Momentary Motherhood

"We interrupt this program...." Just as the man in the yellow hat was about to turn the doorknob to find out where all the bubbles in the hall were coming from....

"Ugh! Mom, Curious George is off!" my Lillie yelled as that ear piercing beeping filled the living room. "I don't like that sound!" "Mom!"

Her frustration was evident given Curious George is not often something we watch on school mornings. That morning was an exception because of phone calls that needed to be made before we got our school day underway. She was flustered on her one day to just sit and watch, her plans were interrupted. As she was asking the tv with her brain to will it to come back on, it suddenly did but missing the moments of the show taken up by the Emergency Broadcast System. Curious George and the man with the yellow hat were already cleaning up the mess. She missed it. Her plans ruined. Ruined by a moment. A moment filled with noise and interruption.

"Ugh! I missed that part."

I'm a lot like Lillie some days.

A few mornings later, thinking my teaching was done for the day, I hopped on the computer to check and respond to email that had been sitting in my inbox for days. I had been way behind on little things and I was hoping to use this time of quiet, children busy with work, to clear out that boxand maybe even sneak away to fb to see what others were doing. As I typed away, gathered notes, checked calendars, my little ones continued to need my help, a question about this, or help with that. With every tap on my arm, I could feel my frustration mount. I thought I had gotten them started in the right direction with school and I could work on my own agenda. I wanted them not to want me.

"Guys, can't y'all see I am in the middle of something? Please stop interrupting! I am not sitting on the couch with a magazine and coffee. Give. me. a. second." The frustration obvious in my voice, my plans interrupted.

It wasn't until a few short hours later, as I tumbled into my quiet time, late and in much need of encouragement, that was I convicted of my selfish, sinful desire for momentary motherhood.

Momentary: adj. Lasting only a moment (a very brief interval of time)

Motherhood: n. The condition of being a mother

Defeated, I thought back through the course of my day. I talked on the phone with a good friend while I nodded and pointed to children as they came down from upstairs, fixed and served breakfast all using hand signals and "looks". I had wanted so badly to catch up with her and was so frustrated that my kids needed me, had questions for me, wanted lovin', even though I knew very well that they would even as I dialed her number. I should have greeted them as I usually do with hugs and kisses to start our day, breakfast underway, we usually walk through our AWANA verses or share tidbits from Proberbs, we go over our schedule for the day and I have them look ahead to things that need to get done. Chores are done, dishes cleaned, laundry started, and our school day begins. I didn't want all of that in that moment. I wanted my moment. I thought about wanting to check email that morning as I had one needing help with reducing fractions. The neighbor that stopped by to chit chat as my littlest one needed me in the bathroom. And the list went on. A day full of moments. Moments that could have been better tackled with my head in the game so to speak. I was distracted by my wants, my selfish desires, my view of what I wanted my day to be filled with. I was trying to force my motherhood into moments with the rest focused on me. As I took my focus off of what God had called me to do that morning, I was forcing my job into moments; a job that can't and shouldn't be forced into moments. God has called me into the job of motherhood and that job is seamless, each moment flowing into another so as to make up my days. It's when I force the seams, when my view is interrupted by God's view...I am annoyed, I am frustrated.

Deuterononmy 6:6-7 (NIV) These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.

God's plan for me is to be focused, my job is to be seamless. It is not made up of small moments, but rather those moments make up my job. He tells me they will need me, they will ask me and I am to be ready for them because I am viewing my job as one that doesn't end as each little moment ends.

I was crushed by how quickly I had allowed myself to lose my purpose that day, God's plan for my day, my weeks, my years. I didn't want the lying down and the walking by the way and the getting up. I wanted a moment here or a moment there, the brief intervals of time. I didn't want the constant distractions. Not that day. In that moment, I realized, they aren't distractions when I am focused on what God has called me to do. They are more simply my moments, certain important points in time that make up the whole of my day.

I saw it this past week while the schools had off. How many mothers posted, "I can't wait for this week to be over!" or "I hate early dismisal!" or "Are anyone else's kids driving them crazy?!" They had the same focus as I did. Momentary motherhood. Living life hoping motherhood only has to come in small, short moments. The idea that we can be mothers for only small moments and still have our own lives, our own purposes apart from them. That's when I find no joy in motherhood, when my focus is on me and my purpose is for me. They are distractions. They are annoying. They bug me.

Someone told me once that raising children was like being pecked to death by a gaggle of baby geese. I laughed at the word picture...then. Probably because my focus was off that day. Had my focus been where God would have it to be, that word picture would not have rung so true. Raising children is a gift, a reward. That's what He says. Being pecked to death by a gaggle of baby geese would not be considered a gift, a reward. Not the way I am walking today thankfully.

My job is not to simply raise my children in short, simple moments, but to walk through this life with them with a focus on Eternity, seeing them on the other side of heaven. My two greatest focuses should be loving my man and loving my children (Titus 2:3). When my focus is there and not on "doing lunch," catching up, facebooking, shopping, chit chatting, or even blogging....I see my days as God sees them, moments making up life and not as life interrupted by moments, momentary motherhood.

An Open Letter to the future Mrs. Bean

Dear (future) Mrs. Bean,

There are so many things I have stored up in my heart for this boy who will one day be your husband. There are so many tidbits of his life I could share with you, but on the eve of his 10th birthday, the ones I have been storing up in my heart recently, I want to tell you before they are long forgotten. Bean~his nickname since birth, we used the expression Cool Beans! in college and the name Cole Bean! stuck almost instantly~is one of a kind. People use that term very loosely and about so many things, but believe me when I use it, he truly is one of a kind. After 10 years of being his Momma, I have only tapped into what I am sure is to be, a small fraction of who he truly is. As much as his Daddy is a potato, he is an onion. There are layers beyond the layers I have uncovered, some only you will know. But to get you off on the right foot of understanding, I thought I would share what I have learned about this young man to this point.

First, I promise, I have been teaching table manners. Since he could sit at the table. They just have not taken off. I still have several more working, teachable years until you break bread with him for the first time, just know, I am trying. He enjoys eating; he will try and like almost anything you will put in front of him. But whatever you do, don't touch his food. Just don't. Avacados and crunchy wassabi peas are the only things to date he won't eat. He loves to sit around the table, the very act of a family meal is very important to him. When his Daddy is gone and I set up dinner at the bar, he is visibly disappointed. Your mealtimes with him should be very entertaining. He likes to tell and listen to stories and his odd- fact wealth of information will astound you. He loves to be listened to and by listening, you must be looking at him or it won't count. When he is in a conversation with you, he is all in. You will love that about him. He is never looking over your shoulder to see who else he could be talking to and if for some reason he misses anything you have said, just please repeat it one more time. Trust me when I say, "Never mind," won't work for him; You will save so much time in the long run if you just repeat...because truly, he wants to know what you have said. It really does matter to him.

He's a hugger. And he will never pull away from a hug first. We've tried to see. He will outlast even the best of huggers. And he's not just a hugger but an I-need-to-feel-you kind of guy. I always have a head on my shoulder, a hand to hold, or an arm around my waist. It's his way of showing love and he needs to have it shown back to him. Love on him. Let him hold your hand. Hug him before he leaves for work and even when it's too hot outside, let his arm drape lovingly on your shoulders. It's his security. It's his way to love.

I hope you like his Daddy because if anyone will be like him when he grows up it will be him. He wants to be a Marine, hunt, camp, farm, do yard work, watch football, and anything else that defines his Daddy. What Daddy says goes for that one; Daddy's word is gospel. He will LOVE Texas A&M University, he will be in the Corps of Cadets, and he will be a Marine. He will be trustworthy and a hard worker. He has watched his Daddy his whole life with a careful eye and who he will become will mirror so much of that man. This will be a good thing.

He will have sympathy pains when you are pregnant, just be prepared. If something will hurt on you, for some strange reason, it will hurt on him. You will need to reassure him that when he bends his finger this way on a Wednesday with a pencil in the other hand and he gets a small pain, he will be ok. Again, just tell him, "Yes, you will be fine," and don't try to play around with him and say, "Oh no." It will become a "thing." Also, he is a germ-a-phobe. Some of this he comes by naturally, some of it...well, it's unexplainable. When you sneeze and he blows the air around him or he has the need to wash his hands after he just washed them or he won't drink after you or he won't taste a bite of what you ordered because it's off of your fork...just let it go. Trust me, just let it go. Oh, and don't grab food off of his plate. *Just let it go.*

You will be protected and loved forever once you become "his." He is the most faithful and devoted supporter I have ever known. If you are in his circle, you will forever be there. He loves who he loves with all of his heart. He is almost faithful to a fault and will believe the best in you always. He is very quick to forgive when he has been wronged and is very quick to want to fix things when it is not ok. He has the biggest heart of any 10 year old I know. He will never forget your birthday and the thought that goes into his gifts and homemade cards will be what draws you to him.

With all of this comes a faith so strong. His convictions run deep and is deeply remorseful when he messes up. He knows his salvation is secure and does not waiver on his beliefs. His heart is good and he genuinely wants to please the people who love him most including his Heavenly Father. He sings from the heart during church and will clap when moved. Just not with the beat.

At night, he has three things he must tell you. Wait for them. He will chase you down if you miss hearing one and repeating them back to him, so in the long run, it's easier to hear them out. And really, they're worth the wait.

"I love you."
"See you in the morning."
"Good night."

I guess the hardest thing I have had to learn is that he is slow. Slow, slow. He is slow to eat. He is slow to get dressed. He tells his stories slow. He is slow to make decisions. He is slow to do his work. He is slow to make a chess move, checkers move, or pick his three things in Clue. He's slow. I have learned patience from this very boy and it has taught me there is a reason in his mind for how he does things. I have learned his slowness is not necessarily to annoy anyone or a sign of being lazy. He is deliberate. He ponders. He thinks things out. It is why his handwriting is so neat, why he never misses a spelling word, why he is so very good at chess, and why I believe God has a plan for this slow, diligent, thoughtful boy. It will drive you crazy at times, but there is a purpose. Just remember that when on his slowest day it makes you want to fall on the floor in pure exhaustion.

He is a hard worker, self motivated, and determined...unless it's dark upstairs. That's when I know he is still a little boy and still in need of me. I will continue to teach him and love him and prepare him for you. You are going to be one of a kind too. You will almost have to be. I am praying for you. I am praying that God is very real to you at a young age and that your faith in Christ is strong before He ever brings you to my Bean. I am praying that your heart will be prepared to walk beside and love my Cole. He can be an odd little character, but through those odd little layers is going to be one amazing young man. For right now, you'll just have to trust me on that one.

Love,
Amy

That Old Bag

Our relationship was not always this strained. In fact, in the beginning, I was kind of entranced by her, mesmorized by all that she stood for, all that she meant. She was the unknown. All that she stood for seemed so glamorous and mysterious.

My first encounter with her began with a sad goodbye to my then boyfriend as he took his first step toward becoming a Marine at OCS Juniors. It was my first taste of the many goodbyes to follow, and there she was. I watched as he walked off with her, into the unknown. I spent the next 6 weeks wondering, waiting for phone calls, looking for letters. It was a long six weeks and it was my first taste of what would eventually characterize our life. Eventually he came home, with her, and it was wonderful. I came to realize that sometimes seeing her meant it was good again. All was right in my world.

As the years went by, she came and went more and more. I saw her off to another OCS, short dets, 6 deployments, and so many "short trips" in between. It has not always been love. In fact, there were many long nights I would watch her appear and the heavy weight of a hard goodbye was at hand. The sight of her often times would bring me to tears. She no longer mesmorized me, she no longer seemed somewhat mystical. She only reminded me that soon she would join Patrick and he would be gone. She symbolized during those times long nights, lonely periods, and heavy loads to carry alone. Just the very sight of her two deployments ago made me physically sick. I hate to see her sitting there, almost in a taunting way. Reminding me he was leaving.

And she doesn't always stir up bad feelings, in fact, sometimes her presence makes me smile. Just seeing her in the corner, makes my heart feel joyfrl. She comes home, she always has and when she does, I love her. She reminds me that deployments end, he does come home.

Today I ran into her in the garage. The sight of her sitting there alone gathering dust made me smile. They tell me she won't be needed for at least 2 years and I am going to hold on to that. I am going to pray that she sits there. He doesn't need her. I don't want her. Over the years she has taken a beating and no longer stands quite as tall. She symbolizes a long career nearing its end, a career that has taken him to places far away from me fighting for the very freedom I love. She has been faithful in that when she takes him away, she brings him home. I am thankful for that old, faded seabag. But I am even more thankful that she isn't needed right now.

Not yet, baby girl, not yet.

I have spent the better part of my adult life teaching; I have taught in elementary schools and now as a Mom and a home school mother, I am still teaching. Everyday and every moment, if I am purposeful, is a teaching moment, a chance to train, a chance to give wings. I enjoy teaching and I always have.

I can say most of my teaching in my own home has been fruitful and I have loved to see the result of my teaching. Some obvious, some not as much. Most of their learning made my mothering easier in some way and it was always an exciting time. I loved teaching my children to sleep through the night, to walk, to use their words or sign language. I loved the fruit of teaching my children to buckle their own seatbelts, to use good table manners, to pick up their own toys, and to tie their own shoes. I loved the end result of toilet training, blowing noses, using utensils, drinking from a cup, swimming, and walking through the grocery store. I have enjoyed my children learing to ride their own bikes, shower by themselves, make their beds, and brush their own teeth. I have recently taught my boys to clean their own bathroom, do their own laundry and am currently walking them through the basics of cooking. I have taught them all to clean the litter box, the little messes from June Bug in the back yard, vacuum, do the dishes, and swiffer. I love watching them dust their own rooms, change their own sheets on their beds, do their hair, and get a snack. So much of what I have taught them has allowed us more time to enjoy other things and I love the confidence and independence they are gaining with each new skill learned.

My last child will start Kindergarten in the fall. I will get to teach the basic concepts of math all over again, the lifecycles of a butterfly, and patterning. I have discovered though as I approach yet another "last" in my children's young lives, there will be one thing I dread teaching for the last time. I am not ready to teach Caley how to read.

I know that may seem so very strange, but let me explain. Since my Logan, now 12, was a newborn, I have read to my babies. Every night. Without exception. We have always had a bedtime routine of bath, bottle, books, bed. Obviously, as they got older only the bottle changed. We have always done this. I loved the smell of a small baby or antsy toddler on my lap pointing to pictures, talking about the colors, or quietly sucking a thumb or finger just listening. Quick kisses while turning pages or lingering chubby fingers pointing to pictures are what I can picture in my head. Sitting on beds with all four or on the floor with just one. There has always been someone in need of a bedtime story in this house. As the years have gone by, my readers have become more independent. Chapter books are much more common and beginning last year with Lillie Grace, the quiet time in individual beds is the norm. The only sound this past year upstairs at bedtime has been my voice or Patrick's reading to Caley, sometimes both girls, but rarely all four. There are moments still that they will all gather for an oldie but goodie like Dogger, any of the Punchinello books, or The Big Hungry Bear. As Kindergarten approaches though, I can see one of my "lasts" in sight.

Last night, my three older ones had retreated, clean, to their beds and were all engrossed in their reading. Logan is reading Carry a Big Stick, Cole, Old Yeller, and Lillie has started a puppy series, Goldie. As I was picking out a book from the shelf to go snuggle with my K, she emerged from her room, wet curly hair and toothpaste remains on her chin, and one of her new school books in hand. "Mommy, will you teach me to read really quick?"

"Why K?"

"I want to read in my bed like Lillie all by myself."

I pictured snuggling with a wet hair little girl, singing read aloud books with two year old boys, smelling the sweet smell of clean babies after a hard day of play, jammies, and Are You My Mother? I am not ready to say goodbye to Dogger, Goodnight Moon, The Cat in the Hat, Angelina Ballerina, or Goldilocks. In one sweet moment, tickled at her confidence in herself....or in me...I was sad. I longed for my sweet chubby one year olds, the sound of a new diaper under clean jammies, and the smell of baby soap in wet hair. My job requires that I be out of a job one day. But it didn't have to be that day.

"Not yet, baby girl, not yet."

Sweet 16

"You knew what you were getting into when you married him though."









This comment came from a friend when we were hanging out at the pool a few years ago as my family was preparing to embark on our first year long deployment. We had done several 6-8 monthers, but never one this long and I felt it was rocking me to my core. I was struggling to wrap my brain around that length of time without Patrick and I was sharing some of my fears from the kids to his safety and this was her response. It sounds kind of harsh in hindsight but that is not how she said it nor do I believe how she meant it. She knew we had been together through all of college and I was fully aware of his ambition to have a flying career in the Marine Corps. But that was it. At 19 or 22 how could I possibly know what I was "getting into" marrying this man that I had come to love through my years at Texas A&M? Our lives "together" up to that point had been characterized by football games, yell practices, dancing at The Hall, classes, lunches in the MSC, Silver Taps, Wild and Wooly Wednesdays at Double Daves, drives home on weekends, dinners at Pop's BBQ, and hanging out with friends. I knew I wanted to marry him, but at that point in my life I did not give any kind of thought on the marriage that would follow the wedding. All I knew up and to that point was that I would get a flower ceremony at my sorority house, I would have a beautiful ring to show to my friends, and I could start looking through those magazines I had longed to look at since my sister's wedding my freshman year in college. It was the next step. I was graduating, he was graduating; it's what you do. Did I foresee the months of separation? The long nights? The worry from his choice of jets? Never. Not once.





Fast forward 16 years. I have the luxury of hind sight. God's hind sight. We were put together 16 years ago by a God we both believed in but had no relationship with...not yet. He knew. He knew what it would take for us to "make it." He knew what I couldn't know 16 years ago. He knew. He knew that we would struggle. That I would struggle with this lifestyle that I should have known "what I was getting into." He knew it was not what I pictured. He knew I would come to a point I wouldn't think I could hold on. He knew. He knew I would need a relationship with His Son. He knew I would not last on my own. He knew my lonely nights and my anxious thoughts. He knew what I could not know. He knew I would come to a breaking point in this military lifestyle. He knew that it would be hard and there would come a point I would crumble. He also knew that there would be that moment when I gave my life to Him that it would be the turning point in my life, my marriage, and in my growing family. He knew the man Patrick would become. He knew that we would both come to Him and change us in ways only He could. He knew He could give me a love for my husband that would allow me to live this lifestyle. Only He knew that we would be here 16 years later. Sweet 16 years later.





Thank you Patrick for the last sweet 16 years.

Who they see

"#1 Mom"

"You are the best Mom a girl cood have."

"You are a good Mom."

"There's not one mom that does a better job being a mom than you."

"I'm the luckiest kid in the world to have you for a mom."

I read these words this morning, like millions of moms across this country reading the same words I'm sure, smiling and hugging and thanking and reading. There were flowers and breakfast made, the Celebrate plate found its way to my spot, there were presents, kisses, and lots and lots of appreciation. After church and Sunday school, we had dinner out, I was given a pass to enjoy an afternoon nap, and then an leisurely trip to the pool. My day was perfect. I was surrounded by the wonderful children God has blessed me with and the man I couldn't imagine living without.

As the house grew quiet as little bodies took baths and crawled into bed, I was picking up from the day's festivities and I came across my four homemade cards. As I held them in my hand in the quiet, I sat down to read them once again. They seemed different now in the dim light of dusk and the quiet that is so very rare in my days. I read each one, studying the pictures they each drew and really took a minute to take in the things they wrote. As happy and as appreciated as their words made me feel this morning~ convicted and challenged was how I felt tonight reading them. Their words came from their hearts, that I was sure. They were writing about the things their young eyes see and the overall picture of what their little minds remember. But to me, sitting here, they opened my heart to the things that sometimes challenge me; the things they don't see.

They don't see the struggles I have when I am so very tired and I don't want to get up and unload a dishwasher, fix breakfast, work through a sibling argument, or make my bed. They don't see my rolled eyes at yet another dirty pile of clothes in the laundry room, the ironing that grows in the basket, or the bathroom that needs to be cleaned. They don't see my heart when I am feeling unappreciated or hurt from a thankless task completed. They don't see the jealousy sometimes that creeps when I have homeschooling work to do as other mothers have their days. Thankfully they don't see the grumblings and complainings as I work on lesson plans or grade papers or pick up after a messy school day. They don't see the days I struggle to be patient when milk spills, dirty shoes skip across my floors, or chores go unnoticed.

As I read their words tonight, I couldn't stop the tears. They didn't come because I think I am a bad mom, but because I know my shortcomings in doing this job God has called me to do. I know where I fall short, I know where I fail, and I know my struggles. Their cards challenged me to want to be better, to want be the kind mother they see, to want to be more content, to be so focused on serving my Jesus that His appreciation is enough. What they don't see, I know He sees and He is strong enough to walk me through those times, those moments, and those days and cause those stumbles and those falls on my journey as a Mom to grow fewer and farther between. I am thankful for the things they don't see. I am thankful for who they still think I am. I am thankful that their love is so forgiving. I am thankful for who they see when they look at me. I can only pray that God allows me to get a little closer each day to be the Mom who they see.

Red Dirt Trail

Ahhhhh...Springtime....flowers, green, cool weather, sunny days, and red dirt. Red dirt? That's what I said, R-e-d D-i-r-t. At our house, it's everywhere: the car, the garage, the back porch, under the bar stools, in bathrooms, on the laundry room floor, in my washer, in socks, on shoes, in my carpet, and I even found some in my dishwasher one night. Red dirt can only mean one thing-Baseball!

At the beginning of each season, I love our first trip out to the fields. They are raked perfectly and the dark, thick white lines cut it into a perfect diamond. The white fluffy bags begging to be stolen and the red dirt. The contrast is almost, well, almost beautiful. I love the sounds of baseball, the feel of baseball, and the excitement of it all. Boys are everywhere with that uniform I love so much. I love to see sweaty little boys with red faces, dirty pants, and baseball caps. I love the bats sticking so high out of bags and the sound of their cleats as they walk past.

Eventually, the magic wears off a little as our days and nights are consumed with team practice, batting practice, and games...so many games. The piles of dirty baseball pants that never quite come clean and inside out socks that hold spoonfuls of red dirt. I still love it, but like anything else, what once held magic now becomes a chore.

I had gotten to this point after 10 minutes of sweeping up the spoonfuls of red dirt that fell to my laundry room floor from the rightsiding of an inside out sock. Not to mention the red dirt that graces the floor of my Suburban that not 30 minutes before I had tried to gently remove from my floor boards without spilling anymore. As I got the washer going, secretly praying that my Spray n Wash would miraculously remove the red dirt stains from Logan's game day pants, I noticed Cole removing socks as the three of the Fitzgerald boys were deep in some conversation in our kitchen. I didn't hear a word of it as I, in slow motion, watched the 10th spoonful of red dirt hit my floor that week. As I went to grab the broom and dust pan, I thought of all of the things I would say...until I heard their conversation. And I was reminded once again, why I love red dirt.

The three were in the process of hashing out the intricate rules of baserunning; when to run, when not to run, when to lead off, when to watch coaches. I heard Patrick explaining rules, acting out the scenerios, and being so animated I could almost picture the play in my head. They discussed batting, fielding, and dugout etiquette. Eventually the conversation turned slowly to life's lessons of dealing with their peers, bullies, tough coaches, working as a team but having individual responsiblities as well, obeying coaches, paying attention, and being ready for the "next play."

It occurred to me why I love baseball so much...aside from the obvious. An old song from Brooks and Dunn reminds me that lessons can come from everywhere. There is life at both ends of the red dirt trail that leads from the ball field through our cars into our home. The end on the field teaches my boys so many skills. Baseball is a unique sport in that it is a team effort but there are moments of individual effort only~hitting, pitching, catching a fly ball. These boys learn to work together but they also have to learn to pull their own weight. Every moment counts and one rally hit can turn a no-way win into a big W on the board. Even when it seems slow, things are always happening and you can't stop to space out for even a moment. I love the comraderie in the dug out and the double line walk of "good-game" at the end. Out there in that red dirt, they are being boys, working hard as individulas, and yet, becoming a team. Quick lessons are given between innings as boys are running out to positions or through the fence of the dug out.

But as that red dirt makes it to the car and into our home, it also brings with it life lessons. I love to watch Patrick encourage and teach through the chainlink fence of the dugout, but there is also something to be said when he climbs in his truck with a red-faced son and in the miles between the field and home, lessons are taught, mistakes are discussed, and plans for doing things differently are made. I've seen tears at the ball field become hoots of laughter pulling up to our home. I love the final statements of, "Ok, now remember..." Patrick is tough on our boys, much tougher than I could ever be, but I wouldn't have it any other way. He is in the process of making young men. They need this time of teaching from their Dad. In our home, pointers are given, maybe even an extra few minutes out in the park in front of our house to pitch the ball and tweek little details. It's like they are a team themselves and it is their "thing." The three of them go through game changing plays, good tips on second base, and batting stances as they eat their heated up dinners. The converations always include their teammates, good and bad, and Patrick is so faithful at weaving God's way into his discussion with them.

And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up. Deuteronomy 6:6-7

Baseball becomes a "when you walk by the way." As they walk through the lessons of teams, competition, good sportsmanship, hard work, friendships, and life, Patrick is teaching them diligently. He is teaching them to be men, strong in stature but also strong in their witness. He is teaching them things that I would have never thought of. They are seeking his advice and his help and basking in his encouragement and praise. He is such a good Dad. And he is providing life lessons on both ends of that red dirt trail.