Parenting is hard work. I don’t know any parent who would argue otherwise. It’s not rocket science, but rather, ditch-digging kind of work. It feels like every time I lift my parenting shovel more dirt falls back in. But we stay at it. We assure ourselves persistence will win out. So moms and dads end up doing a few things over and over and over and over again. Our kids have to be exhausted hearing us say the same things 6 million times. I know we’re more than a little tired and not a little bit frustrated by the end of the day. But we love these kids so we persist in doing what must be done.
One of those aforementioned things is teaching our kids to say thank you. Only after 16 years does this little discipline seem to be taking root. These days it even feels reflexive. When our son fills his dinner plate and with no prompting says, “Thanks mom!” it makes my heart smile. Or when I pick up our daughter from volleyball, and gratitude flows from her mouth, “Thank you, dad.” On these particular days, we convince ourselves that, perhaps, we may not be the worst parents on the planet.
It got me thinking about all the people I have never really said these precious words to—men and women who gave an unusual kindness to me or covered over a particular embarrassment. This list is long—friends, co-workers, roommates, and family who dropped something eternal into my heart. I have been unusually blessed by so many. But for the sake of this short conversation I will only mention four.
My mother. This woman . . . I have trouble describing her stamina. A single mom much of my childhood. She regularly worked two dead-end jobs, went back to school, and still made a way for generous Christmas mornings. Every day was full of lavish hugs and embarrassing kisses. She smiled easily and praised extravagantly. And that one time when I bought her pearl earings for Mother’s Day at a garage sale? You would have thought I just pulled her from on-coming traffic. And on more than one occasion when she believed no one was listening, I could hear her crying in the recess of her bedroom. I know now, she had the hardest job on planet earth. Thank you, mom!
Alicia Anderson. I had a huge crush on this girl in the 8th grade. And nothing in my little mind could be more exciting than asking her to “go with me.” For you Millennials reading this, going with someone was the 80’s version of dating. One night I rode my black Huffy over to Alicia’s house with the express purpose of popping the big question. She knew why I was there. She was ready (at least I think she was) to give me a hearty yes. But my question never came. I wussed out. We talked about school and sports and the latest movies. But I couldn’t get the courage. She sensed it too. She even led the conversation to boyfriends and girlfriends more than once. I didn’t have the valor that night. So I left. Head down. Despondent. I was sure she would drop this juicy morsel of my failure into the gossip pool. But she didn’t. Never once. She showed me a rare junior high kindness. Alicia, wherever you are, thank you!
My church. The hundreds that call Vineyard Community Church their home have shown me and my wife and children so much love. I could write a dissertation on the power of kindness using you as my sole resource. There are too many things to thank you for, but I will mention two. Pastoring can be a lonely job. And yet so many of you remind me I am not alone. This happens through the obligatory Christian side hugs, heart-felt encouragement after a lousy sermon, and long coffees just to tell me you love our family. Secondly, you let me be me. I can’t tell you how freeing it is to be encouraged to be Jon Quitt—the messy, in-process, working my salvation out in public Jon Quitt. I’m still learning what it means to be a pastor and with every little encouragement you remind me I don’t have to be a professional, I just have to be me. Vineyard, thank you!
Amy. Wife and mother—these are your public roles. Maybe even pastor’s wife, though thankfully, that has never been thrust on you. What happens when the doors are closed and no one is watching is where the praise belongs. What you do that never receives a blink of esteem? Consummate listener, respectful challenger, courageous corrector, humble teacher, and spontaneous planner. You almost never complain as you cart the kids or care for my tattered heart. You are like a blowtorch when things cool down and like a kite when you see a strong wind of God. I’m beyond grateful I don’t have to admire you from afar. Up close and personal I can say with joy, Amy, thank you!
