You’re gonna need a bigger boat

There can be no
higher calling, no more meaningful assignment, no more terrible and frightening
responsibility than being a dad. It has been said that any male can father a
child but it takes a real man to be a dad. I think that’s true. It’s been a
difficult day.

I spent a couple of
hours today talking to my oldest son Riley and trying to get a sense of his
plan or vision for the days just ahead. And if I was lucky I thought I might
get a peek of his view for the future…his future.

I spent the first
part of the conversation throwing out all the obvious “Dadisms” like, “Begin
with the end in mind” and “Plan your work, then work your plan.” I guess I was
trying to get him excited about setting some realistic goals for the coming
years, then making a wise, well-thought-out plan to achieve those goals.

It didn’t take long
for his simple child-like faith and wonder of life itself to completely
dismantle all my carefully constructed scaffolding of words.

Riley is a great
guy. He is 18 years old and his life stretches out before him like an open
road—a road he can’t wait to travel. But Riley sees this road disappearing
behind a grove of trees just a few hundred yards up ahead. Where it’s heading,
he has no idea. How many side roads and where those roads may take him—he
hasn’t a clue. In fact—that’s the beauty of it. An infinite number of choices,
an infinite number of destinations. Only God knows where his course will lead.
In fact, Riley has the strong conviction that to choose a single road would be
to limit God (and himself) from all other possibilities. He would much rather
keep his options open—wide open.

Of course, I hear
all the voices of the elders who have gone before me, “If you don’t set any
goals, how do you know if you’ve succeeded?” And, “If you have no target, how
do you know if you’ve hit it?” Or the voice of my grandmother whenever
responding to a question where the answer was “nothing,” she would say, “what
the little boy shot at!” As in, “How many fish did you catch Grandma?” And she
would answer, “I caught what the little boy shot at!” Implying, of course that
little boys find much more joy in shooting the gun than they do in hitting a
target.

So, is Riley a guy
in love with the idea of living a life full and rich, without a care of
actually accomplishing anything other than the Great Adventure? Or is he a guy
in need of a serious dose of maturity and a hefty reality check? I guess—as his
dad—I ought to be able to figure that one out. But, the truth is, I’m having
some trouble. I’m completely overwhelmed by the prospect of trying to answer
that question…about him or about me.

Do I really want to
be the one to dampen his enthusiasm? How do I interpret what I feel I must do? Am
I throwing a wet blanket on his dreams or am I asking him the tough
questions—forcing him to face some difficult realities?

You know how
conversation works…you hear the words scroll across your mind and, if they make
it past all your filters, you speak them out. I hear the words lining up in my
brain ready to be spoken, “Riley, you just can’t do that.” Or “How will you
afford that?” Or “That will just never work!” I am immediately in conflict. I
don’t know if my years on this earth have brought me valuable experience for
just these types of conversations with my kids or if they’ve taught me to be
overly cautious or even cynical—especially about dreaming dreams that may never
come true.

I suppose it’s no
big deal. It’s just my oldest son at a critical crossroads of his life looking
to me for some assurance, some affirmation or encouragement—looking to me for
some inkling leadership. I really don’t know how to do this.

You know, it’s
times like this, sitting here in this coffee shop with my oldest son looking at
me for answers, that I realize that Promise Keepers or Wild At Heart or Focus
on the Family aren’t really worth a can of spit. I mean, John Eldridge is a
great author and all, but he ain’t sitting in my chair looking at what I’m
looking at. And even if he was, Riley doesn’t care what Eldridge thinks. He
wants to hear from his dad—from ME.

It all comes down
to what I have in my heart to give him. In the end, I can only hold him
and pray for him and remind him how much I love him and how proud of him I am.
And how I don’t have all the answers…not even close. We’ll figure it
out—together. The way it’s supposed to be.

Of course all that
means very little when it comes to having the same conversation (when it’s
time) with my next son Jordan…or the next one, Sullivan…or the youngest one,
Jonah…or any of my three daughters. Geez! What am I going to do?

I’m reminded of the
first time Chief Brody gets a good look at the gigantic shark terrorizing his
waterfront in the movie Jaws. He says, “You’re gonna need a bigger boat!” So,
here I am…I’ve been a dad for 23 years now and I need a bigger God. I need a
bigger God to be more involved in my life, more forthcoming with answers, more
available for feedback.

Of course our God
can’t get any bigger. But we can give him a bigger place in our life. We can
call on him more—depend on him more. Admitting our weakness and our ultimate,
desperate need for him. We feel him grow in us and we feel his presence in our
lives expand.

Getting answers from
him becomes less of the goal. Getting HIM becomes the goal. Falling into him
and holding on for dear life becomes the ultimate goal…every minute of every
day.

My life pushes me
toward God. It’s painfully obvious I don’t know what I’m doing and I need a
“bigger boat.” When left on my own I can make the exact wrong decision in a
heartbeat. And if you’re honest with yourself you know it’s true for you too.

Do you need God
more today than you did yesterday? Are you putting yourself in a position to be
overwhelmed? It’s scary but it’s the only real way to live this life.