Good morning. I want to extend a special welcome to all of the fathers, grandfathers, and father figures who are able to join us. Thank you for saying yes in so many ways, including your yes to attending this morning. I had a conversation with my sixth grade son Noah the other night that went something like this: “Dad, you say no way more often than you say yes.” Ouch. I often felt the same way about my dad growing up. I will say that my dad always had a carefully reasoned explanation for why he said no, so when I would talk back the conversation would go like this: “Why not, dad?” “Because I said so.”
However, my dad said yes when it mattered most.
I wonder if Joseph said no to Jesus. Do you get to say no to the son of God? I think my dad and I might have struggled with that.
Joseph does not get a lot of limelight in the Bible, but his role as husband and a father came down to a simple choice of whether to say yes or no. Joseph was confronted with fatherhood in an unusual way, and he said yes when it mattered most.
With that in mind, I would like to share two stories from my own childhood where fathers had a choice about raising someone else’s kids and said yes. I had two grandfathers growing up—probably not very unusual. One was my dad’s dad, who died at 76 when I was a freshman in high school. The other was Grandpa John.
Grandpa John lived directly next door to us. He was a fixture at Sunday dinners, birthdays, and holidays, and my three brothers and I, along with a gaggle of neighborhood kids, spent the better part of our childhood playing everything from whiffle ball to golf to tag to hide-and-seek and, at night, a strange version of tag that we called bloody murder in his large field.
I’m not sure at exactly what age I learned the technical definition of grandpa, but at some point, I connected the dots that a) Grandpa John wasn’t and never had been married, b) he wasn’t my mom’s dad, and c) he actually wasn’t related to us in any way.
My mom’s parents both died by the time she was 25. When my parents moved into the home in which they would raise their four kids, John the bachelor was the first person they met. To say that my mom needed a father might have seemed like a stretch at the time—she was married and had two kids at that point. While I don’t think there was any specific yes moment or decision, I do know that by the time I came along, neighbor John was Grandpa John to my brothers and me, and was father John to my mom. Now, with the gift of hindsight, and know that my mom did need a father, and John became that.
Grandpa John lived next door to my parents until the day he died—about 15 years ago. My parents and my now four siblings were John’s family. He outlived my biological grandfather by 15 years, and so he was the grandpa who got to see his grandkids grow, graduate from high school and college, and get married.
As he aged, as will happen, John needed his own children to help care for him, and so my parents became the son and daughter who cared for their aging parent. Like many, myself included I think, John’s greatest fear was losing his independence and dignity as he aged. Becoming a father to my parents meant he had children to help him age the way he wanted—surrounded by family. My parents eventually cooked all of his meals, did his laundry, bought him his cigarettes, drove him when he needed driving, etc. As he got into his mid-eighties and eventually early nineties, this involved sacrifice and a need to say yes often to John. Any conversation about leaving town started with the question of how long we could leave John, or who needed to stay behind with him—he lived to be 94. In the end, John’s choice to say yes to my parents was reciprocated, and they chose to say yes to him as well.
Another unusual Pearson family fact: While I have three brothers, I only have two cousins. When I was about seven, my aunt and uncle divorced, and my cousins moved in with their dad. I’ll spare you the details, but a few years later my uncle re-married, and my aunt was suffering from some significant mental health issues. Due to circumstances beyond her control, my cousin Sarah’s mom and dad both said no.
Sarah was maybe 15 at this time, and needed someone to say yes. My parents had a choice, and when it was said and done, they adopted Sarah, adding her to a crowded house that was already a bedroom short for their own four kids. Sarah became my sister and lived with us until she moved away for college—she is now a nurse, is married and has two kids of her own.
While I only have two cousins, my kids have 10 (soon to be 11). They have an aunt Sarah, and two of their closest cousins are aunt Sarah’s kids. In a bizarre twist in life, I, along with my wife and two sons of my own, live in Grandpa John’s house, next door to my parents. This is partially a choice we made to honor John—keeping his house in the family is actually a conversation we had had. My kids are fascinated by this, and while he died before they were born, they love to hear stories about their great-grandpa John. Living in John’s house is also a choice we made accept a yes from my own parents—they help us with the day-to-day responsibility of raising our kids—driving them to school and sports, babysitting, etc. It is a way for us to say yes to my parents as well—they are now in their 70s, and as they progress in age, we are there to care for them.
I often feel like I know very little about being a father—I’m making it up as I go, and, as Noah pointed out the other day, I am apparently good at saying no. Most of what I do know I learned from Joseph, from Grandpa John, and from my dad, about saying yes when it matters most.