Daniel Seabaugh

It was a typical morning in our home. My daughters were taking the day by storm. I was running late.

“Look at George, daddy! He’s right there,” said my six-year-old as I reached for my work bag and headed out the door, barely deciphering her last sentence.

George is the name of a cardinal. My girls named all the animals in the neighborhood. There’s George the cardinal, Spot the blue jay, Mrs. Whitetail the deer, Camo the rabbit, Dottie the squirrel, and Big Puffy the cat. I’ve seen them all except George. My daughter was determined to show him to me, and he was just perched on the bird feeder in front of our house. Except, I was too busy to notice.

Don’t judge me. I was late to a nine o’clock prayer meeting. You know, holy stuff.

As I approached the car, I realized I left my hoodie behind, an important piece of apparel when your office is routinely freezing. Reluctantly, I headed back inside to retrieve it, and walked into a conversation that led to an important parenting lesson.

“Mommy, he didn’t even listen,” my daughter said with tears in her eyes. “Why don’t you tell him how you feel,” my wife said while eying me with disapproval. My daughter shook her head and stopped talking. She was trying to hold back tears.

I blew it. I knew it instantly. Once again, I let my absent-mindedness and self-centeredness hurt someone I love dearly.

I could’ve beat myself up, believing I was the worst dad on the planet. I could’ve let lies wash over my mind, convincing me I’d never change. I could’ve even told my daughter to be mindful of my time, pretending I was the most important person in the room. But honestly, there’s no sense in hiding my flaws from my family. They know me better than anyone. I can’t hide.

I apologized. Thankfully, she offered forgiveness. I hugged my little girl and assured her that next time would be different. Like parents do.

I made it to the prayer meeting. I wasn’t late. I said some prayers that sounded holy. Everyone thought I was a great guy.

Later that day, while reflecting on the morning, I sensed God saying, “Get excited about the cardinal, so that you can get excited about the girl who’s excited about the cardinal.” They were words of correction, but also sweet in nature, not harsh. There was no trace of condemnation (Romans 8:1).

I learned a valuable lesson that day: prayer meetings are good, but being present to my children is better. I don’t want to miss great things because of things that pale by comparison.