God's Pattern in Life's Pieces

I can’t help but wonder when the explosion of graduation ceremonies took place. The fuse to that trend certainly wasn’t lit by 1977, the year I graduated from college.

Fast forward to 2025, and now—as grandparents—we’ve celebrated a kindergarten graduation and two eighth-grade graduations, all in the same season.

Graduation is about completion. Finality. Closure.

Which is why, as Father’s Day approaches, I’m struck by the contrast.

Fathering doesn’t come with closure. There is no finish line, no final exam, no diploma to hang on the wall. After 45 years on this journey, I know that to be true.

I became a father in 1981. I remember vividly bringing Andrew home to our place at 921 N. Anthony in Fort Wayne. I felt like an absolute novice—maybe worse.

I loved this little guy deeply, but I had no idea how to translate that love into action.

Just two years later, I entered the 201-level course when Erik arrived. Then three years after that, Alli. A daughter. A new dynamic. A brand-new syllabus.

It would be nice to have a graduation date. A certificate. Proof that I completed the course. But I have none.

In 2003, a daughter-in-law joined the family. Then another in 2006. A son-in-law in 2008. Not a return to the classroom—because I never left—but enrollment in entirely new courses.

And when grandchildren began arriving in 2007, everything shifted again. The curriculum expanded. Things got turbocharged—and rearranged. Perhaps that’s why Father’s Day invites something more than celebration. It invites humility. Not shame—never that—but honest reflection.

I’m still learning. Still growing. And ironically, the teachers are no longer just my own dad or father-in-law. Now, it’s Andrew. Erik. Chris.

They’re showing me a better way. A more anchored, authentic path.

These days, they are the books I read and the podcasts I listen to.

Father’s Day 2025. I’m a seventy-year-old student. Not reluctantly—but gratefully. Grateful for the grace and grit that keep me in the classroom. Listening. Learning. Sometimes stumbling.

June 21, 1981, was my first Father’s Day. I looked into the face of my three-month-old son with gratitude, anticipation, joy, fear, and hope.

The years have changed many things. But not that.

And for that reason, the classroom is still a wonderful place to be.

Because ultimately, I was confident then—as I am now—that God, my ultimate Father, will lead well… if I follow obediently.

There’s no sign in my yard announcing the completion of my fathering journey.

And that’s exactly what I relish about it.
Always a learner.
Always a student.
Always more to know, to experience… and to love.

Enrolling again. 2025/26 curriculum awaits.

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