Category: Uncategorized

Week of Silence Day 4: Arguing with your Wife

bryan dupuis4 Comments

The Last 24 Hours

Occasionally, my Wife and I will have  a little “discussion”, which is a fine, Christian way of saying we had an argument.  Last night was one such “discussion”.  Have you ever tried having a “discussion” with a spouse who was trying to “discuss” without using words? I have to imagine I looked pretty ridiculous — sweeping arm motions, flexing eyebrows, texting my point and pointing to my mouth as I say the words (as if that helps her understand me any better).  I even resorted to my Smartphone app that speaks whatever I text….and I used the Hugh Grant voice….how can you lose an argument with an English accent??? (trust me, it’s entirely possible)

What I’ve Learnedwww-St-Takla-org--Domenico-Ghirlandaio-Annuncio-dell-Angelo-a-Aaccaria-02-details

Listening. There is nothing passive about listening. In fact, it’s one of the most active ways we can communicate.  When you aren’t speaking, then you don’t have to reply immediately to what someone is saying. When you don’t have to reply, you have time….time to….listen.  Typically, we have a conversation or argument or discussion, by half listening to the other person, gleaning just enough information to formulate our own response. We fire off a few rounds of sound argument, and then in the time it takes the other person to respond, we reload and prepare to fire as soon as they are done speaking. We are not focusing on the words being said, and the emotions attached to those words, we are simply waiting for the other person to stop talking so that we can start again.

This is true within Washington, D.C., as well as the Church; Between family members and long time friends.Between children and parents, and Husbands and Wives.  We have entire segments of the population who have forgotten how to listen; who believe they already know what the “other side” has to say, and they already disagree with it. People who would rather keep talking so they don’t have to listen. Listening is not only vital to communication, it is itself an act of love, honor, humility, and good faith.

My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry. James 1:19

My Broken Home

bryan dupuis11 Comments
I was a grown man when I learned my parent’s were getting a divorce. One would assume I had plenty of life experience from which to draw on in order to cope with the sudden changes….but age does not always predict how well you will “manage” the unforeseen events in your life.
This past summer I was at a writing seminar in Minnesota, and we were working on complete metaphors — where your writing appears to be all about one thing, when it is really about something else. I found myself alone one night, writing about my experience with my parent’s divorce. I was sitting at a desk, crying uncontrollably as I wrote out in a story so much of what I have tried to hold back. It was a cathartic and freeing experience as I continued the process of understanding, reconnecting, and moving forward.
Whether good or bad, I rarely share personal struggles that cannot be wrapped up in 300 words – which would explain why my fingers have hovered over the “post” button for 20 minutes. I only pray it will be helpful to someone else just as it was helpful to me.

“By the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect.” Apostle Paul

broken home

Our Chevy Malibu galloped up Interstate 65 through Indiana as the landscape rolled out into flat, open spaces. The hills faded away, leaving us with crops and fields and rows and barns. We were pressing toward the prize of this 14-hour trip – home, to Illinois, to my home. I was told my home was unfixable now – that years of neglect had left professionals with nothing to work with and it was time to find another home; I knew that to be impossible.

I had memorized every square inch of that house; I knew it’s story, it’s strengths and it’s weaknesses. I even knew the places that needed repair and reinforcements. This was not the sort of thing you paid much attention to as a child, but in retrospect you can see the signs of dysfunction just below the surface – a crack here, some mold there, left without attention anything is liable to decay and brokenness. But I could fix it, I just needed to walk around the old neighborhood, stand on the porch for a while, then I could see what needed to be fixed, explain what to do next, and save this house – save our house.

The next morning I slipped out of bed, meandered around my children asleep in piles of blankets on the floor, and drove off in my car alone.

I made my way toward Bel- Aire Subdivision – turning left on Kathy drive, right on Ardith, and then another left on to Anita. I decided to park down at the end of the street and double back to the house. I stepped out of the car and in to the cold, damp, heavy morning air. Before me an intrusive strip mall complete with nail salon and a dollar store, disfigured the field that played host to so many afternoon ball games. I walked the sidewalks, now broken by extreme temperatures, bleeding out weeds and dandelions. Houses looked small and lifeless; fences bowed; what once was the neighborhood you wanted to live in now became the neighborhood you drove through, to get to the neighborhood you wanted to live in.

Lost in the memories of a former life, picturing friends, remembering adventures, recalling neighbors long since departed, I stumbled upon 136 Anita Drive. I stopped frozen to the pavement, afraid to move any closer. This used to be the home I knew, but what stood before me was only a house – sagging and strained under the pressures of life. The grass and weeds conspired to take it over. The shutters hung loose and the roof had long since peeled its protective skin. The thoughts and questions in my head mixed with the cry of my heart and spilled out of my mouth. “With a little work this could’ve been saved” I informed God. “Why did no one fight for this house – it was worth fighting for!” Tears patiently repelled down the grooves of my face and on to my t-shirt. I knelt down to feel the grass one last time. I climbed the steps to the front porch and sat for a moment, fearing I was the last one to say goodbye, to walk away and to move on.

The cool wind picked up again, nudging me from my grief, and reminding me that my children would be awake soon. So I stepped down from the porch, followed the path of the sidewalk onto the driveway, where another sidewalk was waiting to show me the way back to my car, the way to move forward.

Arriving at the room, I kissed my children on the forehead and pulled the blankets back up over their tiny bodies. I slipped back under the covers, slid over to my wife’s side, wrapped my cold arm around her warm body, and held her close. She stirred briefly; I kissed her gently on the temple and whispered, “it’s worth fighting for” then slowly drifted off to sleep.

Letters to my Children: It should come with a warning….

bryan dupuis9 Comments

Evan, Adeline, and Malina,100_5419

It happened again the other day. I was at home after a full day of work. We were in the basement playing and you (Evan) started calling my name. I had no idea that you had called my name several times earlier and finally gave up. But you really wanted me to play so you tried again. I wish I could say I heard you the first time, or the second, or the third. It wasn’t until you yelled my name that I looked up from my phone.

I was in the room but nowhere near any of you.  I was around but not fully present. In that moment I surrendered and allowed myself to be controlled by a device I carry in my back pocket.

Your face was a mixture of frustration and confusion, wondering what I was reading that was more important than the Lego Ninjago you were trying to assemble and needed help with.  It wasn’t until I saw your face that I wondered the same thing.

The technology I have in my life right now is amazing. The technology you will have when you are my age is hard to imagine. I am saying all of this to you three because I believe that for your generation, one of the greatest challenges to following Jesus, living in community with others and engaging the world will be to be fully present  — to God, to one another, and to others you will encounter in your life.

The more technology develops the more it seems to implant itself in the fabric of daily life. This is not a bad thing, but it should come with a warning….be present, engage people fully, quiet yourself before God. Nothing will be more important than being completely in the moment, lost in a conversation or an experience or great beauty….without distraction.

When it comes to responding to you or responding to the flashing green light on my hand-held device….may you never have to wonder who will win.

Love,

Your Dad.

Talking in the Bathroom: The Difference between Men and Women

bryan dupuis10 Comments

It’s dinner time and we are at a restaurant.

As soon as the first bite of food hits my lips, my daughter taps me on the leg and whispers in my ear, “Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom.” The timing of that statement every single night at dinner is beyond coincidence. I smile at her as if to say, “Of course you do honey.”

I push back from the table, grab her little hand, and we walk to the front of the restaurant. As the door opens to the bathroom, we are flooded with sights and sounds that must all be pointed out AND commented on by my very observant child.  There is paper on the floor and a bulb is blinking; the music is loud, it’s freezing in there, and it smells like fruit. “Which door should we go in?” she asks. “How about this one?” I answer. “No, let’s go in the big door” she replies. “Okay, honey, just go in” I said. “No, I want you to go in with me.” I stand inside the stall door as she prepares to sit down.

With her elbows on her knees and her hands on her chin, she begins to carry on a very LOUD conversation, sometimes with me and sometimes with herself, her tiny high-pitched voice bouncing around the room. Someone else enters the room and she says, “who is that Daddy?” I look at her with bulging eyes and quickly shake my head back and forth. “What?” she asks. “Nothing” I whisper.

She doesn’t understand….partly because she is three, and partly because she is a female.  You see ladies, men have a very long and technical list of rules to follow upon entering a bathroom.  I know it doesn’t make sense and it may even seem petty and immature….I didn’t make the rules, I just follow them. My daughter was breaking rule #1: You do not talk! This is followed very closely by the other rules: You don’t look around, you don’t make eye contact, you don’t stand particularly close to anyone else in the bathroom. When you enter the stall, you enter a guarded space, a quiet space; you certainly NEVER carry on a conversation with the person sitting in the stall next to you!

The gentleman enters the stall beside us, and I see my daughter staring at his shoes. I raise my finger in the shhhhh position, but it is too late. “Who is that?” she asks. “I don’t know honey, are you done?” “I like his shoes” she says loudly. “Okay, are you done?” But she is not done, and she won’t be done for another 10 minutes.  Someone else enters the bathroom and pulls on the handle to the door of our stall. Adeline, looks up with her mouth open, I reach out and put my hand over it. She pushes my hand away and yells, “Who’s there?”

I am dying inside.

“Be right out” I said. “I’m going poo poo” she informs him. At that point, having followed my brave daughter into the unknown world of talking in the bathroom, I start to laugh uncontrollably.  “I’m done” she says with a smile. “Oh thank you” I reply.

We wash our hands and head back to the table, exhausted.  As soon as we get back to our seats my Son says, “I have to go to the bathroom too!”.  Before my Wife can even respond I shout, “I’ll take him!”

We walk back up to the bathroom….in silence….the way God made us.

I’m Voting for Obama

bryan dupuis2 Comments

Ok this is an experiment.

I am not actually talking about who I am voting for in this blog, but I am curious….

I’m curious about the gut responses of those who would read a title like that.  I’m also curious about how many people simply read the title and refused to read further.

Sure, I could have used “I’m voting for Romney” all the same; but let’s face it, such a statement, in our geographical context, would not have received the same thoughts and reactions.

This is what I know: Come Sunday, November 11, you will find yourself sitting in a row with someone at your church, who voted for a different candidate than you.  You will worship, proclaim “Christ is risen”, share the cup of communion, or serve beside someone who has given their life to Jesus, received the promise of the Holy Spirit, and STILL voted for the other guy.

Could it be, that the greatest challenge for the body of Christ, and thus the greatest opportunity for the display of love and unity that comes with corporate surrender to Jesus, will not be Tuesday….but rather Sunday morning.

I pray we will not participate in a new form of segregation — not based on the color of skin, or one’s heritage, or one’s financial makeup….but rather one’s vote in the booth.

So be involved, study all that you can, vote for your candidate….and then be prepared to love   the winners AND the losers.

Remembering Rich Mullins

bryan dupuis2 Comments

One of the things I loved about summertime in High school was jumping in a car with my friend, Charlie, and traveling all over the midwest to go see, Rich Mullins, in concert. He didn’t look like other Christian artists at the time, he didn’t talk like other Christian artists at the time, and he didn’t live like…well….like most Christian people I knew at the time.  You didn’t always agree with everything that he said, but you left the concert focused again on Jesus, and on his call to radical obedience – spoken by a man who gave up considerable income and lived on a Navajo reservation in a trailer.

I’ve included just one clip from a concert he gave the year that he died….hard to believe his death happened 15 years ago today.

If you’ve never listened much to Rich Mullins, I would give him a try — I consider him one of the most gifted song writers to come out of Christian music.

Carrying Death in His Hands: The Conclusion

bryan dupuis

To Read part I  click here. To Read part II click here.

Carrying Death in His Hands.

The crisp, spring air filled the room where Bathsheba slept, drawing her from that purgatory between fully dreaming and fully awake, where the lines between what is real and what is illusion are harder to find.

“Bathsheba!” Uriah’s voice echoed throughout the house. “Bathsheba?”  Bathsheba leaped from bed, and turned the corner to find her husband gathering his things and carelessly shoving them into his sack. “Uriah, what is it?” Bathsheba asked rhetorically.  Uriah turned and rushed toward her, clutching papers in his right hand. “I just left the palace, I was with my commander….I’m heading out….today….right now….

“What is that in your hand, Uriah?”

“My orders, for my commanders upon my return.”

David and Uriah by Rembrandt

“What do your orders say?” Bathsheba probed with subtle curiosity and growing fear.

“I….I don’t know….I haven’t read them….they….they are for my commander, Bathsheba.” Uriah said, his excitement dampened by his Wife’s confusing line of questioning.

“Bathsheba….I will carry these orders back with me to my men; I will fight for our King; and then I will return home to you and we will begin our family.” Bathsheba could only stare at him with pity. He placed his hands on each side of her face so as to catch the tears now on the downward slope of her check bones.

“But Uriah I….” “Not now” Uriah stopped her. “What till I return….I will be back soon.” He then turned to finish collecting his things.

A few hours later, two riders from the King’s palace arrived at the door to escort, Uriah, back to the battlefield.  Bathsheba stood in the door frame of their house as, Uriah, mounted his horse and secured his sack. He removed his helmet and turned to see, Bathsheba, one more time. She smiled and raised her hand. Uriah, sat motionless, staring at her as though he were mentally sketching every detail of her frame. He raised his hand to match hers, smiled, then quickly snapped the reigns and sped away with his escort.

In his hands he still held the orders from his King.  If only Uriah would’ve opened the letter and read his orders. just inside the fold were the words,

Uriah, battle, retreat, struck down, die.

Oh to carry death in your hands and be unaware of it.  As Bathsheba watched her husband disappear out of sight, she became a witness to the ravages of sin; the power that it wields to permeate all of life, to wound, to break, to steal, to kill, and to destroy.  By Winter, Bathsheba, would  give birth to her first child, a boy. She and her husband, King David, would also carry death in their hands, pleading for the life of their firstborn, as death once again takes what it does not deserve.

Weeks have passed since she said goodbye to Uriah, and Bathsheba makes her way to the rooftop, in the cool of the evening. As she sits in the bath, she recognizes the faint glow of torches, being carried by riders on horseback. As they move closer, she can make out two men from the King’s army, weaving through town and moving closer to her house. Bathsheba, steps out of the tub, dresses, and makes it down to the door in time to greet the two men. No words are exchanged. One of the soldiers pulls a letter from his saddle, walks over to Bathsheba, and places it softly in her hands. The two men mount their horses, turn quickly and gallop away, unaware of the tiny frame of what was once a wife, now collapsed by the doorway in a pile of sorrow.

Carrying Death in His Hands Part II

bryan dupuis
To read Part I of this short story, click here.

Death in His Hands Part II.

The walls of their home danced with shadows as Uriah and Bathsheba sat by candle light and rehearsed the story of their individual lives until they moved in step once again.  Uriah, said very little about the fighting that had taken him away from, Bathsheba, many months ago.  Occasionally she would ask a question that moved closer to the memories of combat, to which, Uriah, would respond by questioning the King’s decision to call him home, away from his men, away from his duties.

David & Uriah by Rembrandt

Bathsheba, could also not bring herself to mention the unseen battle she was engaged in just a few months ago; a battle that led to her surrender, led away like a captive to the sinful desires of a King whose eyes fell on Bathsheba one day as he walked the balcony of his palace instead of the fields of war.  She recalls every detail of that night with a strange mix of fondness and regret. She remembers all of the moments along the way to her King’s bed when she could have stopped, whatever the cost, she could have stopped….why didn’t she stop?

As they continued to talk, Bathsheba felt the tension draining from her body. With each kiss, each touch, she was reintroduced to the man who years ago took her hand and brought her to his house.  The hour was late, and so she rose, took the hand of her husband, and led him to their bed. Uriah first walked willingly behind her, then stopped suddenly, as though he recognized the moment.  “Bathsheba….I….can’t” he said quietly. “Tonight, as I sit by your side, my men, my brothers, are sleeping under the stars, burying the dead and preparing for another battle.” “How….how can I live with you in this house as though I were unaware?” Bathsheba stared into her husband’s eyes with great longing….but even greater admiration.  Uriah, leaned forward and kissed her on her forehead, lingering for just a moment to breathe in the fragrance that was unique to his wife. He then turned, moved toward his bag, and spread out a bed on the ground.

“I’m pregnant, Uriah” Bathsheba whispered as she watched her husband prepare for bed. “I’m pregnant with King David’s child….I’m….I’m so sorry”.  She could not speak the words any louder, just as she could not foresee the series of events that an evening with the King would set in to motion, and the devastating consequences for everyone involved….

Carrying Death in His Hands Part I

bryan dupuis

After a month away, I am back to writing. I decided to start my blog again with a retelling of a familiar (maybe too familiar) story in the bible.  You can read the story in 2 Samuel 11 by clicking here.  

Carrying Death in His Hands.

Uriah, stood in the doorway of his house….his bones ached from exhaustion, his mind tortured by images of battle, his senses taunted by the sights and smells, and familiarity of home.  He could see her by the open window, rays of afternoon sun flirting with her black hair that hung like curtains around her neck. Just the sight of her frame brought back memories of a life outside of war, and filled Uriah’s eyes with tears as the longing of his heart found expression on his face.

David & Uriah by Rembrandt

“Bathsheba” He whispered through parched lips.

Bathsheba’s hands froze in the dough she was kneading. She looked up but could not wrestle her body to face him. “Bathsheba?” Uriah spoke firmly this time, leaving no doubt she could hear him. She turned toward him, eyes pooling with tears; she wiped the remnants of dinner preparation on her gown as she bounded toward him. Uriah dropped the sack in his hand and ran to hold her. The force of his hug consumed her and sent them both stumbling across the room. He pulled back from their embrace to study her face again. Bathsheba’s eyes were a mixture of colors and textures; splashes of joy and hope; streaks of shame, shades of regret.

“What’s….what’s wrong Bathsheba?” Uriah asked, confused by the mixed greeting in her expression.

Bathsheba wrestled her face into submission, forcing the corners of her mouth to rise against their will until she presented him a smile. “it’s….it’s just been so long, and….I wasn’t expecting you….I have nothing ready, nothing prepared for….” Uriah placed his hands on each side of her face, and guided her lips toward his.  “I’m home….with you….everything is….perfect”.

Uriah embraced her tightly. Bathsheba knew that everything was far from perfect. The child growing inside of her, was now a constant reminder of the double life she had entered into. As she held her husband, she could see the walls of the King’s Palace behind him, invading the open window of their house, dividing the couple joined in embrace, and conquering a love she once believed was as strong as death.

She needed to tell him….he needed to know the truth….

Fish Funerals and Talking Death to Children….

bryan dupuis2 Comments
The Cosby Show Fish Funeral

My children’s fish, Shimmer, died the other day after spending approximately 13 days with our family….it was a rich, full life.

None of them seemed too upset by the whole thing. They were more intrigued with the manner in which we were going to dispose of him.  I can still see their three little heads peering over the edge of the toilet bowl, faces reflecting in the tranquil waters, waiting for me to empty the cup that held their new friend.

I asked the three of them if there were any final words they wanted to say about their fish….they said no. I asked if any of them would like to say a prayer….again they said no. Finally, one of the three spoke up and said….”just drop him in the toilet”.

So I did….shimmer circled rapidly and then disappeared.  Our three children marched out of the bathroom and picked up with the batman adventure this “funeral” had interrupted.

It’s hard for a parent to know how much to say about death to their children.  One big reason is that the term “death” in their world  does not (for our children) come burdened with the feelings of loss, hurt, pain, and sadness….not yet.  I know some day this must be a part of their life experience, as it is for all people of all ages.  But right now they seem as innocent as the garden before humanity’s awful choice gave us such words as “death”.

Ever since the “funeral” they have been asking more questions about getting older, and about death.  My wife and I are trying our best to speak clearly and honestly about the subject.  That is until the other night, when our six-year-old was lying in his bed and I was saying good night.  He was asking me why I have “white hairs” starting to appear on my head. I told him it was because I was getting older. You could almost see the connections taking place in his brain. His voice then got quiet, and weak, and he asked me, “when are you going to die?”

“oh….not for a long, long, long, time.”

My eyes started to well with tears.  It was true….well mostly….kind of…..In that moment I felt so small, having so much less control over life than I pretended to have.  My answer reflected my hope and prayer, but not necessarily the reality. I realized I am prepared to face the reality of death at any moment and in every aspect of my life, except when it comes to my children.

So I kissed his forehead, and gave him a big hug. He laughed about the stubble on my face scratching his cheek.  We said goodnight, and I left the room. Walking down the hall, I repeated the lyrics to an old song I had heard many times in the bible:

“Teach us to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom.” Psalm 90: 12

That’s where I’m at….this is not a fixed post with a typical opening, stating of problem, and solution to problem. This is just the confession of a young parent, who realized something about my life from watching a Beta fish disappear into our toilet.

To my Wife: 5 things I remember about our wedding day

bryan dupuis

Well it was hot….                                                                             

The church was packed, it was over one hundred degrees outside, and part of our decorating was obstructing the intake for the air conditioning units.  Not to mention the fact that we had unknowingly ordered winter tuxedos that appeared to be lined with the latest North Face warming technology.  Some assumed I was crying….they just couldn’t see the sweat rolling down my young face.  But through the sweat and the tears, I could easily see you as you walked toward me.

And you were beautiful….

It wasn’t just how you looked in the dress or the way you wore your hair up. You were beaming, from every look and each smile, you lit up the room that day….as you still do today.

We were so young….

I look at the pictures and I see a couple just out of college, with little knowledge about anything further than the moment we were enjoying. Before jobs and bills and ministry and moving it was just you and I surrounded by friends and family and in the presence of the One who brought us together.  Many years from now, we will again be together — just you and I. When that time comes, I want you to  know you will still be my bride and my best friend.

And so broke….

Some things never change. I remember coming back from our honeymoon and packing all of our belongings into the smallest Uhaul that was available….with room to spare.  Most of what we filled our first apartment with were still in boxes, having received them as wedding presents.  That first apartment would now fit in our basement.

But God has been so faithful….

What an amazing journey so far….so much more than I expected and far more than I deserve.  Marriage and then fatherhood is forever shaping and sharpening me into more than I ever would’ve become on my own.

And you’re still so beautiful….

You are so much more than that picture from our wedding day.  The passing of time, having children, and the changes of life do not make you inferior to that young girl in the photo….to me, they make me love you so much more.

Happy Anniversary.

Bryan

I Might be Stealing Cable

bryan dupuis

“It wasn’t our mistake and if they haven’t corrected the problem yet than that’s NOT our fault!”

That’s the line I was feeding myself this past week….                

Several weeks ago we called to have some problems with our cable checked out. They gave us our “window of opportunity” and we waited for their call and eventual arrival.  The worker was very nice and very fast. He quickly pinpointed the problem, told us what to do next, and flew off to fight bad cable connections in other parts of the city.

To our surprise, we realized when he left that we now had the next “step up” in cable channels. Previously, we had basic cable, which consisted of 7 channels we actually watched, and a few home shopping channels. We were fine with basic cable. We actually felt like we were fighting the system, unplugging from the matrix, and freeing ourselves from the bondage of filth and moral decay on display before us….plus it was cheap!

We assumed that soon the problem would be detected, corrected, and we would go back to basic cable. We decided to enjoy it while we could and waited to have it taken away at any moment.  We gorged ourselves on news shows, kids shows, shows about people in swamps and grandmas who horde things.

The first week passed, and then the second, and then the third….we still had all of the channels. What could this mean? Is this a blessing from God? Could we be more effective in ministry if we went ahead and kept all these channels….you know, for ministry purposes??

Or maybe we were just stealing cable.

This creates quite a dilemma when what you want wrestles to a draw with what you know is right — and you must decide who wins.  You kick and scream and rationalize and make excuses and blame other people.

Seems like every day we encounter all sorts of opportunities to put feet to our beliefs — to truly decide in private what we say is settled in public.

So, we will call the cable company and report THEIR mistake…..tomorrow….I mean right after Thursday’s “must see TV”….fine after the weekend but not a day…..

Okay….I’ll call today.

On my Wife’s Birthday: The Reason I broke into your House

bryan dupuis

It’s simple really.

We had only been dating for about 8 months and it was my girfriend’s birthday. When you’re first dating, birthdays become a way not only to celebrate the person you are with, but also a way for the boyfriend to showcase his spontaneity, thoughtfulness, and apparently, his disregard for laws about breaking and entering.

So Penny, was away with her family back in Ohio and would be returning the evening of her birthday. I can’t remember when it hit me, but some time over that weekend, I had the perfect idea. I would get in to their house, decorate it with balloons and streamers and presents. I would then leave, and wait for the phone call to listen to her scream with joy.  Boys (at any age) will do some of stupidest things imaginable for the love of a girl. My stupidity was telling me to break in to a house and throw a party.

I arrived at her house with my box of supplies and presents. It was midday….no need to hide my love under the cover of darkness like a common criminal.

Now Penny’s parents used to leave their front door unlocked all the time. This stems from growing up in a rural (and honest) part of Ohio. I fully expected to turn the knob and walk right in….it was locked….I started to sweat.  My mind racing, I decided to walk around the house (that sat in the middle of a subdivision) and try all of the windows. I moved to the back of the house, and lifted on Penny’s bedroom window….it slid open. (Editor’s note: That window being unlocked had nothing to do with Penny and I….just so we’re clear)

Now the window was over my head and since I hadn’t planned on needing a ladder, and nothing was going to stand in the way of high school love, I lifted the window as much as I could and dropped my supplies inside. I then jumped up, grabbed hold of the window sill, and struggled with my little arms to lift myself inside. I can only imagine what this looked like to the neighbor who might step into her backyard to see my legs flailing out the window. I dropped into Penny’s room, grabbed my box, and started walking toward the living room to begin the birthday version of shock and awe.

That’s when I heard it.

Voices. Two people talking in another room. It sounded like a muffled argument. I dropped to the floor and listened. There was definitely someone in the house. I crawled on my stomach into the living room. Why would there be someone here? Were they being robbed? Breaking into a house out of greed? I broke into this house out of love for a woman! I crawled a little closer….it was quiet. Then I heard voices again coming from her Parent’s bedroom. My heart was pounding, I felt like Bruce Willis in every Die Hard movie I had ever seen.

Inching closer to the door, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my puny body. The voices went quiet again….I strained to hear what was going on. That’s when I heard, “Are you tired of hard-water stains, or toilet bowls that won’t come clean no matter how hard you scrub?” Why was this group of thugs talking about CLR??

I cracked the door to find the TV was left on in her parent’s bedroom. After stopping in the bathroom to throw up, I got to work hanging streamers and balloons and setting out Penny’s presents.

Penny,

The reason I broke into your house that day, 18 years ago, is because I tried so hard to do on that day what I now realize cannot be done in one day or in a single party….to express all that you mean or how much I love you. There is no card, there aren’t enough streamers, and I could never find the perfect gift that expresses the gratitude I feel for you.

That is why I am thankful God has given me a lifetime to begin to express my appreciation for the gift that you are to me and to our children.

And if any boy tries to break in to our house out of “love for a girl” I will toss his butt in jail.

Happy Birthday.

Bryan

Letter to My Daughter: We’re more than Friends

bryan dupuis4 Comments

Dear Malina,

There is a tricycle that you love to ride even though you can’t touch the pedals. The only way for you to ride with your brother and sister, is for me to stand on the back of the tricycle, lean over you to hold the handle bars, and push with one foot like a skateboard….You love it.

But recently, while we were out cruising the streets around our house, you kept pushing my hands away from the handle bars.  You wanted to steer, and if you were going to steer, then I had to let go. But you weren’t ready for me to let go. I had already caught you several times to keep you from falling.  You could barely sit in the seat and reach the handle bars, let alone steer.  But you insisted, and when I wouldn’t let go, you threw a pretty impressive fit in the middle of the road.

While you were stomping your feet, my developing “parental brain” was running the calculations — evaluating the risk of letting you go your own way compared to the expected outcome, measured against the “show” you were putting on for people driving by our little “display”.  In the end, I decided to steer….and you decided to fall down from the bike and flop like a fish….You didn’t like me very much in that moment.

This is something I’m learning about parents.  Sometimes, parents think that getting their children to “like” them is the sign of a good parent. So instead of doing what they know is best for their children, they give them control, let them steer their lives before they are ready.

But Malina, Your Mommy and I love you too much to simply give you what you want, or to be just one of your friends.  The responsibility that God has given us, is not simply to make you a friend, but to train you up, and guide you, and correct you. We’ve been told to help you grow and prepare, to challenge you, protect you, and celebrate all that you are becoming.

Eventually you got back on the tricycle, we made our way back home and you liked me again.

Eventually, I know I will have to let you steer, and fall down…on tricycles and in life. With God’s help, your Mommy and I will do all that we can to prepare you to live a life loving God, other people, and the world around you. And as your friends, we will walk with you every step of the way, for as long as we can.

Love,

Your Dad.

Next Friday my “Letters to My Children” series will move to its own site. I hope you will make plans to check it out, invite others and follow along.

Breakfast for my 3 children….Bill Cosby Style

bryan dupuis2 Comments

So last night it was just me and my three children. This morning, they awoke from their peaceful slumber seeking something to eat.

Now I’m not able to say exactly what they had for breakfast this morning, because my wife reads these blog posts. But I think my time with our children this morning would best be illustrated by the brilliant comedy of Mr. Bill Cosby….

Everything is fine honey….

Letter to my Children: But that was the Style!

bryan dupuis1 Comment

Dear Evan, Adeline, and Malina,

A few years from now, while you are doing your Saturday chores (hint hint) you will stumble upon some pictures of your Mom and I.  You’ll stare at those pictures as if you were holding an ancient artifact. Oh you’ll have a great time laughing at the way we dressed, wondering if we were just as embarrassed to be seen in those clothes then as you would be now.

What you don’t realize is at the time those photographs were taken, the clothes we were wearing were actually the clothes that everyone was wearing.  What you now see as ridiculous was considered, “in style”.  As teenagers, we beg, borrow, and steal to be “in”, only to find out (just a few years later) that we are now “out” only to realize a few years after that (somehow) we are back “in” again. That’s the thing about popular fashion, it’s a constantly moving target designed to keep you ready to spend your parent’s money so you can look like everyone else.

So have a great laugh at our expense, but never forget this children….that one day….

One day someone will look at you in a picture, and see you in those clothes that you just had to have, and they will laugh and laugh. You see time is the great equalizer, and given enough time, you too will find yourself trying to defend your fashion choices to a group of teenagers who look at you like you were wearing a clown suit.  You will try to explain to them that you were actually “in” and “cool”…. but it won’t work.

I look forward to that day, children, when a younger generation looks at your skinny jeans and neck scarves and Toms shoes and says to you the immortal words of every passing generation, “what were you thinking?”

Enjoy those pictures.

Love,

Your Dad.

This post is part of a continuing series entitled, “Letters to my Children.” You can learn more by clicking here.

Letter to my daughter: Something you said

bryan dupuis1 Comment

Typically the “Letters to My Children” series runs on Fridays, but I’m finding that there are always things that come up during the week that I have to get down on paper. So I am writing a letter on Wednesday and Friday this week.

Dear Adeline,

You were in the car with me today as we dropped Evan off at school. On the way back, we were talking about the weather, the clouds, and storms. Then, after a few moments of quiet, listening to the hum of the road, you started talking again. “Hey daddy….if we were in a boat….and um….and there was a storm….Jesus would, Jesus would just walk out on the water and rescue us.” You said this as you made the walking motion with two of your fingers, walking them up your arm.

“That’s true honey” I said. A moment of silence. “Because Jesus will rescue us from every storm” you said.  I started to laugh. Not because what you said was funny, but because I was amazed. You soak in everything at this age, from the conversations that Mommy and I have, the stories we read before bed, and the lessons you learn in your bible study.  I was also amazed because, at just three years of age, you spoke a truth about life that you don’t fully understand yet. At this age you are learning the lines to a story you have not had a chance to live. It’s like outlining a picture that only time will allow you to fully color.

Adeline, I don’t know what the picture of your life will be, but whether you are three or thirty-three, what you said today in the car will always be true. If you find yourself in a storm, Jesus will always walk out to you….always.  While you may still have to face the storm, you will never face it alone.

Thank you for the reminder.

Love,

Your Dad.

This post is part of my “Letters to My Children” series. You can read more about it by clicking here.

Letter to my Son: Why you need your Sisters

bryan dupuis4 Comments

Dear Evan,

Right now you don’t fully understand why it is you have or need a sister, let alone two of them. Some days it may appear that your sisters exist to get in your way and touch your things. The three of you are learning how to live together under the same roof, with access to the same toys.

I know, because like you, I grew up with two sisters. A few things I learned very early growing up with sisters. 1. They cry a bit more than I am generally comfortable crying.  2. They have more to say than I generally feel comfortable saying.  3. They enjoy a different version of make-believe and pretend than I do.

I know a brother would have been nice. But you and I don’t get to decide those sorts of things (and don’t expect a sibling of any kind at this point).  But, Evan, believe me when I tell you that you need your sisters, both now and in the years to come. What can seem like an inconvenience at this point will in time prove to be one of your greatest assets.  Growing up with two sisters can sometimes feel like you are on the outside of a strange world looking in….that never changes. But all of that time spent up close with your sisters….all of the confusion and frustration that comes with trying to navigate those relationships will ultimately make you a better man….and one day, a better husband and Father to your own children.

You and I have lots to learn about Women.  Much of that education will come from your family, and from Adeline and Malina in particular.  I owe so much of how I see the world, how I view other people, and even the way I communicate, to growing up with sisters. One day, you’ll see as I do now, that sisters are a gift we brothers often take for granted.  Rarely do I tell them just how much I miss them….and how deeply I love them.

So for now, you don’t have to wear the wig or pretend to be the “student” or the “daddy”.  But it wouldn’t hurt to take Luke Skywalker on a ride in the Barbie mobile once in a while.

Love your sisters….they will always be there for you.

Love,

Your Dad.

This post is part of my “Letters to My Children” series. You can read more about it by clicking here.

Letter to my children: 22 Minutes

bryan dupuis

                                                          

Dear Evan, Adeline, and Malina

22 minutes.

That’s about how long one of your T.V. shows lasts without commercials (or at least it was when I wrote this). It’s not very long. But in that short period of time, most of life’s situations appear to be fixed, changed, or overcome.  That’s the problem with television shows. It’s not that they show too much, it’s that they don’t show enough.

T.V. doesn’t show you that sometimes decisions you make have consequences that may continue on for years. A 22 minute episode doesn’t show you that trust, once it is broken, takes a long time to earn back.  A cast of (seemingly) independently wealthy kids who appear to go to school 3 hours a day once or twice a week, doesn’t show you that you will have to wait and save and work very hard for the things you want.  Relationships take time to grow and following Jesus is a life-long journey.

Just don’t let what you see on a scripted T.V. show fool you in to approaching life this way, expecting that which takes a lifetime to show up magically and on demand.

Life is full of ups and downs and failing and succeeding. Within all of that there is great opportunity to learn, and remember, and grow….but growing takes time. Compared to the rhythm of a show on T.V., real life is hard, but it is also beautiful.

So don’t stop, no matter how long or how hard your journey. Learn all that you can from all that you experience. But remember, your life is not filmed, “before a live studio audience”….but rather an audience of One.

Live your life in God’s love and by God’s Spirit, and every step you take in life will give you more than any 22 minute story could tell.

Love,

Your Dad.

This post is part of my “Letters to My Children” series. You can read more about it by clicking here

I am a human trafficker

bryan dupuis2 Comments

The unfortunate truth is that most of us (whether we were asked to or not ) contribute to the sin of human trafficking, we just don’t realize it. It’s seems impossible to imagine that we contribute to something so horrific.  And yet….we spend money on Christmas decorations or certain brands of shoes, or electronics that make our lives more comfortable, not realizing that such comfort comes with a price — and that price is the men, women, boys and girls who work unreasonable hours in harsh conditions, often against their will, so that we can decorate a tree or sync our phone with our laptop.

Then there is the sex trade, that stretches around the world and across our town.  Young girls, forced into dark rooms, to experience day after day unimaginable terror at the hands of their captors and “clients”.  To think that I have anything to do with any form of slavery makes me sick, and brings me to my knees. It also reminds me that if I am not part of the solution, then I become part of the problem…..This cannot happen.

So instead of asking, “what can I do” and therefore do nothing, I decided to take a step toward the fight.  For my birthday I started a site to help raise funds to support the A21 Campaign and the work they are doing to fight the slave trade.  It’s a site you can visit, and give a secure donation online.  Please….consider joining me in this fight by clicking here to view my families’ site, learn more, and give a gift of any size.

To learn more about the A21 Campaign, go to www.a21campaign.com

To see the size of your slavery footprint, go to www.slaveryfootprint.org

If you have a moment, please share this post with friends you know who will not stand for being called a “human trafficker” any longer.