I’m a bit of a late bloomer in the realm of parenting, so this is my first set of urchins to awaken to the ever-increasing wonderama that is Christmas in America. The oldest (four year old twins) are now fully engaged with the “I am getting presents” thing. This year they realized for the first time that the cookies they were decorating were good eatin’, and the desire to consume copious amounts of sugar quickly overtook the urge to open gifts, to the point that cookies were the only topic of dinnertime conversation for three days leading up to the blessed event. Our goal of convincing them that Christmas is all about giving to others is lagging behind a bit, but we’re making progress, despite the inherent narcissism that marks the toddler to preschool years. They now at least acknowledge that the baby Jesus is somehow connected to the chaos, and will tolerate other people getting presents without protest.

And then there’s Santa. I have to confess here that I have always had a dualistic relationship with the hoary elf. On the one hand, I never recall thinking Santa was real. On the flip side, I distinctly remember my Dad, with a wry wink, advising us to listen for reindeer on the roof of our mobile home on Christmas Eve. When it came time to educate our spawn regarding the ubiquitous December icon, we took a somewhat similar approach, albeit attempting to infuse a sense of theological accuracy. We teach that Santa is a fun story – a parable of sorts that teaches us about giving to others and doing the right things for the right reasons (by illuminating all the wrong ones, like “be good to get stuff”). With this approach, we get to pretend and play the Santa game with no jeopardy attached. I think the twins get it. On Christmas Eve I told them they had to go to sleep or Santa wouldn’t come. The red-head said “Oh – you won’t come with the presents if we’re awake?” Perfect.

In the mountain of ads crammed into my snail mail box each and every day there recently was a newsletter from…I can’t recall whom. But in the “cute human interest stories that make you think I’m a real person you can relate to so you can trust me and buy my products or services” section was a paragraph with this headline: “At Christmas, teach your kids to believe in magic”, followed by a series of exercises you could undertake to trick the nubbins into believing Santa had indeed stopped by (make fake reindeer prints in the front yard, leave a black sack next to your chimney, eat the cookies, etc.).

It’s a common sentiment to be sure. I have, in fact, been accused of killing the joy, innocence, and sense of wonder that are the hallmarks of childhood by not fully embracing the Santa myth. Some have even tried to tie a thread between St Nick. belief and belief in general. “I want my children to believe.”

At the risk of sounding like a wet blanket wielding party pooper, I have to say that pure belief is just not enough. I propose this amended desire: “I want my children to believe the truth.”

Belief without truth lacks a foundational context, without which it is naiveté at best, gullibility at worst. Truth itself becomes the bitter pill we find tucked away in the center of the sweet confection of fairy tales presented as reality – choked down the day we learn we’ve been sold a bill of goods.

Make no mistake – I’m a huge fan of whimsy, play, make-believe and even fantasy. I’m a father of four girls. It’s in the job description. I don’t trust a kid who doesn’t have their head in the clouds at least a little. We were created with the ability to imagine infinite worlds. We were endowed by our Creator with an innate knowledge that there is more to us than hands and feet, fingers and toes, hearts and brains. We are spiritual, and connecting with the spiritual world takes a leap of faith beyond what science can demonstrate or repeat.

But at what point do our flights of fancy and faith become the “vain imaginations” Scripture warns against? I think it begins when we “exchange the truth…for a lie.” To complete that swap, we have to treat the fantasy with the same regard and station as the truth itself. We give it credence and value and weight. And it starts with our earliest beliefs.

Over the years in conversations about the journey of faith, I have often heard a variation on this theme:

“I stopped believing in God when I grew up and stopped believing in fairy tales.”

The death of innocence is a weighty thing. The day we realize there is no Santa Claus – that he is only a concept, a story, a morality tale, a bill of goods – is the day we begin to question a lot of things. How much of what I believe – and have been taught to believe – is on the same level: a good story that teaches us values but is not to be taken seriously. Like the Bible.

And that brings us to magic. Confession time: I caught a few minutes of a J.K Rowling interview on the Oprah how recently (in my defense, I ha no intention of doing so – it was on, and I couldn’t look away. Okay, lame defense). I should also point out that I have no desire to have a conversation about Harry Potter and its place in the literary canon. I’ve only seen one of the movies (totally confusing) and read none of the books. But J.K. was defending the use of magic in the Harry Potter books, and in so doing paraphrased a quote I have heard somewhere before but can’t place (or find on Wikipedia):

“‘In magic, man has to rely on himself’…so in religion, of course, you’re looking for outside support… but that’s the perennial appeal of magic—the idea that we ourselves have power and we can shape our world.”

I couldn’t agree more. Sort of.

Therein lies the fundamental conflict between sorcery and spirituality; between magic and miracles. To believe in and eternal Creator who revealed himself to us through prophets, Scriptures, and that baby born at Christmas, we must first accept there is a power and authority greater than ourselves, and we have to deal with Him on a personal level. Magic only requires that we believe in an impersonal force that aids us in achieving our self-determined ends. If we trust in magic, we can command the universe to bow to our whim (see “The Secret”). To depend on miracles requires humility, patience, and often the grace to suffer through unanswered requests.

Allow me to set up a straw man by guessing at the objections these thoughts might provoke: “Golly, Jon, you’re taking this stuff a bit too seriously, aren’t you? It’s just kid’s stuff. Let ‘em believe in fairies and Santa and the Easter Bunny as long as possible, then let them down gently. That’s what growing up is all about.” I have a few concerns with that theory.

First, magic is not make-believe. As a person of faith I believe in sorcery, magic, divination, and witchcraft. I just don’t believe they are good or amoral.

The power exerted by magicians (the real kind, not the Vegas illusionist kind) does not come from a benign impersonal force somewhere in the cosmos. There is no such thing as a good witch. There are plenty of very deceived, very naïve practitioners of the dark arts, but all spiritual power has a source. The source of spiritual power used in magic is not the Creator. And there is only one other option. In the light of this truth, teaching kids a non-specific or neutral view of magic is playing with fire. Here I should note that unless you accept the premise that there is a God and  a Devil, you will disagree with this and everything else I say.

Scripture is not ambiguous about magic. It has no concept of good and bad sorcerers. All attempts to assert spiritual power outside relationship with Jesus is called witchcraft, and strictly forbidden for God’s people. Satanists will tell you these things are written to control people and keep them from discovering their true potential; to keep them under the thumb of religious authorities. But Scripture teaches these laws are for our protection – to keep us from being owned and corrupted by the enemy of our souls, who from the very beginning has tried to be God’s peer and convince others to partake in that folly (“you can be like God” – the world’s first and most powerful lie).

If magic is real, it means that we have to very carefully decide what stories and fairy tales and fantasies we expose young minds to. I am abused of the notion that my primary job as a father is to teach my children who God is and lead them to experience His love, grace, forgiveness, and family.

Which leads to my second concern: I don’t want Jesus to be just another fairy tale; another story about magic and mysticism that turns out to be poppycock in the light of scientific rationalism.

When they “grow up” and stop believing that animals can talk, toys play by themselves when no one is looking, and dragons roam the countryside, it is vital that the stories of David, Samson, Jesus, Peter, Paul, and the rest not be so easily discarded. They have to be given a greater weight. They have to be taught as truth, not fiction.

Let me tell you where I come down on all this: It’s all about context. What is true? What is just a story? What is a fun game? What is a dangerous dalliance? For our girls, we have risked harming the childhood sense of wonder by not allowing stories to go unchallenged or uncategorized. Rather than attempting to shield them from all non-Biblical sources of information, we carefully evaluate and provide critical analysis. A movie does not get played for the first time without commentary. I don’t teach them magic isn’t real, I teach them that magic is different than faith. I teach them that their bedtime Bible stories are real, but many other stories are pretend. We don’t write letters to Santa asking for toys, but we do pray each night for protection, blessing, healing and hope.

We read fairy tales. We watch Disney movies. We play pretend with princesses and dragons and knights and ladies. We encourage imagination. But through all of this we teach, admonish, remind, and exhort. And we elevate Scripture and prayer outside the context of entertainment or fancy. They are treated as wholly other and superior.

It’s a bit of a problem at Christmas time. I am not popular with the parents of children to whom my fiery red-headed daughter has proclaimed “Santa is just pretend.” I am sure they think I am a fun-free fundamentalist. We’re working on her impulse control. “Dear, you don’t need to tell everyone everything that you know.”

But in the end, it’ worth the risk. I want my kids to have fun with stories and make-believe (and trust me, they do) but I maintain that their ability to believe in God is not predicated on their ability to believe in fairies. The two are not connected. One is real. One isn’t. Different.

So we will continue to have fun with the Santa myth, acknowledge the existence of magic (with added context) and trust that if we do our job, God is faithful to help them sort fact from fiction, faith from fantasy.

That’s my plan. What’s yours?

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One week from tomorrow, God willing, we will welcome a fourth girl – Ella Rae – into our family. I was thinking tonight about the years we ached for just one child and the task we have now undertaken – raising 4 girls. It’s more than I ever hoped for, but now I’m praying (as I think all parents must) that it’s not more than I can handle…

As I think tonight about the mysteries of fathers and daughters, I randomly remembered this music video from our old pal Lindsay Lohan, back when she was a young starlet with a bright future. I don’t know how much of this is embellished and how much is autobiography, but I do remember how I felt when I saw it for the first time: physically ill. And maybe a little angry. And I am thinking now about the tragic turns her life has taken, and thinking that maybe we should have seen it coming back then.

I dream of another you, one who would never.
Never, leave me alone to pick up the pieces.
A Daddy to hold me, that’s what I needed.

Haunting. Especially for us father-types. When I see LiLo in a news story, I don’t see a hedonistic Hollywood celeb or a cautionary tale or a target of ridicule. I see the scared, angry, hurting little girl in this video. And I think two things:

One: Lindsay, you do have a Father dying to hold you, whole will never leave you alone, who will pick up the pieces. And He’s close. And it’s never too late.

Two: Dear God – make me like You so I don’t mess up my girls.

It’s not that I’m worried I will wake one day and realize I have suddenly become a violent alcoholic. Through the Spirit I’ve spent a lot of years of my life nailing a lot of natural inclinations (like bad temper and addictive personality) on a lot of big gnarly crosses. I’m also not thinking I will ever be perfect. I know I have a lot to learn, and that I’ll probably figure most of it out just in time to walk them down the aisle and hand them off to some other dude.

What I am concerned with is the thousand tiny steps from here to there – the millions of moments that make up the relationship between daddy and daughters. I want to get those right more than I get them wrong. I am a little worried I might wake up one day and realize I have suddenly become that distant, irrelevant, cold persona so many young girls see their father as. And I am hoping my concern is good proof that I’m on the right track.

So for what it’s worth, here’s what I think I know is important so far. I will be completely and uncomfortably transparent and tell you these are my prayers at the moment:

1. Four girls, a wife, and a neutered cat will live at my house. As the only dude in residence, I want to be a man, in every sense of the word, so my girls will know what that looks like. And so their future boyfriends fear for their safety. I pray I can learn from Jesus’ example how to be aggressive when it”s needed and lamb-like when it’s not, and what true masculinity is all about, beyond anatomy, meat-eating, and love of engine repair.
2. The prophet said of Jesus “a bruised reed he will not break.” As His disciple, I pray for a gentleness and discernment that will help me not crush the sensitive spirits of little girls with harsh words, impatience, or even good-natured teasing. I pray for the Holy Spirit to physically beat me senseless when I’m being a jerk to my wife or my girls. Maybe a tree could fall on my head from time time. That would do it.
3. I pray for eyes to see the unique gifts and greatnesses of each of my girls. They are all so different – the nature and nurture debate is settled for me – their personalities are hard-wired! And they all need to know they are just as God intended, that different is great, and they are fearfully and wonderfully made. Some people call that good self-esteem, I think of it more as healthy self-image – seeing who I am in through the eyes of the One who made me. I pray for the right words to encourage and build up and “fan into flame.”
4. I pray for the ability to provide security and stability for my family, so they can grow up without fear. I am also praying that God will help me rely on Him for security, stability, and provision, not just try to do it all myself. I’m still learning to trust. And I pray I win the lottery, even though I don’t play it. Or that at least one of them can get a football scholarship.
5. I pray Jesus will help me learn how to be a better husband. Fourteen years have come and gone, and I still don’t know what I’m doing. But my girls need to grow up with a real, live, functional “in-love” married couple living in their house so they know that it’s possible. It’s something I didn’t have modeled for me, and I am always needing the Spirit’s help to figure out how to make it better.
6. I pray God will keep me from sin and stupidity and boredom and idle hands. It would just be the absolute worst for my girls to have a hard time trusting or believing in God because I preached the Gospel then had a massive moral failure.
7. I pray my greatest achievements in discipleship would be leading Janae, Corinne, Maya, and Ella to become followers of Jesus – that they would not only be my daughters in the flesh, but my daughters in the Faith.
8. I pray I live a good long healthy  time so I can take my kids’ kids to Disneyland. And since faith without works is dead, I also pray for the discipline to get my sorry carcass back on the treadmill and to “just say no” to leftover Easter candy before I start losing appendages to retinopathy.
9. I pray all of my faults, weaknesses, and shortcomings would nullified by the grace, love, acceptance, and forgiveness of Jesus, shared freely in our home. I want our house to be a place of healing and hope. And I want my girls to rest knowing their father on Earth loves them, but their Father in Heaven loves them perfectly.

Maybe some of you older dads of daughters out there can give me a number ten – nine just seems incomplete. Or maybe you can just start a 12-step group for us. I’ll bring the brews.

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For some reason today I kept thinking of Jerry Seinfeld. I remember seeing Seinfeld one Leno on night. It was the first time I had seen him do anything since the end of the show Seinfeld. He had gone back to stand-up, and was on the show doing a set. He began by saying that he had recently gotten married and had a baby. His first laugh line was something to the effect of, “I know this comes as a shock to many of you, because it really didn’t look like things were heading this way!”

He was of course referring to his celebrated bachelorhood and lack of “settled-down family guy” qualities. But I think of that statement sometimes in a totally different way that applies to me…

For a long time, it looked like things weren’t headed toward me being a father.

Most  anyone who reads this thing I call a blog (loosely so) knows what I mean, so I will spare the details, but in case someone gets here by unfortunate web searching luck, the short version is that it took ten years for my wife and I to have our first kids (twin girls). For a long time, it looked like fatherhood might not be in the cards.

We have three beautiful girls now (three year old twins Janae and Corinne and five month old baby Maya) and a crazy life, but I love and live every second of it (even the parts I complain about). Every sleepless night, every full diaper, every potty training fiasco and every one of the tens of thousands of dollars already spent are well worth it for the gift of being called Daddy.

I am profoundly thankful for the gifts God has given us in giving us these three to love and protect. I don’t know if I’m a great Dad, but I try. And it always means something to me – every step along the way, because we are living a dream that we thought, more than once, was lost to us. My Father understood the desires of our hearts, and though for His own reasons we had to wait, in the end we feel like we got the Job deal – the blessing we received later was far greater than what we would have had without enduring the hardship.

I am a lucky man, and I just had to tell someone. Now for the obligatory proud dad photo. Enjoy!

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