Logan James

On July 26^th at 2:46 AM, Logan James Evans made his grand entrance into this world. Logan is my grandson, his mother, Sara Rose, is my daughter…my baby daughter.  If every other moment in my life lead to this one, 2:46 AM on July 26, then they were all worth it.

There were two moments that came over the last nine months that I will never forget. First was the night when Sara and Michael came to me and told me that Sara was pregnant with Michael’s child. I knew that their lives were about to change. I wanted to share with them the knowledge and wisdom that I had accumulated over the last thirty years, thirty years of being a parent. Instead I told them what mattered most, what I knew they needed to know at that moment, so I told them that I believe God is the creator of life; that the baby growing inside her would only be there through God’s blessings. I also believe that God creates inside a woman that which makes her a mother. At seventeen years old would Sara be ready to be a mother? Oh yes she would, God’s gift of life can only be nurtured because God choose the one who would be nurturing. I am amazed that today so many women do not believe this. They do not believe that they are equipped by a mighty God to be mighty women, to be Mom’s. Just as instinctively a new born child knows to suckle her mother’s breast, a mother instinctively will know how to care for her child. She will have to learn about diapers and rashes and midnight feedings, but she will not have to learn to recognize the cry of her own baby, she will not have to learn to hear his hardly discernible breathing in the middle of the night or to see the barely visible rise and fall of his little chest. She will not have to learn to be Mom.

The second moment which I will never forget and will always cherish was the moment that Sara asked me if I would be with her when she gave birth to the baby. We both knew that there could be uncomfortable moments that we would have to adjust for, and that was okay. I was present at the birth of all my children, there were uncomfortable moments then! When Sara asked if would be in the room with her an incredible moment of love for my baby daughter swept over me. I don’t think I let her see that, you know I have to maintain the tough Dad image even when I am melting on the inside.

It has been more than thirteen years since I witnessed the birth of a baby, but some things never change. Hospital equipment has gotten fancier and designed more for the comfort and safety of both Mom and baby but at the end of the day nothing has changed.

Well, except for one thing.

With the birth of my own children I remember being in awe at life entering into this sometimes harsh world. I was so awe struck that I really was more of a spectator than a participant. All the training in the Lamaze classes goes by the wayside anyway after the mom reaches a certain pain moment. Telling a woman to “breathe through the pain” can be hazardous to one’s health. But this time my paternal instinct kicked into high gear, not for the child that was being born but for the child giving birth, my child, my baby girl.

I could only watch as she struggled through the pain, I wanted to help, that is what I have done for seventeen years. I watched as anxieties that come with hours and hours of slow progress began to take its toll. I wanted to soothe her, but that was not my job this time, it was Michael’s. At one point I even wanted to “push” for her. I remembered years ago of pushing her on her first bicycle or pushing her on a swing, watching her long blond hair fly behind her as she laughed. But this pushing was for her, this young woman giving birth, the little girl and her giggles long gone. I felt helpless.

And then for just a few brief moments Michael moved from her bedside and I took his place. Holding my daughter’s hand as she pushed with what strength she had left in her exhausted body. And then I heard a cry. That is still the most beautiful sound in the world as Logan James sucked in his very first breath and greeted the world with the only sound that can come from his so small lungs. It was incredible.

Sara Rose you will never know what this moment meant to me. You will always be my baby girl, but now you are first... a Mom. Thank you, I love you…more.

Because you are different.

I will treat you differently because:

You are a woman.

Your skin is a different color than mine.

You are gay or lesbian.

Your religious beliefs are not mine.

I will treat you differently because you are different from me.

Now before you stop reading and pen a nasty comment or send a hateful email, allow me to expound.

 You are a woman. I will open doors for you; I probably wouldn’t if you were a man. I will let you go first. I would offer to carry your groceries. I will offer you my seat. I would work for you, not because you are a woman but because I know you worked hard to obtain your position. I would do all these because it is the proper thing to do…because you are a woman.

Your skin is a different color than mine. I will recognize that. I am not color blind. I will respect and honor your heritage, because that is who you are. I will vote for you, not because you are a minority or because your skin color is different than mine, but because I believe you will represent me. I believe that you can lead. I would hire you, not because of quotas, but because you are the best person for the job. I will call you friend, not because of the color of your skin, but because of the power of your personality.

You are gay or lesbian. I will treat you differently; if you are gay then I won’t ask you to go out on Saturday night to pick up women. If you are a lesbian then I won’t try to pick you up on Saturday night. I don’t do these things, not because I disagree with your life choices, but because I respect your choices. I won’t talk down to you because of who you are; my sexual preference does not affect my intelligence, I do not believe it affects yours either. I won’t scoff at you when you tell me you are in love. My sexual preference doesn’t stand in the way of the heart, neither does yours.

Your religious beliefs are not mine. I won’t offer you a cross or any symbol of my belief, because it is not yours. I won’t place a manger in your front yard, not because you don’t believe as I but because it is your yard. I won’t close the doors to my church when I see you coming. I won’t close my mind when I hear you talking. My beliefs are strong, you won’t change them, but they are no stronger than yours. I won’t try to change yours, but know that I will pray for you even when you can’t see my God.

The Trevon Martin, George Zimmerman story is in the news every day. “What if?” questions have sprouted across the plains. “What if Trevon had been white?” “What if Zimmerman had been black?” Would things have been different? Listen, an investigation into the shooting of Trevon was warranted not because he is black, but because he was killed. The sadness that was felt by so many should have come not because he was a young black man, but because he was he was a young man. The investigation of Zimmerman should have been conducted not because he was white or Hispanic, but because he shot someone. If these investigations cast doubt on the innocence of Zimmerman, then the judicial system should be put into motion, but not because of the skin color of either man.  And if that lead to trial, then it is because we live in a country that promises that right, not because one was white and one was black. And if a jury acquits or finds guilt it should be based on evidence not because one was black and one was not.

I will treat you differently because you are different than me. Today so many misconstrue one’s behavior as prejudice or bigoted, when in fact it is simply respect. I realize that among us there are those that are racist or bigots, they have been here for thousands of years and sadly will be here for many more.

 So how do I treat them?

I hope that I can always rely on the teachings of Jesus Christ when it comes to how I treat anybody. Christ never said we are all equal, or the same. He spoke differently to the woman at the well than he did to the Apostles that followed Him. Yet His message was the same, a message of love and care, a message of hope.

I won’t open doors for a bigot or racist. I won’t call them friend or invite them to dinner. But I will pray for them when they are in need. I will care for them when they are hurt. I will love them with the love of Christ. I will welcome them if the day comes that they set aside hatred and realize we are all different.

I will treat your differently because you are different than me.

In closing, I will confess that if you are a Washington Redskin’s fan, I will likely treat you differently on Sundays…well because you do deserve it.