A Father's Dilemma: Staying vs Fixing, a Guest Blog by William Sanders

Bill Sanders has become a friend of mine this year. As a courageous dad to two daughters, he shares his story here in a way that I believe will inspire you as a dad to stay dialed in to your daughter’s heart. -Michelle

“I was a broken child and dealt with things no child should have to go through. When many men would have run, he stayed. He stayed and led me through my own personal hell and he never strayed.”

When my daughter, Rachel, was 22-years old she wrote those sentences as part of an essay for her college social sciences class.

The essay started with the sentence: “The leader I admire the most is my father.”

What father wouldn’t want to hear that from his little girl?

I can assure you there were plenty of times over the years that I acted in ways that weren’t admirable. As a Christ follower, I clung to the Bible verse that said love covers a multitude of sin. I believed that I was always parenting my two girls, Rachel and Laura, out of love. I still think that’s mostly true, but to pretend I didn’t act out of selfishness at times would be just that, pretending.

So, starting from the premise that I did not always act admirably, brings me to this question: What did I do to deserve this kind of grace and love from my daughter?

I stayed.

Staying is such a boring verb, isn't it? We want to be more than stayers. As dads to daughters, we want to be heroic, larger than life, wise beyond our years. Most of all, we want to be able to fix things in our little girl’s lives.

As men, fixing is so much more appealing than just about anything else, right?

As far as being a handyman, I am lousy. I can’t fix anything around the house or on my car.

But I want to fix problems. I've wanted to fix my daughters, fix my wife, fix the neighbors (who most assuredly need fixing), and fix my waistline and hairline. It's what we men do the best. (Not fixing things, but wanting to fix things.)

Here's the rub, though. I am unqualified, unequipped, and not called on by God to fix these people or relationships. Never. I am called to be stay in the arena of their lives, to be present, to be salt and light, but not to fix. And neither are you.

Failing to fix the ones in our lives that we nobly want to fix simply leaves us exasperated and anxious. And little by little, anxiety can kill us.

I’ve been talking to men more recently about their anxieties, and about mine. I always thought I was a uniquely anxious man with a uniquely anxious family that needed, uh, fixing. But I'm not. And neither are you.

Regardless, I tried to fix Rachel. I was pretty sure she needed some well-intentioned tinkering. She had a severe anxiety disorder, one that is much better now, but it probably will always be a thorn in her side. In middle school she began having panic attacks. She became afraid to leave the house and afraid to be far away from me. I didn’t select the role of being Rachel’s emotional rock. My wife Jane didn’t ask for the role of being her logistical rock and fierce advocate for her in school.

These were the roles that Rachel assigned to us.

I became obsessed with my role, to the point of being an enabler.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines enabler as: “A person or thing that makes something possible.” I guess you could say that being her emotional rock became my identity. My happiness and wellbeing were dependent on Rachel’s happiness and wellbeing. What a horrible burden to cast upon her. What a ridiculous expectation.

Somewhere along the way, even though I knew better, I became convinced the God was calling me to become all things to Rachel. I was to be her rock, to find a way to cure/fix her, to not rest until she rested, and to carry the burden of knowing that if I failed, she’d wither on the vine and eventually slide into an inescapable shell.

I’ve never heard God speak audibly to me. I tend to look at people funny who say they’ve experienced that, though who am I to judge. But I did get a clear sense that in my spirit, God was lovingly whispering to me:

“Hey my beloved knucklehead. What are you doing to yourself? I’ve got this. I called you to stay, not be her god. Stay. Stay in her life. Stay in the arena of battle, but only to hold her close, not to win the fight for her emotional wellbeing.”

Or something like that. The Bible urges us to cast our burdens upon God and to rest in Him. I was not even close to doing either of those.

But I stayed, not only physically, but also emotionally and spiritually.

Men, staying was my calling. Yet I wanted a nobler calling. But turns out, it was plenty noble. For a dad as flawed as I was and still am, one prone to watching too much TV, who thinks he is funnier than he probably is, and occasionally says the exact wrong thing at the exact worst time, staying was enough to have my daughter call  me her hero.

I bet it might be for you and your daughter, too.