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These are the only moments like this that we get together

Sometimes, all of the things my daughter needs from me can feel like a nuisance or a burden. Sometimes, she asks too many questions and I just want some quiet so that I can do my work. Sometimes, I don’t want to listen to Taylor Swift or Blackpink in the car. 

But then I remember that someday, my daughter won’t need me anymore or at least not as often. Someday, she’ll live on her own and won’t be around to ask me questions all of the time. Someday, I’ll be driving in the car by myself missing her and wishing I could have this time back even if it means listening to Taylor Swift or Blackpink on repeat for hours at a time. 

Sometimes I get frustrated with my daughter or impatient with her. I’m only human and I have a limited amount of energy and attention, and sometimes I give so much to others or to my work that I have very little left for my daughter. But then I’m reminded just how fleeting these moments are, and just how precious they are. 

These are the only moments like this that we get together. God willing, there will be more moments together, but these are the only moments like this. And we don’t them back. What we get is what we get. There are no do-overs and there is no rewind button on life. Every single interaction is unique and special, and I can either push them away or embrace them

Someday, my she will ask me for a piggyback ride for the last time. Someday, she will ask me to do her hair, to take her to a school dance, and to put her to bed for the last time. For these reasons, and many more, I pray to treat every time like the most important time. I thank God for my little girl every day and I’m beyond grateful that I get to spend the time with her that I do. I know it will not last forever and that makes me appreciate her even more. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Keep writing

As I said in Evolution of a Blog Pt. 1, I’ve been publishing daily blog posts for a long time on Meditations of a Gentle Warrior. In addition to publishing to my website, I also post my writing on social media. Social media being what it is, when people feel so inclined, they comment on what I post. 

Over the years, the feedback I’ve received has been mostly positive, which is nice. It’s good to know that others find value in my work. But since feedback is not the primary aim of my writing, I tend to glance at it, acknowledge it, and then move on. I suppose I’m afraid that if I get too caught up in what others think, it will change the way that I write, so I try to take it with a grain of salt.

That doesn’t mean the feedback goes unnoticed and unappreciated. It actually means a lot to me when someone takes the time to tell me they like what I am doing. At the very least, it’s reassuring, but it can also be fuel to keep going. I’m only human and, like most people, I feels good to be acknowledged for the work I’m doing, even if I make a concerted effort to not let it get to my head. 

When I receive criticism, however, it’s a different story altogether. I read it, reread it, worry about it, and obsess over it. If someone doesn’t like my work, whether it be the content or the style, I can’t stop thinking about it. It doesn’t matter how many positive comments I receive, one negative comment will make me question everything I’m doing. 

Recently, I received such a comment on one of my poems I had posted to a group called Contemplative Christianity on Facebook. Overall, it’s a good group. The folks on there seem to be respectful and supportive, but one group member took the time to write a long comment on one of my posts that really threw me for a loop. 

In her remarks, she stated that, while she enjoyed my writing, she felt that I posted too often and that my doing so is a sign of spiritual immaturity and borders on arrogance. In reading this, I was crushed, but also confused. I post once a day, it’s always respectful and in alignment with the group’s rules and focus, and I’ve never tried to push my ideas or my work on anyone. Not only that, everyone has the right to choose whether or not they want to read what I post. No one is forcing anyone to do so. 

I did my best to be respectful to her and to try to understand her position, but I was really taken aback by it because all she had to do was to not read my posts. The whole situation got me thinking though. It made me question why my reaction to negative feedback is so much stronger than my reaction to positive feedback. Why is it so lopsided? 

Why did this comment bother me so much that I read it over and over again, and couldn’t stop thinking about it? Was this enough to make me change my style, my frequency of posting, or quit altogether? No. Then why was I giving so much space in my head? 

I had to remind myself that I’m not writing for feedback, either positive or negative. I’m writing to write. I share my work as not only an act of bravery, but also an act of generosity. Some people, probably most people, are not going to like it. It’s not for them and that’s okay. My job is to keep writing for as long as I feel called to do so. Maybe someday I’ll have published work that people will pay to read and write negative comments about. What a blessing that would be. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Snowmen aren’t forever

As we were coming home this evening after a long day of church and youth wrestling, my daughter and I noticed that the snowman she built earlier this week had started to melt. It still has its general shape and the sticks she used for arms are still there, but it is a smaller, less distinguished version of itself, and its holly-leaf eyes and nose are gone. “Awww,” she said, “My snowman is melting. I worked so hard on him.” 

“Sadly dear, nothing in this world lasts forever,” I told her, “So we have to appreciate them while they are here.” “But daddy,” she replied, “I saw a sign the other day that said, ‘Presidents are temporary. Wu-Tang is forever.'” I grew up listening to the hip hop group Wu-Tang Clan so I couldn’t help but to laugh when I heard this.

“That’s just hyperbole, dear,” I said, “Wu-Tang is not really forever any more than your snowman is.” “What’s hyperbole?” she asked. “It’s an exaggeration,” I told her, “but its an exaggeration not meant to be taken seriously. It’s a joke. Wu-Tang Clan has been making music for over thirty years, but, like your snowman, they aren’t forever. Only God is forever.” 

Now, I realize that this is too much for a nine-year-old to fully comprehend. Honestly, the concepts of transience and eternity are too much for any of us to fully comprehend. However, I don’t think it’s a conversation that should be avoided. Our time here is extremely short and our time with our children is even shorter. What good does it do to withhold the most important conversations about the most important subjects from them? 

Of course, I want my daughter to enjoy her childhood and to be a kid for as long as she can be a kid, but I also want her to know that there is more to life than simply what she sees and feels. My hope is that, by understanding just how impermanent her snowman, or Wu-Tang Clan, is, that she appreciates it even more while it lasts. 

Her experience of building that particular snowman in that particular moment was truly one of a kind. It never happened before and will never happen again. Her sadness in seeing it melt is real and it should be acknowledged as such. If she cared about what she created, of course there is some grief in its passing, even if it is just a snowman. This sense of loss is real and it will not be the last time she experiences it. 

But I don’t think God created this world of impermanence simply for us to exist in a perpetual state of sadness, grief, and loss. Rather, the fact that we live in an ever-changing world where everything that is born eventually dies and everything that is built eventually crumbles should make us appreciate the preciousness of each and every moment, experience, and interaction as the amazing gift that it is. Furthermore, this experience of impermanence calls us to go deeper, to seek or settle into that which does not change, does not die, and does not pass away (Malachi 3:6). 

Like my daughter’s snowman, “Everything around us is going to melt away, (2 Peter 3:11).” So our task, it seems, is to cherish our time here as much as possible without clinging to it. As St. Francis of Assisi said, we are to “wear this world like a loose garment.” But we are called to do so while loving so deeply that, through our example, others may also come to know the constancy of God’s eternity through Christ Jesus (John 13:34-35). 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox.