A Fish Funeral

It happens to all parents eventually. And a couple of weeks ago it happened to us—we had to tell our little girl that one of her pets had died. In our case it was one of four pet fish, a tiny catfish (or corydora) named Joyce. It was my wife who discovered that our little pet had expired and that night, once our daughter was in bed, we set about the task of removing its body from the tank and making preparations for the next day. That was when we began to get the giggles.

You see, there was just something a little disgusting and creepy about that poor, little dead fish. My wife didn’t want to extract it from the tank, and I wasn’t real anxious to do so either. We began to exchange little jokes—none of which I can immediately recall—all of which seemed very funny in the moment. On top of that the little box my wife found for a coffin was a gift box from a recent baby shower for our twins. There was a picture of a teddy bear on the box with the words “new arrival”! Now, if we hadn’t already been giggly, that drove us over the edge.

Anyway, we successfully managed to prepare the coffin and get the fish inside. We taped it shut (in case, I don’t know, there was some sort of weird fishy resurrection?) and set it aside until the next day when we would tell Ella, our four year old.

Once we had the chance, we sat Ella down to tell her what had happened. Since this was our first pet death, we had no idea how she would react. I mean, one of her pets had died; but on the other hand, it was a little fish, not likely in the same category that a pet cat or dog would be in the same situation.

It was actually a sweet little moment. We told her that Joyce had gotten sick and died, and once she understood the finality of what had happened she did get upset and cry for few minutes. Through her tears she told us that she wanted to see Joyce again.

She wasn’t very upset, but in that moment I saw my daughter process an experience I had never seen her have to process before. I have to say, she was brave and mature. She wanted to know if we would see Joyce in heaven. We told her that we didn’t know for sure, that the Bible isn’t clear what happens to animals upon death. Alisha talked to her about how sad she had been when Miss T, her dog, had died. I shared a couple of pet stories too.

The next step was the burial. We found a spot at the back of our yard right next to a large rock. On the rock Alisha painted Ella’s name and Joyce’s name. She shovelled out a hole large enough for the makeshift casket. When we went to bury Joyce, I read a portion from Psalm 104, and “Auntie” Janis said a short prayer thanking God for Joyce’s time with us. It was probably the shortest funeral I have ever attended!

More than anything, I was impressed by my little girl, Ella, and how she dealt with the whole thing. It may seem like a small thing, even a silly thing, to have a fish funeral, but I think it was good for her. It took seriously her feelings and showed, I hope, that what’s important to her is important to us. It was a nice little family moment. And I hope that it’s something she remembers in the years to come.

Freedom and Responsibility (What Having a Family Teaches Us)

I haven’t been particularly active in maintaining things here over the last few weeks. Truth be told, since we brought our twin boys home my blog has been the least of my priorities. Of all the things that can take my time, recording my various thoughts for public perusal is nowhere near first in line. Actually, it’s amazing what gets left aside when new babies enter your home and your life. More amazing, is what gets done!

Life gets re-prioritized when you have a family. Whether you’re talking about your use of money or time or energy, it all gets re-arranged when children enter your life. When I was single, my time was largely my own. I could spend more money on myself, and I don’t just mean on luxuries. Even once I was married, I still had a relative degree of freedom—my wife and I enjoyed that freedom together. Perhaps ironically, we ourselves willingly threatened that freedom when we chose to start a family.

There’s nothing quite like having a family—filling your home with a spouse and kids—to gradually knock the selfishness out of you. Seems to me that this is why God created us for relationship, to orient us in the direction of his creative intent. We aren’t naturally geared to care for others more than ourselves—though we can be socialized and educated to this end, there is always a part of us, that without God changing us from within, which will remain more likely to pursue and seek self-interest.

Even now, I have occasions when I experience frustration as a parent, when all I want is to take care of myself—or have someone else take care of me for a change! I find that in moments when things are piling up, the kids are fussing or crying, there is a ton of housework to do, and I still have work at the church to finish that I become impatient. My own desires—that longing for seeking my wants and needs—push themselves to the surface, and I have to be more deliberate and intentional about pushing them back.

I read recently that not only should we ask how do the children we raise turn out, but how do the parents turn out? That is, in becoming parents, we who do have kids are also forced to grow up in having them. This isn’t only true of people who are still children themselves when they become parents. It’s true of all parents. Yes, our children do learn from us. But, boy, do we ever learn from them: about life, about them, about faith, and about ourselves. And since my boys are only a few months old, and my daughter only four, I guess that means I still have a lot to learn!

Random Thoughts On Late Night Parenting

Getting up at 3:3oam to help feed and change your twin boys and not being able to go back to bed because one of them refuses to settle down and because your wife has what is probably a gall-bladder attack and because your daugter wakes up at around 5am due to all the commotion is, contrary to some opinions, not all that it's cracked up to be. That was last night (yesterday morning). Tonight (this morning) has been a little better. I actually got a few hours sleep so far. Though we still had to separate the boys -- I ended up in the living room with Henry. I love my boys, Henry and Eli, but I'll be very happy when (and if??) they start to sleep through.

Around 6am yesterday I realized there was really no point in trying to go back to bed. I had been up for nearly 3 hours. It was hard for me to relax because I was always thinking about the boys and hoping (and praying!) they'd stay asleep. So I stayed up. And around 7 or 8am I got sort of second wind; that is, I no longer quite felt as though I had been up all night. I anticipated crashing either later in the day or the next day. And I did, thanks to my mother in law who came to help after I gave her an early morning call. Thank God for family living nearby!

Now the funny thing is, these sorts of things -- family incidents, let's call them -- often, if not always, seem to happen on Saturday nights. This, for most people, would be ideal. It's the weekend, right? At least we don't have to work in the morning! That would be true for many, but obviously not for me (and if you're wondering why, just look at the name of this blog again!).

This means I had to go to church -- and not only go to church, but play guitar for the worship team and preach and lead the service. I'm not complaining, mind you. But most pastors do this with more than a couple hours of poor sleep behind them. Thankfully everything went well. Actually, it was a meaningful time of worship and fellowship. Odd though it may seem, God sometimes does his best work through us when we can in no way rely on ourselves. When it seems like we're in no position to work on his behalf, in those moments he graciously equips us. How else to explain the fact that one of my church people told me that yesterday's sermon was one of my best in awhile? (She was quick to add that I always do well, but was just particularly impressed and/or moved by this message).

As I write these words, it is around 6:38am on a Monday morning. I've more or less been up since 5am. Henry has still not fallen asleep, despite having been fed and changed. I don't hear Eli's cries from the bedroom anymore, so I take it that he's conked out. It could be that Henry is hungry -- again!! These guys have quite the appetite. So I'm slowly getting some milk ready for him to eat, since I want my wife to be able to sleep.

Having said all of this, I am still a grateful father and husband. Tired, yes. Somewhat delirious from said sleep deprivation? Yes, but still grateful. And I will be until after I've fallen asleep for too short a time and one of my kids, probably our little girl, wakes up in time to get me up before I've gotten enough rest. Oh, I'll still be grateful even then. Because I know that, hopefully, later I get to take a nap!