Over the past ten years or so Crystal and I been blessed to develop some very sweet relationships with people who are our children’s ages. Some are so special that they have become our unofficially adopted children. To many of them, we’re Uncle Sam and Aunt Crystal; to some, we’re Dad and Mom Wegner. We’ve watch several get married and have children of their own, to whom we are known as Lollie and Pops. These relationships weren’t planned or orchestrated, but now, we’re family.
Two of these guys are such regular fixtures around our house that I should probably just give them keys to the place. Brennen and Jonathan are here every Tuesday to play board games. It’s become such a staple of our lives that when my daughter Sylvia, who is responsible for meal preparation, plans for a “normal” Tuesday dinner, that means Brennen and Jonathan will be eating with us — anything else is an exceptional circumstance.
Such an exception occurred last Tuesday, when Brennen was scheduled to be out of town for work. His wife, Lexi, was supposed to come over that day and help Crystal with some things, but canceled because flash flooding caused by heavy rains Monday night had caused them to take some water in their house. We didn’t realize until late Tuesday night that “some water” actually meant 6-7” throughout their entire home. They were allowed to rip out all the carpets, but had to leave everything else pretty much as it was until an insurance adjuster could assess the overall damage to the home and its contents. This was complicated by a concern that, given the age of the house, there might be asbestos in the walls, which would make remediation more complicated and expensive.
This year my children decided we should celebrate Father’s Day on Saturday rather than Sunday because of some scheduling challenges. So late Saturday afternoon they all showed up: my oldest daughter, Ginny, her husband, Zach, with our three grandchildren; my two sons, Sammy and Drew, and my youngest, Sylvia, who was helping Crystal orchestrate the meal. I was sent outside to grill steaks. My 7-year-old and 4-year-old grandsons decided they wanted to come out and “help” me, so for about 30 minutes my attention was split between not over-cooking the meat and making sure the boys stayed out of trouble.
When I returned inside with the meat hot off the grill, I learned that Brennen and Lexi’s asbestos report had come back negative, which immediately caused a bunch of other dominoes to fall. The remediation team would be showing up on Monday to open up the walls, so everything salvageable had to be packed up and moved out, and everything that wasn’t had to be staged in the garage so a junk hauler could cart it away on Sunday. Knowing he couldn’t handle such a huge task on his own, Brennen had issued a call for immediate help.
Sammy met me as I walked in with the plate of hot steaks. “I’m gonna eat one of those and then go to Brennen’s,” he said matter-of-factly. Drew was right behind him. I had barely made a plate for myself before they were already finished and headed out the door. Zach knew he had to get his crew home and put to bed first, but promised to check in after that. Then I saw in the text chain that Jonathan, who had been on his way to my house for the Father’s Day celebration, had turned around mid-trip and headed straight to Brennen’s.
I arrived at the house about the same time as Brennen, who had gone to the store to buy packing supplies, where we found Sammy, Drew, and Jonathan waiting, along with a couple of other guys. Within three hours, the place had been gutted. All the damaged items had been staged for pickup, and most of the things that had been spared from the damage had been moved to the home where Brennen and Lexi will be living for the next couple of months. When Zach, true to his word, called around 9:30 pm, I could hear a hint of disappointment in his voice when I told him there was no need for him to come that night or the following morning, as all that remained was to pack up their small kitchen.
The amazing thing was that anytime there was a lull in activity, all Brennen wanted to talk to me about was how much he wanted to stay true to his faith, to learn from this experience what God wanted to teach him — something he said watching my life over the past couple of years had inspired him to do. He wasn’t concerned about the stuff that he had lost, he was concerned about his tendency in the past to start out in faith in difficult circumstances but then fade into doubt and complaining as the trial lingered on. He knows that dealing with insurance companies and FEMA is going to get harder before it gets easier, and that he has no idea if the decisions he’s making are the best ones, because he’s never had to do anything like this before. But his biggest worry is that he might disappoint his heavenly Father by doubting that God’s going to graciously make up for his inexperience, protect him and provide for him.
I couldn’t be prouder of my boys — all five of them. Sammy, Drew, and Jonathan instinctively knew the right thing to do was to abandon my party to go to the aid of their friend; Zach wanted to help so much he was sincerely disappointed that he couldn’t; and Brennen is more interested in the condition of his heart than that of his home.
None of them asked me what I thought or if I minded how any of this impacted my Father’s Day, because they didn’t have to. They knew what the right priority was, they acted on it, and they knew that’s what I wanted them to do. They each made the right choice — not in an effort to please me, but because of what they themselves believe, and because that is the caliber of men they are. But in so doing, they did honor me, because “I have no greater joy than this, to hear of my children walking in the truth” (3 John 4); and folks, let me tell you it’s even better when you get the chance to see them do it in person.
And that’s what made it the best Father’s Day ever.
