“Currently I’m working on turning the ship.”

Most people don’t realize after I wrote that in the book, I ran to the bottom of the ship while screaming at the Captain, “It’s all you!  Let me know how this turns out.  You got this!”     

I didn’t have a clue how to fix it.

Comfortable in the break room, grinding the beans for some fresh coffee, our boat was still rocking heavily with the storm.  He called down to the galley phone, let me know my daughter was dying, and said the process doesn’t quite work that way.  

“Get back up here. Now.”   

The Captain has taken over.  

Heart wrenching, stomach diving, I tried to play it off as my daughter and I sat on the couch.  

She laughed nervously as the conversation faded and all I could think about was the time I’d lost.  So many regrets.  Can I really turn it around this late? 

We can’t go back.  

Cops know all too well.  What happened is done.  All we can do is move forward. Deal with what’s in front.  Find the threat.  Save lives.  Emotionless, focused, robotic.  Step over the dead and dying.  Save those who still have a chance. 

Then, and only then, assess.  Go back and find what can be salvaged.  My daughter wasn’t one of them.  She was done. It’s time to let her go.

I’m the threat.  I killed her.  

Long days,  weekends, holidays.  Never home for dinner or activities.  Finding my identity in work.  First, foremost.  Work was who I was.  And while I guess that describes many cops, it also describes many men.  Women as well.  

That night, while I tossed my daughter aside, all I could think was that I needed to save my other two before I lost them as well.  

I’m losing my family.

As the years pass by I’ll watch them leave, move on, never look back.  Maybe a slight wave.  A quick, “thanks dad.”  Maybe.  Just like I did.  Though I’m not sure if I ever said thanks.  

I failed.  Them, myself, God.  He entrusted me with so much.  

Our family flows, different streams from the same lake in separate directions each day.  The slow intentional time together, dinners, talking, it’s gone.  How did it slip away?  

They’re leaving me behind.  

I’m desperate to get them back.  Never enough time.  School, friends, sports, phones, and life in general pull us all.  I can’t seem to get a dinner together.  

So I rock. Slowly, gently on the back deck sipping my tea (and whiskey) while I ask God to show me how to bring us back without being the giant control freak who wants to kill everyone’s fun. I suppose just because now I’m finally available doesn’t mean they should have to change their lives from what they’ve known for years.  

I stare at cows.  (Yes, that is the actual view from my patio in the picture)

Walking slowly, grazing, letting their business hang out and come out all while looking at me and smiling near the rear of our property.  I chuckle and shake my head while the clouds pass over a farm field turning autumn gold.  Finally, quietly, I hear that voice.  The one that both crushed and saved my  life.  The Captain.  

I have my answer. 

The cows get a goodnight wave as I walk in and announce to everyone the wonderful step we’re taking as a family.  

Phones, computers, flat screens, everyone engrossed in their own world.  “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we start family meetings!  We’re going to pray, talk, and watch kindness videos.”  

Yes, kindness videos. They almost make this robotic emotionless prick cry.  

Everyone continues on, a few sighs, a roll of the eyes, I walk away as I issue a strong fatherly warning.       

“Y’all better be ready at nine!”

Nine rolls around.  One little success.  We watch kindness videos.  Laughing, pointing, genuinely being impressed, with people.  Good people, great people, in this world I used to think was a horrid place.   

Then I announce the second part of God’s epic plan.    

“Over the next weeks we’ll gather at night, just before bed.  We’ll discuss the day, life, God, whatever we need to talk about.”  

The eyes roll, the looks come. Where is this going?  My boys start to fight.    A few looks and a warning.  Dad voice.  The control freak is ready.  

“One question to start.  Each of you.” 

Anything they want to know about life, the Bible, God.  Awesome.  Epic.  Grant me the dad of the year award.  

One son.  “What about the dinosaurs?  How does that work with the Bible?”  Then the other.  “Why doesn’t God give us anything we want?  Can’t He do anything?”

I can work with those.  Stacks of books on apologetics, systematic theology, and counseling line my shelves. I’m about to turn this family around.  We’ll be praying in depth holding hands around candles while singing the hymns of the patriarchs in no time.

Then, confirmation.  My beautiful daughter is dying inside.  She’s going to grow up Godless, directionless, and eventually I’ll grow old and decrepit knowing I didn’t do enough.

Silence.  She thought for a moment, puzzled expression.  And then she lets it fly.  “I mean, we don’t really believe in talking donkeys, do we?”  Slight chuckle mixed with a nervous laugh hoping we really don’t believe in talking donkeys.

My heart stops.  Drop the curtain.  Scratch the record.  My mature (almost) sixteen year old will be gone from my influence in a few short years, and that is the serious quandary of life I can help her solve.  Did a donkey talk with a human voice in the Old Testament? I’ve already lost her.  

Maybe.

Hugs given, prayers said, everyone off to bed.  Old Chad came back.  I panicked.  So little time.  So much to learn, to teach.  

What commentaries should I read? Which pastors should I expose them to?  Podcasts?  Is a nine year old too young to understand intelligent Biblical scholarship, ancient storytelling, and how it ties in with archaeological history?  Because, of course, faith is all about head knowledge. 

Jesus was clear.  “Follow me to systematic theology. It’ll all make sense.”  

“Stop.”  I heard it clear as day.  

“Stop it.  I’ve already killed you, once.”

I took a deep breath, stayed quiet, and just asked.  How?  How do I answer these questions?  How do I lead what I have left of this family?  Can I save my daughter? 

The threat is over.  You’ve already killed me.  I’m giving it all to You. 

Sitting quietly in the dark,  I fellowshipped with God.  Shook my head as I thought, I’ve got maybe three years left with my daughter.  Maybe…  

“Follow Me.  Three years is plenty.”  

Christ only needed three years.   Kind of.

No, I’m not Christ, but after the last few years it’s become apparent (to me at least) that I do have the Spirit of the living God rushing through my veins and trying to take over my mind as I, way too often, push back.  But He’s done some interesting things.  Healing a marriage.  Killing a control freak.  Calming a life.    

As I learn to let go more and give in to Him, He’ll show me how to use these next three years with my daughter, and my family.  How to answer those questions.  How to use this blog while pursuing whatever opportunities He and others give me to represent Him, the slow and steady, the intentional.  The meditative, focused, calm as I shift my eyes from the world and yes, to scripture, but also to silence, reflection, a hesitant expectation that He will show up.  He says He will.

He’ll teach, lead, and guide my children as He sees fit knowing all that’s coming in their lives.  Things I can’t even begin to understand.  

I’ll just be sitting with a whiskey (or tea), watching the cows, asking what’s next.

I know He’ll lead it, and I’m very aware that one of the most important ways God has gotten a hold of me over the years is through others.  Through you.  Can you still be a vessel for Him in my life?  I’d be honored if you’d come along.  Suggest, push back if, and when needed, and add anything you feel helpful to the cause along the way.  The outcome for my family may depend on it.  As it may for others reading these words.   

I’m all ears. And if you’d like to come over and hang out on the patio amidst the cows doing their business and a warm whiskey(or tea), I’ll listen, get your perspective, and be happy to add mine.  

Maybe we’ll agree, or maybe you’ll change my mind.  Maybe we can listen to the directing of God together while toasting my wife as she takes pictures of the cotton candy rainbow sky for the third night in a row.  And promptly posts them to Facebook.  Again.  

So, here’s to a new direction (I’ll still share interviews periodically).  I get the feeling this blog is going to be more about figuring out what life looks like with God actually in control as I take my hands off the wheel.  Which, I might add, I actually did to my wonderful wife a few weeks ago, son in the back seat, heading down the highway with a semi-truck headed straight toward us and the asphalt starting to curve.

As her hand started to move toward the wheel, I pushed it away, told her it’d be fine.  Jesus would take it.  Isn’t there a song about that?  Learn to trust.

Her eyes said she didn’t trust Him, or me.   

Do you believe in talking donkeys?  Have you ever felt like you were losing your family? How’s life really going these days?   How. Are. You?

Would you leave an honest answer in the comments below?  I’d love to know. Most of you reading this have already read my book, but if you have no idea what I’m talking about…. You can get a copy here.

Also, if you haven’t already, get on the email list now. My Facebook sharing days may be coming to a close as these get more detailed and personal.

Cheers,

C 

Thanks to those that have offered, and please keep the feedback coming at chad.campese@gmail.com, or connect with me on Facebook.  Here’s to a deep and meaningful week ahead!