He’s Been Doubly Good to Me
Shari is not Phyllis. If Shari ever got up before the crack of dawn to brew me a cup of coffee and scramble me some eggs, I’d look for Jesus to crack the sky! But one trait of Mom’s that Shari totally embodies is her gift for loving an imperfect man; for understanding and standing by her husband—no matter what they’re going through, they’re going through it together—and in uniting their dreams and chasing them together.
In this way, Shari is much better than Phyllis: Shari’s the girl of my dreams! I recognized it from the moment I first saw her, became more convinced each step of the way as I got to know her and we fell in love. I experienced it through nearly four years of our dating life. I’d encourage you to remember here my prior admission to having a penchant for messing things up. She stood with me. She balanced me. I thank the Lord for her every day.
I asked my sister Debbie to sing a song at our wedding that was written by one of my favorite singer/songwriters, Rich Mullins, that had been recorded by Amy Grant. The song is called Doubly Good. It expressed my heart on our wedding day. Much more so today.
You can thank the father for the things that he has done,
And thank him for the things he’s yet to do;
And if you find a love that’s tender, if you find someone who’s true
Then thank the Lord, He’s been doubly good to you
Indeed, He has!
Those early years of parenting, I don’t know how Shari and I did it. Especially as I went back to school. That season involved four years of round-trip driving daily to Kissimmee (65 miles each way). Over four years, that’s 100k miles … with the cost of gas … not to mention the crapshoot of our having a running car to get me there. Oh, the car stories!
Shari and I both worked part-time jobs, cobbling together whatever income we could around my schooling and the girls’ needs and schedules, this was no minor miracle. And just to paint the full picture, this is also when my pulmonary issues dawned. Somehow, we managed it all four years and my graduation while battling through six bouts with pneumonia. And my senior year, when Shari joined my college’s faculty, we started toting Amanda and Katie to campus with us every day. Talk about stories! One of my absolute favorites goes, ‘Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy!’ (I will have to tell you that one sometime.)
Adopting a child felt like the right thing for us to do for several reasons. But to have our first adoption attempt fail brought a new season of trauma. Then, just as we’d decided to remove our names from the adoption protocol, we received the call—and Rebecca Diann Hope Noel was ours. We held our breath the several months to our finalization hearing. God’s sense of humor? The day the judge signed to finalize our adoption of Hope, we found out Emily was on the way.
Looking back, that season of life blew by at a frantic pace. And so did the money. I know now that my parents worked their asses off to make our family life happen. In our home, Shari deserves all the credit—she made our family life happen.
Growing up, Mom kept track of our family finances; she was a math wiz, and Dad appreciated that. But both Dad and Mom were frugally-wired and financially disciplined. They were almost always on the same page financially. Frugal and financially discipline, however, are some of the George traits my brothers Dave and Doug inherited. Me? I got the cussing and fussing. Fiscally speaking, let’s just say I am much better at spending money than saving it.
Shari loves telling that story. It is true, Mom handed Shari a shoe box labeled ‘Darin’s bills’ as a wedding present. Mom’s way of saying, “Buckle up, baby!”One part of Dad’s wiring that I am super glad to have inherited, though, is an abiding confidence that, somehow, things will work out. If you ask Shari, I bet she’ll tell you that’s the one sentence she’s heard me say more than any other over the years, “It will be okay, Baby. It’s all going work out.” God never slumbers nor sleeps! He will never forget nor forsake us. We pray. We press on. That was Dad. That’s me.
One thing Shari and I did right in parenting (me, patting myself on the back here) was immersing our children in good music. My girls grew up on the very best of classical, rock-n-roll, pop, Contemporary Christian music, Disney classics, and musical children’s television shows. The stories of music on our vacations and car trips, the singalongs are epic and oft-repeated. To this day, our girls are still rockers! They send me playlists!
It was music that led us into dance. One by one, it seemed, each kid caught the rhythm and started to bounce. Next thing you know, a cute little 4-year-old ballet and tap class. Then … open the floodgates! I am most thankful for the dance community we happened into. Great people! (You know who you are as you read this. Thank you!) So many of our family stories are rooted in that season of our lives. And of course, had we not become a dance family, I never would have become a National Champion. Got the trophy to prove it! And see? Shari’s grandmother was worried I’d never amount to anything!
When Hope opted for sports over dance, we entered another entirely different circle of people and a vastly different culture. Sports nearly ran us ragged.
When I was a kid, you played one or two sports—maybe football in the fall and baseball in the spring, you’d have summers and the holidays off. Now they have sports scheduled throughout the entire year, with seasons overlapping. There are rec teams, school teams, travel teams, AAU, prep; it goes on and on. Sports on top of sports. Have yourself an athletically gifted daughter of tall and powerful stature? Lord Jesus have mercy! We had a non-stop parade of coaches calling us, pleading, wanting, needing Hope on this team or that. Shari and I were like, What the hell is lacrosse?
And oh! The violence! That athletic, tall and powerfully built daughter of mine, I’m afraid, has her father’s (and her grandfather’s) wiring, temperament, and tongue. Game days were always an adventure! Hope introduced the body-check into middle school basketball! Sent kids sprawling, “Ass over tea-kettle,” as Dad would have said. After she’d knocked a couple of kids out, her coach turned to us and asked, “Which parent does she get that temper from?” I’ll give her this: it wasn’t arbitrary violence. If Hope went off, rest assured some cocky, mouthy kid deserved it.
As a parent, I certainly couldn’t condone her whacking some kid. I wanted her to be a good sport. But as her dad, (as Darin and as George’s son), seeing how she’d been provoked … I admit, there was a little twinge of pride. That’s right! That’s my girl that just knocked your whiny little snot on her ass!
Hope added trips to the ER into our family lore.
One set of happy childhood memories Shari held onto was her family’s frequent summer trips to North Carolina. Very early in our child raising years we traveled to Hickory Nut Falls and Asheville. That area became our family’s annual go-to vacation spot for fifteen straight years. Our girls grew up there, reliving many of their mother’s happiest childhood experiences, and forging new experiences there together.
These trips are the settings of some of our most cherished family memories. The stories and laughter come at the drop of a phrase—Mandy Shaw books & mom’s accents; Toivo Jeans; Senninger Wobler Sprinklers; Bullets By the Pound; Bubba O’Leary’s; boiled peanuts & the peanut man (ask our babysitter Jen about the peanut man); Hillbilly Church; Ben Fackler’s Goose Hunter; CiCi’s Pizza; Fat Buddies BBQ; the used bookstore; Dan Welgoss; The Diaz family; a truckload of lemons & a copperhead snake; “lightnin’ bugs” & “Becccckkkkkkky.”
Of course, if you’re talking about our summer vacations (or any other family gathering for that matter), you can’t leave the card game Sequence out. All my girls will tell you, “If you’re not playing by Grandma Phyllis’ rules, it ain’t Sequence!” (Do you hear that Bonnie?) I can’t even tell you how many times, mid-game, Shaw kids and grandkids have shouted, ‘Call Mom!’ or ‘Call Grandma!’ Oh, how I wish I could. I know she’d be thrilled to see all of our stories unfolding.
To be continued …
