Hope’s Day begins with a nightmare of separation and gradually becomes something smaller, quieter, and more hopeful: a mother reading a child a book, peanut butter on waffles, fabric above a damaged ceiling, a father holding his sons, and tiny lights returned to their places. Sometimes hope appears when life becomes small enough to touch again.
Tag Archives: fatherhood
What Did I Miss?
On Proverb’s Day, a frightening envelope brings unexpected good news, a Greek salad awakens an old fear, and a father learns that what looks like confusion may sometimes be someone else knowing where to look.
Things to Share with Jessee
What happens when nine people begin therapy together? On Justus’s Day, a paintbrush, a watercolor, and an ordinary trip to Safeway become a way of thinking about speaking freely, protecting one another, and learning to help without putting anyone on the hook.
Everyone Needs a Face
A childhood photograph I once could barely look at has become the face of my ten-year-old son. On Han’s Day, two photographs, an old therapist, and a morning together teach us something about trauma, joy, recognition, and what it means to believe someone when they tell you what you cannot see.
Just Love Me
When Proverb tells Dad, “I’m not real to you,” he does not mean that Dad doubts he exists. He means that believing a child is real has consequences. On Luke’s Day, a plural family of nine discovers the difference between saying children have a voice and building a life in which their voices actually matter.
There Were Eleven People in That Car 
When we listened back to one of our stories, we discovered that eight of our children had disappeared from the arithmetic. There were not three people in that car. There were eleven. The next morning, nine of us left home together—and someone saw us.
This Belongs to Us
This morning, while Dad held four-year-old Jude, he found himself thinking about what was happening to us when we were Jude’s age—and about the difference between what happened to us and what truly belongs to us. Some things were never our purpose. Other things—the good memories, our home, our family, and even a slow cooker filled with Jude’s Stew—are ours to keep.
And We Are a Family
Last night, while Dad held Han, something became clear: the longing between father and son had always traveled both ways. Today, as we prepare to meet a therapist, we are learning that asking for help does not mean becoming less of a family. Maybe it means learning how to live more fully as the family we already are.
You Get to Be Seven
A seven-year-old goes quiet. Daddy realizes that love has accidentally become a burden. A day of memories, friendship, repair, and the unseen work of a plural family becomes a lesson in what it means to let a child be seven.
More Daniel
Daniel has always been Daniel, whether anyone recognized him or not. As our five-year-old son learns to say no, express anger, and tell us what he wants, the rest of us are learning something too: how to create a family in which he never has to become loud in order to matter.
