Andrew showed up in our arms 24 years ago today.

Today I should talk about Andrew.

I should talk about how much I understand about the love of a father for a child that I never knew before Andrew was born, and how much that has taught me about God’s love for me.

I should talk about understanding that sometimes, because you love a child, you say “no”. You allow pain. You draw lines. You enforce limits. I should talk about learning that being human is a process of growth. I should talk about knowing that I have never loved him more or less, but that I have learned that behaviors once acceptable because they were part of being little become unacceptable when he knows better.

I should talk about the delight when confrontation becomes conversation. I should talk about the fun of talking together as he has learned to understand more. I should talk about the exhilaration I felt a week ago when I looked at Andrew and Hope and said, “You are now grown up.”

I should talk about knowing that being grown up doesn’t mean that you aren’t part of the family anymore, but actually means that the fun part starts. You begin to think that the point isn’t release, it may be relationship.

I should talk about all those things, but writing about family is sort of cliche, isn’t it? And I wouldn’t be fulfilling my self-imposed responsibility on this blog to explore what it means to follow Jesus. Because the relationship of a parent and a child has nothing to do with following, I’m sure. And it’s a complete coincidence that the metaphor that God builds into his identity is father and son.

And besides, now I’ll have to write about what I’ve learned about Hope.