I am writing this not to shame you but to warn you as my dear children. Even if you had ten thousand guardians in Christ, you do not have many fathers, for in Christ Jesus I became your father through the gospel. Therefore I urge you to imitate me. - 1 Corinthians 14-16
Two days from now is Thanksgiving Day. It used to be my second favorite holiday after Christmas. I was raised in a family that embraced the holidays and filled them with traditions that always gave us something to look forward to every year. Not only that, my parents always made sure that the door was open to any of those who might be alone on the holiday. We were going to love people outside our own family on Thanksgiving, it was just part of the tradition.
For me Thanksgiving meant not only eating a lot and sharing time with family, it meant family competitions. Every year we'd play at least one board game together. Every year we'd watch a family movie together. Every year we'd all be in one house for an entire day, and hilarity would ensue. Thanksgiving at the home of Wolf and LaDonn Krismanits was always full of joy from beginning to end, and it always met or exceeded expectations. This is one of the greatest gifts my parents ever gave me.
Then it all changed two years ago. Two years ago this week my parents both died as their car was hit by someone who ran a red light. They died as they were returning from my dad receiving a clean bill of health after recovering from heart surgery. This year the anniversary of their death falls exactly on Thanksgiving Day. Obviously, that changes everything.
But this is not a post about Thanksgiving. It isn't even going to be a post memorializing my parents.
I've already written those posts, and it's too painful to write them again right now. Yet this week I'm confronted by both of those things; the joyful memories of Thanksgiving and the sorrowful pangs of great loss are stirring in me hourly right now. All of this, on top of the trying season of my life I've been in, has forced me to make a decision; run away or process and learn.
I've chosen to process. And if I've learned anything in this season and from the death of my parents it is this: we can't do life alone. We can't move ahead in life alone. We can't be happy alone.
From the time I was born until they passed away, my parents were my biggest cheerleaders. They believed in me wholeheartedly and they never, ever let me go a minute in my life without knowing it. As it pertained to my dreams and ambitions, the word "can't" was illegal in my family. If I purposed to do something my parents would do two things. One, they would voice to me any concerns they had and help me understand what my decision meant as far as sacrifice and effort required. They would do this once. After I had heard them out I would either stick with the decision or change my mind. Which brings me to the second thing they would do. After I had made my choice for good, they would support me with every ounce of their being. If they disagreed they would never let me know. They would love me with everything they could, letting me know they proud of me and that I could do it. In my entire life I can't think of one time I felt discouraged by my parents when it came to going after my dreams.
I believe that because of them and the way they chose to believe in me I was pretty fearless in life. They taught me personal responsibility by not allowing me to drive until I had a job and could pay my own insurance and gas. They were empowering without being enabling. My parents encouraged risk, and they always helped me back up when I failed. Because of them I was brave enough to travel at a young age. Because of them I had the guts to try new things. I knew I was loved and believed in no matter what.
As long as they were alive I can see that I was always moving ahead in life. I did well in school and was involved in many activities. I would get new jobs and be promoted quickly. I was always trying new things. I wanted to see a new place, so I would go. I wasn't afraid of money or failure. I always knew I was covered and safe.
As I grew and encountered disappointments in life my parents still believed and even fought for me. They were my greatest advocate. When I was moving back to California from North Carolina during the horrible economy of 2009, my parents spread the word of my return and I had 4 job offers immediately. When I was laid off and couldn't pay rent my mom spoke out on our behalf and got us help. When I was working dead end jobs I was still moving forward in my dreams of ministry because people respected my father and trusted him when he said "my son can do this too." Thanks to them I always had someone to push me and encourage me all at once. They knew exactly how to speak to me to keep me hoping and moving forward. They knew how to make me feel safe even when things were seemingly falling apart.
I didn't realize I had lost all of that until recent months. When I was at school at Bethel I was in a culture of encouragement, empowerment, and risk-taking. Because I was in school for another 18 months after my parents passed, I never had to face the full reality of what I had lost in their death. Now, 6 months after graduating, I fully understand. The last few months have been the loneliest of my life.
I'm learning that all the things I had accomplished over the years that felt like I did by myself were never by myself. I'm learning that I was that person because of who was behind me. Even when their support was 99% from the shadows, it was still there. Now the covering is not the same, and neither is my life.
This is not to say that I don't have people in my life who believe in me, for I know I do. But for all the goodness those people have shown me it isn't quite the same. They aren't parents. They can't tell me that "no matter what, we're here for you." At least not in the same all-encompassing way. People have supported our family financially and blessed us with encouragement, of which I am extremely grateful for. Yet none of them can offer me the certainty of knowing that "if you fail, we'll be here to get you back on your feet." And while there are those who would take us in if we needed it, but they aren't calling weekly to say "how are you doing? We believe in you. You're doing so good! Is there anything you need to talk about?" I'm starting to realize how much I needed that, how much we all do.
We all need parents in our lives, whether they be by blood or by choice. We need someone to invest their love and belief in us without restriction. It's true that people do amazing things as orphans, but they are never complete. I never learned how to do life as an orphan, and so now I'm stranded, trying to figure it out. But to be honest, I don't want to figure it out. In the church especially, I shouldn't have to. We are all meant to be fathered and mothered, and we're all meant to give that to someone else as well. It's what God intended for us, and it's the surest, most complete way for us all to reach the destiny we are meant to reach.
My intent here is not to complain, but to inspire by igniting hearts to solve a great need out there. I'm an orphan and I need parents. I'm not the only one either. Whether you have no parents or your parents have neglected you or treated you wrongly, you may be an orphan too. And it's ok to recognize that. We all need parents the way God meant us to have parents.
We also all need to find someone to believe in. Men you need to father someone, women you need to mother someone. It doesn't matter if they are your blood or not. Find someone to love and believe in who doesn't have spiritual or natural parents, and give them all you would give your own child. They need you, probably more than they even know. Pour your love into them, your encouragement, and your covering. Let them know that you will be there for them if they fail, and keep lovingly pushing them forward while they are succeeding. The world needs this, for it is full of orphans. For the first time in my life, I'm truly understanding this.
I am an orphan, and wherever you are, I need you too.
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