us a warm welcome and response that we were accustomed to. We barely knew anything about the people of Belarus or the politics at the time, just that we should put on a good show regardless of the response. So we did.
Halfway through the show, we could see ushers lining the aisles with additional chairs. The venue was at capacity and they were trying to make more room. It would have been a full on fire hazard. But not just that, out of all the crowds we performed for spanning across 6 different countries, they were the loudest, most energetic of all of them. They were on their feet, clapping, dancing, and fully enjoying the show. We couldn’t believe it.
I share this story because I learned another way to be a peacemaker. I didn’t know these people. I didn’t know their struggles or lives or conflicts they were going through. But somehow, through music and dance, peace was made all the same.
Construction Conflict
In a previous career, I spent 8 years as a construction superintendent and construction manager building new houses in the Seattle area. I learned everything I could about construction, safety, building codes, homeownership, but most importantly, I learned another lesson in how to be a peacemaker. You see, a construction manager is really a glorified babysitter of adults. From the foundation guy, to the framer, the plumber, the electrician, the drywaller, on and on, you have different companies, cultures, and people from all walks of life, stepping foot inside your house being built, and you are in charge of making sure they do their job. The environment is just ripe for conflict. Everybody is mad at each other, or mad at me, or the customers, or mad at the weather, or whatever else is preventing them from doing their job that day, and since I was the man in charge, it all came down on my shoulders. In the construction world, there are very aggressive personalities. People with short tempers. People that seem to enjoy yelling, arguing, and threatening. People that were so different than me in almost every way that it was difficult not to get pushed around for my first few years on the job.
I had to learn to be a peacemaker. And what that meant in this environment, was learn how to be a good listener. I’ll never forget one time in particular being yelled at several inches from my face by the drywall supervisor about some kind of scheduling mistake for his drywall guys to install. He seemed to have a lot to unload as he went on for about 20 minutes straight barely taking a breath. I stood, silent and didn’t say a word. Over the course of those 20 minutes, he began to slowly back away, almost looking exhausted. After a long pause, once he was all done and got it all out, I asked, in a sincere tone, if there was anything else. He waved his hand, slumped over on a bucket now, signaling for me to go away, which I did. About an hour later, he gave me a phone call, and calmly apologized for his behavior. Strangely, from then on, we got along pretty well. Any future conflicts or issues were handled with much more respect and mitigated tempers. I learned from this experience that most of the time when people got upset, they just needed someone to listen to them. I realized that I could be that person.
I ventured from the world of passive easy going nature, into one of assertiveness. It was uncomfortable. I wasn’t perfect at it and I’m still not. But it allowed me to better communicate and listen to everyone, and more effectively do my job.
In The Home
The most important example, however, of being a peacemaker, is within the walls of my own home. Some days start with “Love at Home” and end with “Master The Tempest Is Raging” (just a little hymnbook joke there, can’t remember where I first heard it).
I often worry about the example I set for my children. Am I a peacemaker in the home? I sometimes get upset when children don’t listen, or argue, or fight, or wipe their boogers in their sisters hair, or spew mouthwash all over the floor after being tickled by that same sister. I often have to ask myself if I can put forth the same effort, like I did with the drywall supervisor, or the crowd in Belarus, or that annoying missionary companion, to serve, to show love, and listen to my wife and children in times of conflict.
My children will be the first to tell you that dad can frequently get upset, and they enjoy mocking my authoritative voice every now and then, in a loving way of course. Now, as a father and husband, learning to be a peacemaker is a daily challenge. Nearly every day there is something that puts me on edge, tests my patience, or causes me to loose my cool. And that’s okay, that’s kind of the definition of parenting and marriage. It’s all a bunch of hard work. Peacemaking ain’t easy!
There’s a trick to getting through each day, despite those tough moments. And it’s actually quite simple, if you make time for it…
Find time for daily personal peace.
For me, it’s in the morning. Before the kids are awake. While the house is still silent. I know what time the kids wake up, so I get up before they do. I give myself whatever time I need to get ready, eat some breakfast, and spend some time alone. Meditate? Sure. Pray? Of course. Read? On occasion. Maybe even just pulling out my calendar and going through in my head what I have going on that day. It varies from day to day. But the point is, it’s my time. It’s my few minutes of peace. Like the calm before the storm. Like taking a breath before jumping into the deep end of the pool. Like the hushed silence from a crowd when the announcer yells “On your mark” moments before the race.
Although I think it’s ideal, it doesn’t have to be the morning. It can be whatever time works for you. I personally can’t stand waking up to the sound of screaming children. It makes me feel like I’m starting my day already underwater.
Also, daily personal peace doesn’t solve all your problems. But it does help you to feel some of that peace and remind you that you can offer some of that same peace to somebody else that day. Maybe a spouse, a child, a co-worker, or a friend. I believe that maintaining some semblance of inner peace, even just for a few minutes each day, and help you contribute immensely to the world around you, a world in desperate need of the peace you have to offer.
I don’t have teenagers yet, but those days are just around the corner and I’m sure my peacemaking abilities will be tried, scrutinized, and challenged in ways I don’t even understand yet. But I know that with acts of service, love, listening, and finding time for daily personal peace, I’ll hopefully be able to navigate those days ahead as I continue to learn how to be a better peacemaker.
It’s the early morning of January 17th, 2025, and my head cold won’t let me sleep. As my snotty tissues pile up by my bedside, my mind wanders to memories with my son.
“It’s not every day you’re young man turns 11” -Hagrid
Yes, it’s my son’s birthday today. And rather than subject my sleeping wife to a trumpeting elephant, I thought I’d come downstairs and write down a few thoughts about Jett.
What a tremendous love I have for this boy. Earlier this week in a post I shared a story about Jett’s last minute hesitation to attend 5th grade camp last year. While that was quite emotional and heart-breaking, watching him dissolve into tears out of fear of leaving his safe place he calls home, at the end of the day, he went to camp and loved it.
The journey from cautious to confident has been the continually unfolding story of Jett’s life. A journey that will only progress as he approaches his teenage years and beyond.
From before he was born, there was a lot of caution surrounding Jett. After several visits to the OBGYN during pregnancy, we were told that Jett didn’t seem to be growing at the same rate of most babies. They were worried about some disease that causes this, the name of which escapes me (and I’m not about to go wake up my wife and ask her right now- I might as well poke a sleeping bear, already sleep deprived from her growling geyser snot gushing husband). While I don’t remember some of the technical details, I do remember feeling concerned. Jett was our 2nd child and we had only been parents to his big sister for a little over a year at this point. For that sister, everything about the birth went fairly smooth (as much as it can for a first time experience, anyways).
As it got closer to the due date in January 2014, out of an abundance of caution, it was recommended that we schedule our son to be induced 2 weeks prior to the due date. So, for the first and only time with our unborn child, we chose a birthday. January 17th, 2014. I guess that took away some nerves about rushing to the hospital, but gave us pause about our sweet son being born healthy and a tad bit early. Many prayers were said at the time for the health and safe arrival of our 1st son.
The birthday came, and after just a few hours in the hospital, my incredible wife gave birth to a beautiful boy. He was so tiny! 5 lbs 5 oz. He got only a few seconds to snuggle with mom until nurses, and myself, noticed that he was starting to turn blue. They pulled him out of the room and put him on some oxygen. I tagged along with baby boy.
We were reassured by doctors and nurses that he was going to be just fine, and that he may need a few days in the NICU to make sure it continued that way. So that’s what we did. We basically hung out at the hospital for a few days, while our tiny infant son lay in the NICU, with his cool shades and jaundiced skin chilling under some bilirubin lights. Of course we went in as often as we could to hold him, feed him, and admire him. Whatever disease concerns there were that resulted in our baby boy’s size, were quickly tested for and dismissed. He was a perfectly healthy tiny baby boy.
With all of our children, my wife and I had generated lists of potential names we liked, but we always felt we needed to see their faces and test the names out. I’m sure I have my list still somewhere, but it doesn’t matter. The only name that suited him, was Jett.
I had never heard the name before my wife mentioned it, and while it is still fairly unique, I’ve since met many other Jett’s over the past 11 years.
But there’s nobody quite like our Jett.
Soon after he turned one, we bought a toddler toy basketball hoop with little basketballs he could hold and throw. He figured out how to throw the ball into the basket pretty quickly, and was quite good, if I do say so myself. We would spend hours sitting in the family room playing with those basketballs. Like most boys, he loved any kind of ball. My wife would walk him through the grocery store and he would point at the different spherical shaped produce and yell excitedly “Ball! Ball!” It was a sign of his future love of sports and his natural athleticism.
Sometime before Jett turned 2, an unexpected challenge surfaced as he started to grow a clinging attachment to me. He always wanted me to hold him. Constantly. It became quite an annoyance that if we ever went anywhere and did anything, I was always holding Jett. If there was some party or gathering with friends, you’d find me off in a corner holding and entertaining Jett. If I were asked to give some talk or sing in church, the second I would stand up and walk to the front, he would scream and cry for me. For a while, as part of a church calling, I had to attend other wards on Sunday, some of them out on the San Juan Islands in Washington State, so Jett was my little traveling buddy and we’d spend the day together riding ferry boats. At the time, it was a struggle having Jett constantly holding my side. Now, of course, I look back with fondness at all the time we got to spend together. I sure miss my crying, clinging, cautious, baby boy.
Caution. Jett was always very cautious. In 2015, a Pixar movie came out called “The Good Dinosaur,” If you’ve seen the movie, the main character, a young dinosaur named Arlo, timid and nervous by nature, was a perfect description of our sweet son. We may have even called Jett our little Arlo for a little while. With anything Jett tried or did, he was always cautious. Often scared. It was difficult to get him to do anything he hadn’t done before without a lot of smiling encouragement from mom, dad, or cousins and friends his age. And even then, he was often the only one that wouldn’t do something if he didn’t want to.
In 2017 we went on a trip to Disneyland. At age 3, there weren’t many rides Jett could do or wanted to do. We thought that the Tow-Mater truck ride in Cars Land would be perfect. You sit in a little tractor and go around in circles. Nope, he did not like that at all and screamed the entire time. In 2023, another Disneyland trip at age 9, this time with some encouraging cousins, I was able to watch his caution turn to confidence, as he decided to go on the Guardians of the Galaxy (Tower or Terror) ride. I accompanied him and as soon as we sat down on the ride, got strapped in, and started to move, all of a sudden Jett decided he did not want to be there. Unfortunately it was too late to do anything about it, and for the next few minutes I sat, holding my screaming and terrified son, and we dropped several stories over and over. My heart ached as my son was forced to endure what probably seemed like torture at the time. However, as we exited the ride and the crying ceased, his cousins approached and asked him how he liked it. He was honest and said he didn’t like it, but I could see a hint of a smile on his face, somewhat proud of himself for overcoming something difficult.
Over these past few years, I’ve watched Jett grow into a bold kid. He will still approach what he wants to do with caution, but all it takes is a little taste of success or realization of enjoyment, and it’s like a switch that flips in his head. All of a sudden, he’s the most confident kid you’ll ever meet.
In 2021, we decided to get Jett involved in flag football. I had never played football (besides elementary school recess and yearly turkey bowl events), but we enjoyed watching it together. I’ll never forget the first time he played. I wasn’t sure what to expect. At age 7, I imagined the rules of football would be complicated. Jett’s team had a few practices to get themselves organized, and then all of a sudden it was game time! In his very first game, within the first few minutes, Jett was handed the ball and he took off for a touchdown. I got it all on camera.
I was somewhat shocked! Where did that come from? All caution thrown to the wind, and there was this confident kid striding down the field like a pro! I know it’s just a kids game and I’m absolutely an over-enthusiastic yelling parent, but in that moment it was less about the points he scored and more about the boost of confidence I could see in his face. He was good at this. And he showed it over and over again throughout the season.
Since then I’ve watch Jett excel in flag football, soccer, basketball, and pretty much anything involving a ball, his 1 year old toddler love of balls perfectly foreshadowing the atmosphere of confidence and competence in any sporting activity he touches.
As much as I could go on and on about Jett and his boldness in sports, I’ve also seen him grow from caution to confidence in other ways. I’ve watched him make new friends, learn new hobbies like drawing, piano playing, and taking on the Rubik’s cube, and I’ve witnessed him fearlessly try many other new things as they come. He may not like the new things he tries sometimes, and he might even still be somewhat cautious at first, but his tenacity and determination once he has found something he enjoys, is unmatched.
Still inside this bold kid of mine is a tender heart, an anxious desire for home and peace. Inside this hilarious kid of mine is a stand up comedian, a scholar, an always on time hard worker. Inside this sweet kid of mine is a loving brother, a kind son, and a dependable friend.
I’m so lucky to have him as my son. He keeps me on my toes. Always asks to play with me. Always wants to be active and moving. Just like I look back and think about the kid Jett has been til now, wishing it lasted longer, I know I’ll look back again in a few years at the young man he is now, and wish I had the ability to slow time down. To stretch out every moment of throwing a football, watching him play soccer, chatting in the car, playing Rocket League together, or reading Harry Potter to him at night.
I firmly believe that there’s nothing more fulfilling in life than being a parent, especially to a wonderful, amazing, bold, cautiously confident child, like Jett.
The bold journey of cautious to confident is an ongoing one. We all have different levels of caution. Some of us enjoy throwing it to the wind, others cling to it for dear life. But somewhere in there is growth, learning, self-confidence, and happiness, and as we all embark on this journey differently, keep in mind that caution keeps us grounded, confidence gives us wings, and both are needed for a safe journey into the bold.
Mikey He Writes It 