Scott Stilson

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One thing that pleases me—well, two: First, Mommy and Daddy snuggles. And second, rock dust on my hands.

— Sullivan

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A conversation discusses Greg Boyd referencing quantum physics to build an argument, with one participant questioning if he's overreaching

I am grateful today for a son who grows in maturity and relatability. It was my honor to bring him to Panera this evening to share in a cherry pastry with him. We agreed it’d be good to learn computer programming together as father and son. I set a reminder for myself to look into the best, most child-friendly among the free starter courses that are cropping up seemingly everywhere online these days. We also played chess with a Super Mario set that Schlow Library had on hand.

I am grateful today for the evening of dress-up, make-up, dancing, and bathing together that Carla tells me she and Éa shared. I am glad they got to enjoy one another.

I am grateful for Greg Boyd, whose God at War Travis is reading at my recommendation while I re-read Satan and the Problem of Evil. Travis texted me this evening to chat briefly about how much he enjoyed Boyd’s use of quantum theory in the opening pages.

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I am grateful for the loving effort Carla is putting forth these past few days into making Christmas cheery for us all by overcoming her distaste for shopping and spending the better part of today and yesterday shopping. We had decided after last Christmas that we would do 100% of our Christmas shopping locally. We probably won’t end up doing 100%, but the decision does mean Carla has been all over town: Jo-Ann Fabrics, Goodwill, Ross, and Target, to name a few.

I am grateful for our tenant Apoo’s eagerness to share Indian dishes with us. We had her, her husband Vijay, and her father Raju up for dinner this evening so we could meet her father. We shared garden vegetable quiche; she shared chicken biryani. Carla and I overate because everything was so tasty.

I am grateful for the culturally show of fatherly tenderness Raju made by touching Éa’s face when she caught her hand in the globe while fighting Sullivan over it. Perhaps it is purely cultural and doesn’t carry the same meaning in Telegu India as it does in Pennsylvania. But his willingness to touch a child he had just met simply because she was a child who was in pain was touching. At the same time, I wonder if it babies children too much. Nevertheless, I think there is something to learn there.

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I’m in no mood to journal: I feel disappointed in myself today for underaccomplishing, mostly because I didn’t make time to exercise today and haven’t managed to wheel back to get any post-launch work done on Frank’s website.

But Ethan and I had a stimulating conversation about how to live our lives following Jesus while we watched Sullivan and Everley take swim lessons and Éa and Anthem clamber around the bleachers. Unfortunately, it makes me want to get Carla to quit her jobs so we can more readily foster children.

Being a Christian family man can be confusing (see 1 Corinthians 7:32–35).

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The thing I’m most grateful for today is all the music-making that happened in my house, especially the “Beautiful Star of Bethlehem” with Matt and the three Christmas carols at the piano right before bedtime with Carla and the kids.

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I am grateful for the people who made the Make Space.

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Here is what I should have said: “Sullivan, everyone dies. But the writers of the Bible tell us that Jesus promises eternal life to, at least, all those who cling to Him (see John 3:16, John 11:25, 1 John 2:25, Titus 1:2, 1 Peter 1:3-6, etc., etc.). I’ve never seen heaven. But I believe it. Mommy believes it. Billions of people believe it. Some people have even had near-death experiences in which they almost die but somehow doctors revive them; during the time in between, they see something like heaven.

So don’t worry: God loves you so much that He won’t let death be the end of you. You will go to heaven.

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“The Lord also will be a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.”

— David, Psalm 9:9. A motto for foster care.

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Auto-generated description: A small model rocket is ready for launch on a sandy patch, with grassy fields and trees in the background.

The most significant thing that happened was that Sullivan and I finally managed to get the Yankee into the sky. It helps that I had to climb fifteen feet up into the first oak on the right side of the paved park path to retrieve the rocket after the launch.

We will both continue the hobby. That bodes well for our relationship. With Éa, I’ll always have music, but with Sully, I’ve been searching for a material thing to serve as a connecting point for us. May we be like that pair of clips on either side of the starter, side by side launching stuff into the sky.

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Carla and I sat through our first foster care preservice training class session this evening. I wasn’t surprised by anything the CYS folks said. It was heartening and entertaining to hear from the guest lecturing Pollock family, who have six kids right now. Carla and I thought we disagreed about whether we could proceed, but further conversation revealed that we agree: While she is on Council, we will stick with respite foster care only. She thought I wasn’t even OK with that; I had forgotten respite was all she wants to do at the moment.

The only other notable thing, besides the gratis Smartfood popcorn bags we snagged for the kids’ lunches tomorrow, was that I think every one of the candidates, plus the Pollocks, are motivated by their faith in Jesus Christ.

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I need not fear the prospect of my children deciding against following Christ. It may happen. But it should not cause fear, apprehension, or anxiety. Sadness, yes, but even that the sadness of someone who can’t share a specific joy with someone else, not the sadness of a man robbed of his heart and soul. I will still be Christ’s, and Christ will still be mine. And the Christ I know these days doesn’t bar people from eternal life on the basis of their professions of specific faith, anyway.

But if I do experience such emotions, as yesterday after Carla pointed out that I answered a question Sullivan had not asked (Sullivan: “I wish the Lundins came to our church.” Me: “Well, they don’t go to church. Tom doesn’t believe in God.” Sullivan: “Really? He doesn’t believe in God?”), I need not be ashamed of them. It’s my shame about those feelings that causes me to clam up and act out rather than speak plainly about them.

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Another Saturday, another end-of-day ambivalence about how I spent my time: Today is the kind in which I wish I spent more time accomplishing things and less time socializing. Often it is the reverse.

But at least the kids got to ride ponies.

A boy wearing a striped shirt is happily riding a horse on a tree-lined street with brick buildings and buildings, accompanied by someone in an orange hoodie.

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The kids’ first job should be selling programs at Penn State football games. Then pedicab driving.

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A slight feeling of stomach-drop creeped into me this evening as Sullivan came out of his bedroom after bedtime to talk through the disappointment he was feeling about how his “splat ball” that he had earned during this “cookie dough” fundraiser at Lemont Elementary was only intact for about an hour and a half this afternoon before it burst or leaked or something. He had worked relatively hard to get that splat ball, and he was sad, either that he had abused the ball so as to break it, or that it was of such poor quality as to break so easily. Carla handled his disappointment with aplomb, as you might imagine.

What is this feeling? It’s like I fear he is not going to be able to handle his disappointment and thus somehow let them lead him to despair and religious doubt.

I also felt it last night when Éa offered at the end of A Picture Book of George Washington, where it mentions Washington’s death, that our first president is now alive again. I replied that some people think so, yes, in heaven, while other people think his soul is asleep, to be resurrected by God at the end of time. The fear here is that this will sound preposterous to her, and she’ll reject Christ because of it.

The feeling comes because in the face of death, disappointment, grief, and unanswered deep questions, I fear my children may, like many in this world, come to the conclusion that knowing God isn’t worth the mental effort, and that it’s much easier to simply believe that everything is random.

But that’s why I have my list. God, I trust You; help me in my lack of trust.

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The family couldn’t get enough “Hayloft” as covered by Nickel Creek today. (Well, that and Éa liked Dave Edmunds’ “I Hear You Knocking.”) This made me uncomfortable.

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Family on and near the Millbrook Marsh boardwalk in search of jewelweed seeds to pop

I enjoy watching my family do things I suspect other families do not but which I consider healthy. In this photo, all three of them are leaning out or about to lean out past the boardwalk rail in searching of jewelweed pods ready to pop.

It turns out the seeds are edible!

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A locus of my anxiety about my religious doubt is my children. I have previously been so sure of God that I never worried about passing my faith on to them; I had what was in my mind a 100% sure platform on which to stand and call to them to join me. The thought of not being able to pass on to them something I know is true makes my stomach drop.

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Doubt has humbled me and made more sympathetic. I could also swear it has made me more patient and loving with my family.

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A young girl in a checkered dress stands with a Winnie the Pooh satchel in front of a magnolia tree and an interpretive plaque

I am very proud to walk town with my children. Among several reasons that came to mind this evening, Éa insisted we take this photo of this 150-year-old magnolia tree planted by Fred Waring, the northernmost species of magnolia—because she loves her friend whose middle name is Magnolia.

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I took an impromptu break from work late morning today to cuddle with Carla and tell her about the occasional pit in my stomach I’ve been feeling when ruminating on my doubts and when approaching the kids, or really about being wrong about anything. It was reassuring just to talk with her about it, to relate my fears and doubts to someone, and to hear in myself a commitment to endure in Christ-ward faith.

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Walking is one of my favorite activities. That means this afternoon made my happy: I not only got to walk the sheep pastures with God and sing snippets of Delirious? numbers to Him, but also got to walk from Sunset Park to Pattee Library to Rec Hall and back—about one mile each way—with Sullivan and Éa, who enjoyed seeing the sights and climbing things as much as I enjoyed watching them enjoy them.

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A child is playfully climbing a stop sign pole near a parking lot

On our Saturday morning errands, feeling proudly countercultural, I suggested the kids walk ahead of me to Barnes & Noble while I returned spoons Carla had bought from Ross Dress for Less. Sullivan’s eyes widened with excitement at the prospect. So they did it, following the sidewalk as much as they could, as instructed.

In my perfect world, there would be sidewalks connecting Ross to Barnes & Noble, and it would not be extraordinary for a six-year-old to walk to a building three hundred feet away from his dad.

(The photos is from our walk back to the car together.)

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After an evening with the Houserville Social Club that included a LifeFlight helicopter takeoff, new friends Janine & Kimberly joining us at the table, Wengyi signing up for the email list, a game of cups (frickets) played heartily with Carla, Lara, and the kids, then more dowel/disc/cup fun with just the kids, I find further peace in my current station. I am a:

The list above is enough of an identity and set of pursuits to satisfy this hungry-for-meaning soul. I need do no other “great” things. If I fulfill my roles above with all my might (the specific, mutable ones subject to Your redirection), I shall be happy, and I shall not blink on Judgment Day.

More importantly, I shall no longer be subject to judge-and-second-guess-myself day, which used to happen, like, every day of my life but now wanes in frequency until it shall soon disappear completely.

And as for my doubts and questions, whether You are a restrictivist, an inclusivist, a universalist, or even a religious figment, my life will be best lived if I live it as though You are completely real. My prayer is that my doubts have three effects: More sympathy, less dogma, especially toward my children, and more action, since faith-as-action is much more important than faith-as-specific-credence to Inclusivist Yahweh, and Restrictivist Yahweh seems to prefer action as well.

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Carla: He looks like the beggar at the Beautiful Gate.
Éa: Who?
Scott: One of the people Jesus healed. One of many.
Éa: Killed?
Scott: HEALED.
Carla: And THAT. is why I don’t want our children to read Bible stories yet.

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“Oh…

…I love cheetahs!”

— Éa, in an arrestingly genuine response to the animal-print pajamas Sullivan gave her for Christmas; she had left us because she paused about five seconds between the first and second parts, and her reply wasn’t accompanied by a smile