I have a 5 year old boy named Andrew. He is going to be 6 in just a couple weeks. He’s a short, red-headed, loveable boy. If you visit us he will pull you into the middle of our living room and introduce you to me and my wife with such a flourish, you will feel like you were on The Tonight Show. He is charming, funny, playful and kind. He will dance for you, sing for you, and bring you a glass of water without being asked.
He is tremendous fun. I’m not saying this because he is my son. It’s all true. But even with all that joy. Even with all that love and charm and happiness, the truth is, when I look deep into my soul…when I look at the dark places that I don’t want you to see…the God’s honest truth is sometimes I wish he weren’t my kid. It pains me to admit that. It hurts to the core that sometimes he is too much work to care for. To put it simply, Andrew is a lot of work.