I am descended of a long line of stoics. I don’t remember my great uncle Ted, for whom I am named, ever showing much emotion of any time. He had a somber expression on his face the day his wife died, but he kept nearly that same expression for the rest of his life. He would shake the hands of my father and uncles, but he wasn’t a “huggy” sort of person. I inherited a bit of what others might call his standoffishness. I’m not much into hugging people, especially people I don’t know well. I prefer to keep a bit of distance.

I’ve taken all kinds of classes in counseling and I’ve been through some counseling myself and I know about the healthiness of expressing emotions. I know that it is not wise to stuff one’s emotions beneath the surface and hide them. They tend to explode in inappropriate and unexpected ways when one does. Still, I guess you might describe me as guarded with my emotions. I don’t like to wear my feelings on my sleeve for the entire world to see.

I have learned that one has to make exceptions. These days most of the funerals at which I officiate are for my friends. I’ve been pastor of this congregation for 17 years. I know the people pretty well. Sometimes the tears come when I am officiating at a funeral. I know that it does not one any good if I blubber, but I have struggled to keep it together a time or two. I’ve even let my anger show a couple of times. When there is something about which I am passionate, it doesn’t hurt for the church board or others in the church to know that I care.

There are simply some times when my emotions come to the surface.

So I will tell you a story:

Back in 1983, when I was a young man and the father of a two-year-old son, we lived in North Dakota. I remember the time with special clarity these days because that son is now the father of a two-year-old son so there are lots of reminders of those days. Anyway, back in those days, we were on the waiting list for an adoption. We thought that ours would be the adoption of a “special needs” child – one that people who were waiting for a “normal” (whatever that is) healthy infant would reject. Most special needs children are not adopted until they are a couple of years old and so we thought that we might be offered a child who was the same age as our son or one that was older. One day, however, the call came, “Would you consider an infant?” When we said, “Yes!” The next question was, “Could you pick her up in Grand Forks before noon tomorrow?” Grand Forks was 440 miles away and those were the days of the 55 mph speed limit. It took a bit longer for us to say “Yes” to that question. That seems silly to us now, because of course the right answer was “Yes!” Anyway, we made the trip that afternoon and waited in the motel overnight for the agency to open in the morning.

I was so excited to meet that little person that I couldn’t settle down. I like to be in control, but it was definitely a not-in-control moment. I had to force my hands to stop shaking so I could hold her for the first time. It is a moment that I will never forget. And it doesn’t matter how many times I tell the story, it still moves me deeply. She was, in a word, perfect. I was, in a couple of words, in love. That was nearly 30 years ago and I remember it like it was today.

But I am older and I am supposed to be wiser these days. Still, I think I am as excited as I was that day. Today I am waiting to see her once again. She is grown and married and living in another state. But this evening she arrives on the airline for a long weekend visit. Loving children do that for their parents all the time. But I am nearly beside myself with excitement. Just like that day long ago when I woke at 4:30 a.m. and knew I had to wait until our appointment and couldn’t make time speed up, I’m excited far too early in the day. I need to do some other things before she arrives – like go to work, do my job, plan and prepare a bit of supper for my family, and wash the cars. I left myself some tasks on purpose. It is not good for me to have nothing to do when I am excited.

The anticipation is as fun as waiting for Christmas when I was 6 years old.

And the anticipation is double or triple or more because her brother and his wife and son will arrive tomorrow on the airlines. This grandpa business is a really, REALLY, fun thing to do and be.

Our lives are journeys with plenty of ups and downs. It isn’t possible to predict all of the turns and twists in the road, and it probably is a good thing that we don’t know what is coming. But having a few years behind you teaches you that there are some things that you can count upon. One of those things in my life is that the truly great memories keep coming back again and again. Events in my contemporary life trigger connections with my past.

This Sunday I have the joy of participating in the baptism of a new daughter born to one of our church families in January. It is always an impressive moment when a family hands me their infant child and trusts me with a simple ceremony of welcome into our church family. When I hold the little one up for the congregation to see and watch the reaction on their faces I know that the sacrament links and bonds that child with the generations of faithful people throughout all of history.

So if I’m a little silly today, it is just because I am excited. And there is something that I know from experience. When she comes down the hallway in the airport and I first see her and receive that big hug – it will be well worth the wait.

Copyright © 2013 by Ted Huffman. I wrote this. If you want to copy it, please ask for permission. There is a contact me button at the bottom of this page. If you want to share my blog a friend, please direct your friend to my web site.