Truthfully, dad can’t do all this work on his strength alone. But we are lending him to God to use in the lives of the players, coaches, and our hometown this season. And we are trusting God to move mountains.
Yes, football and being a football family requires physical demands and emotional commitments from everyone involved. There are so many lonely dinners and difficult bath times. There are so many rushed labor-day cookouts and daddy-less trick-or-treats. There are so many tears from kids who miss their daddies -- and occasionally from mamas missing them too. Because there may not be crying in baseball, but believe me, there is crying in football. A lot of crying.
But most of those tears are the good kind.
It’s Monday, which means we’re answering another question in our Veteran Coach’s Wife series. Question From Newbie Wife Dear Veteran Coach’s Wife, How do you deal with gender disappointment? We were desperately wanting a boy for so many reasons – I’m a tomboy, I think bows are incredibly ugly, hubby wanted a boy that he could …
It seems like an eternity right now, but they will one day not cry when coach is actually around. They will go to him when he walks through the door, instead of clinging to you.
Hopefully, someday when they become a husband and a father, they will remember their old football coach who loved his wife and daughters with all he had.
After wrestling with these lies in increasing measure over the course of these changing seasons, I’ve finally heard the truth so clearly: this is a season. This is a season, and I am still serving, still supporting, just in a very different capacity.
If my son grows up to become a man who is: loyal, hardworking, and spends his life serving others, just like his dad, what else could I ask for?
I see you planning outings and meals for your bonus babies to reassure them they are welcome, they are home, and their dad will be home as soon as he can.
My kids aren’t leaving games wondering why their dad chooses this life. Football has been a part of their lives since birth. This is as natural and normal for them as going to school each day is. It’s just something we do.
My husband isn’t choosing football over us; we are choosing football with him. We are a football family.
This week when I contemplated that phrase again, I realized that it comes with a great deal of freedom too. The things that are “up to me” may mean that I am going to have to complete more tasks solo, but you know what else? It is also up to me to be the one who says which things are worthy of doing.
If only MY coach had time for me like hers does. If only OUR team had that kind of fan base/support. If OUR team didn’t have the drama. If MY relationship looked like that. If MY house was designed by Joanna Gaines, THEN, then I’d have it all.
You never want to think, "What if I don't outlive my kid?" But recently, my husband and I did have that thought. And recently, we changed our wills to bequeath our child to another coaching family.
Now with four, seven and under we had a little time to experiment. For us this is what I’ve found works…
I hope you know in the depths of your soul that you will be okay wherever we go because we go together. We have been a part of a lot of different teams in your lifetime. But our family, this home team of five, will always be our first priority, our first love, and our home—no matter where it is.
Then there are nights when he rushes in the house as if he is on fire and asks if the kids are awake. When I say no his face drops and the disappointed is written all over him.
They look to us, they rely on us to set the tone. We are their guide through this busy season and how we steer them will determine whether they grow up respecting or resenting their fathers.
I have realized that I don't have to fill every second coach is working with things to keep them (and myself) distracted. And I don't have to fill every second he's home with fun activities to make up for all the family time lost without him. And I certainly don’t have to do all the things to let them know just how loved they are.
After two and a half hours of a screaming baby (who never fusses) and three other littles who weren’t following any instructions (because who wants to follow those once you are home from school), I needed a sub. I sent out my SOS text. It was met with a call.
#4."Love rules. The purpose of discipline isn't to punish but to correct."
I had parked myself right in front of a broken cistern. I'd fill it up, but all my joy and peace and compassion still seeped through the crevices and cracks, until it was once again empty. I would fill my tank up and only get a mile down the road before I was out of gas again. I wasn't filling it with living water; I was filling it with muck, sludge, and junk. It was broken. I was broken.