5/11/21

For most of my life, I’ve wondered what it would feel like to be a Dad. Growing up in a house with six children, I often wondered if I was cut out for family life or if I would be one of those people who never quite make it to the point of having a family. To be transparent, I spent most of my twenties thinking I wouldn’t have one of my own.

Yet, typing this as I look into Atlas’s eyes, I now see life through a different lens: the perspective of no longer living a life that’s all about yours truly.

Many people told me ahead of being a Dad that I wouldn’t ever be able to imagine life without my family. Now, I understand what they were talking about. When I look into his eyes, I see something I have waited thirty-three years to help create and bring into this world.

Looking back, I see the fears and trepidations I had about raising a family were well warranted. In fact, I’m glad to have spent so many years dreading the possibility of having a family, because it helped prepare me for the day when I finally became a Dad.

My fears? Money. Time. My sense of me-ness that I worried would be lost. I wasn’t raised in a family with a ton of extra money, and every little bit counted. As a result, I grew up fearing that I, too, would someday struggle to afford a family. I worried that being unable to provide as I would like to would somehow negate my ability to be a good Dad, or would disqualify me.

When I was younger, my Dad often reminded me to “use the right tools for the job” when I set my hands to a task. More often than not, this advice was given after he caught me using a screwdriver as a hammer, something it was never intended to be used for.

Ahead of Atlas’s arrival, I had many moments when I sat down with myself and soul-searched to figure out what “tools” I have available to be a Dad. The answers came quickly, as I realized my parents did an incredible—beyond incredible—job of raising their children.

They didn’t just raise their children, either. They did so much more than that for each of us. They taught us how to think, find answers, support ourselves, and contribute to the world around us with our talents.

God has given me a lot of talents. However, just like the parable of the man who left his servants for several years, giving each of them “talents” (units of currency) ahead of his departure, he tasked them with one thing: “Do something with what I gave you.”

The man left on a long journey, and returned after several years. When he returned, he met with each of his servants and asked what they’d done with the fortunes they received.

The first, given the largest sum, responded, “I took the money you gave me, invested it, and now have double the amount to return to you.”

“Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

He asked the second how they had spent the money.

“Master, I took the talents you gave me, purchased several fields, and now how have double the money to return to you.”

“Well done, thou good and faithful servant,” the master replied.

Lastly, he came to the third servant, who was given the smallest amount of money. When probed about how the funds were used, the servant replied, “Master, I know you are a hard master. You produce things where nobody else can. You make fortunes where others go poor. I feared that I wouldn’t be able to use the money as well as you could have, so I buried it in a field, and here it is for you.”

The master was furious. “You fool!” he said. “You could have given this to the money lenders, and they would have returned interest to you. Instead, what I gave you is now worth less than it was when I left.”

The servant looked at the master, knowing he had made a grave mistake.

The master continued. “Get away from me, you unworthy servant. I never knew you.” He banished the errant servant from the property, then took that money and gave it to the first servant as a reward for his faithfulness.

The lesson here is that when I was a young man, I, too, was given talents and abilities, from the ability to make money in creative ways to my writing ability. As the years have gone by, I’ve done my absolute best to be faithful with the tools, resources, network, support system, and talents I’ve been blessed with.

Now, staring into the eyes of my firstborn son, I have peace in my heart knowing the years ahead of his arrival have been spent well. Similar to how a potter works clay into a sculpture, my life has been a transformative process that I feel very lucky to be a part of.

When I look at Atlas, I see the remarkable gift that life is. In his eyes I see a reflection of my own, and it helps me understand the tremendous amount of care, grace, forgiveness, love, and support I must offer not only my son, but myself and others as well.

I will admit it’s difficult to show yourself love and care. Sometimes God sends other people into your path who need the love you haven’t shown yourself or known how to. In my life, I have had countless individuals cross my path who have helped me understand what it means to slow down, be patient, and understand that everybody needs somebody sometimes, myself included.

This book came as a result of one morning when I woke up and thought long and hard about the impending future of being a Dad. Will I be a good one? I thought.

That was when I looked back at my own life and thought about my own Dad’s shortcomings with his family. The biggest hurt was that he made promises he couldn’t keep—to me, my siblings, and our Mom.

I wondered how I would overcome the fear of repeating his mistakes. That’s when the idea of writing letters to Atlas struck me. It dawned on me that I could find one small way, every day, to show Atlas that he’s loved, wanted, and thought of long before he took his first breath.

That’s when Dear Atlas was born. I took out my iPad and began a folder to hold the notes I would write and started to write him every morning before beginning my workday.

Now, I look back at these notes and realize that a little legacy has been left for Atlas. Long before he will even be able to read these notes, they will have been read by countless others across the world, who I hope will find the same inspiration, love, and encouragement I offered him with my words.

The story is far from over. In fact, it’s only now just beginning. Looking back at 2020, I wish I could have spoken these words to myself:

Dear Aaron,

It’s me, your future self. I’m staring at your beautiful son right now, and I wanted to take a moment to share a few things with you.

You’re probably freaking out right now. That’s fine. Pregnancy is a big deal. However, I want you to know that you’ve got all the tools, abilities, talent, network, and love to be an incredible Dad, provider for your home, and partner.

I want you to know that when Atlas is here, you will have everything you need in order to provide for him—down to the tiniest of details. You will work hard, grow your client base, and finally start the process of being your own client.

I probably won’t be able to send this entire message to you from where I am. So, I want you to know one last thing, if nothing else:

It’s all worth it.

You’ll be a great Dad, too.

     Love,

You