I was grilling hamburgers the other evening, which is always a popular event at our house. Grayson calls my burgers GABs, which stands for Goated Amazing Burgers. Brighton, my oldest, thinks BTY Burgers is a better name. That stands for Better Than Yours. I haven’t decided which name wins, but I appreciate having two sons who think my hamburgers deserve their own branding.
I had just put the burgers on the griddle and was carrying the plate that had held the raw hamburger meat back into the house. You know that reddish liquid that collects on the bottom of the plate? Well, there was plenty of it.
Grayson came outside just as I was walking in, and I decided to have a little fun with him.
He came down the stairs and said, “What are you doing?”
“Look, I cut myself,” I said, showing him the plate.
He didn’t seem particularly concerned, but he did ask, “Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Then I asked him a question.
“Don’t you think if I had really cut myself, I’d be acting a little differently?”
“No, not really,” he said.
There was no hesitation. No smile. Just a simple, matter-of-fact answer.
“And why not?”
“Because you’re tough.”
I didn’t quite know what to say.
Now, anyone who knows me understands that being speechless is not something that happens to me very often. I usually have a story, a comment, or at least something smart to say. But standing there holding a plate covered in hamburger juices, my nine-year-old son had caught me completely off guard.
“Well, thank you for that,” I finally said.
“Welcome.”
And that was it. As far as Grayson was concerned, the conversation was over. He had simply stated something he believed to be true and moved on with his evening.
I stood there thinking that was a moment I needed to remember.
I Don’t Really Think of Myself as Tough
The funny thing is, I’ve never really thought of myself as particularly tough. I just keep going. That’s how I’ve always been. I am the shortest of three brothers although I am the oldest. It’s just not the way I have seen myself.
If something needs fixing, I try to fix it. If something needs doing, I try to get it done. If I get hurt, I usually shake it off and keep moving. Granted, the older I get, the longer that shaking-it-off process seems to take. Apparently, my body didn’t get the memo that we’re supposed to keep operating like we’re twenty-five.
I remember hurting my shoulder while playing flag football once in the Father Son Bowl. I acted like everything was fine, even though I knew I’d done something to it. The kids kept asking if I was OK, and I kept assuring them I was with a big smile on my face. Karen, on the other hand, got the more accurate medical report. I just grinned and said through my teeth, “I did something to my shoulder.”
But there are also times when I let the kids know something hurts. I don’t want them growing up thinking their dad is made of steel. I’m not. I just want them to understand that sometimes life hurts, things don’t go our way, and we still have responsibilities.
Parenthood doesn’t come with many sick days.
When you’re sick or tired, the house still needs attention. The kids still need something. Dinner doesn’t magically appear on the table, although I wouldn’t complain if someone figured out how to make that happen.
There have been times I’ve been sitting down, enjoying a little rest, when one of the kids comes to ask me for something. They’ll notice I’m resting and say, “Never mind, Daddy. I know you’re tired.”
Most of the time, I get up anyway.
Not because I think parents should never rest, but because I want my children to know they’re seen. I want them to know they matter to me, even when I’m tired.
I think that’s part of what Grayson sees when he calls me tough. He’s watched me get hurt and keep going. He’s watched me work on things around the house. He’s watched me prepare when storms are coming. When severe weather threatens, I watch the warnings and get things ready. Sometimes that means clearing out our closet and putting helmets inside in case we need to take shelter. The kids see me doing all that, and I reassure them we’re just being prepared.
I’d rather be ready for something that never happens than be caught unprepared when it does. I try to stay calm because I know they’re watching me. If Dad is panicking, it’s going to be a whole lot harder for everyone else to stay calm.
But there’s a difference between being steady and having everything under control.
And as much as I want to be the rock my children can cling to, I know something they may not fully understand yet.
I need a Rock to cling to myself.
A Father Who Ran Out of Answers
One of my favorite stories about fatherhood in the Bible comes from Mark 5. It’s the story of a man named Jairus.
This clip is from a DVD my family watches a lot called The Miracle Maker. We really like it.
Jairus was a ruler of the synagogue, which meant he was a respected leader in his community. He was accustomed to responsibility. People knew who he was. But none of that mattered when his little girl was dying.
Mark tells us that Jairus came to Jesus, fell at His feet, and begged Him to come to his house.
“My little daughter lies at the point of death. Come and lay Your hands on her, that she may be healed, and she will live.” (Mark 5:23, NKJV)
I love the confidence in that statement. Jairus didn’t say, “Maybe You could help.” He didn’t ask Jesus to come take a look and see what He thought.
He believed Jesus could heal his daughter.
Think about what that meant for a man in his position. Some religious leaders were already opposed to Jesus, and Jairus was a synagogue ruler. We don’t know exactly what his fellow leaders thought of his decision, but whatever concerns he might have had about appearances or reputation, he came to Jesus publicly.
His daughter needed help, and he knew where to go.
As a father, I understand that instinct.
When your child is hurting, you want to fix it. You want to take away the pain, solve the problem, and make everything right again. It doesn’t matter whether they’re nine or eighteen. They’re still your child, and you still want to protect them.
But sometimes you can’t fix it.
Jairus had reached that point. Whatever resources or influence he had, they weren’t enough to save his daughter.
So he went to Jesus.
And Jesus went with him.
But on the way, something happened that must have tested Jairus’s faith. A woman who had suffered from bleeding for twelve years touched Jesus’ garment and was healed. Jesus stopped to speak with her.
Meanwhile, Jairus’s daughter was still at home, dying. Can you imagine being that father? Every second must have felt precious, and Jesus had stopped along the way.
Then someone came from Jairus’s house with the worst news a parent could hear. His daughter was dead. There was no longer any reason to bother Jesus, they told him.
But Jesus looked at Jairus and said, “Do not be afraid; only believe.” (Mark 5:36, NKJV)
And Jesus continued to his house.
When they arrived, Jesus took the little girl by the hand and told her to arise.
And she did.
Jairus had done everything he knew to do for his daughter. When he reached the end of what he could accomplish, he turned to the One who had power beyond anything he possessed.
Being a strong father didn’t mean Jairus had all the answers. It meant he knew where to go when he didn’t.
The Rock Behind Dad
I want my children to see me as dependable. I want them to know that when things get difficult, Mama and Daddy aren’t going to disappear. We’re going to do everything we can to help them through it. But I also want them to understand that their parents aren’t the ultimate answer to every problem.
I learned a little about showing that kind of faith during a disappointing moment in my own life that I have shared here at Grit & Wit before.
Several years ago, I applied for a job I really wanted. I had my heart set on it, and when I found out I didn’t get it, I was devastated. Brighton was riding in the front seat with me on the way home. He could see that I was sad and angry at the same time. I didn’t try to hide it from him. Honestly, I couldn’t hide it.
I told him that God had a plan.
The truth was, I had absolutely no idea what that plan was. I just knew God hadn’t chosen the one I wanted.
I wasn’t celebrating. I wasn’t pretending everything was wonderful. I was disappointed, and my son could see it. I was angry. Not really at God, but more so at the situation.
But I wanted him to see something else, too.
I wanted him to see that even when I didn’t understand what God was doing, I still trusted Him. That’s something I hope my children remember long after they’ve forgotten the projects we’ve worked on, the things we’ve fixed, or even the hamburgers I’ve grilled.
I hope they remember that Dad trusted Jesus.
I try to model that in the ordinary moments, too. When things are stressful, I tell the kids I’ve been praying. I share stories about times God has worked in my life. They see me taking notes during church, and somewhere along the way, the rest of the family started doing it, too.
Well, almost everyone. Grayson attends a service designed for kids his age, which is probably best for a nine-year-old who has enough energy to power a small city.
I’m not always going to handle things perfectly. There will be times when I get frustrated, when I’m tired, or when I simply don’t know what to do.
But I want my children to know that when I run out of answers, I know where to turn.
Just like Jairus.
The Kind of Tough That Matters
I don’t know how long Grayson will think his dad is tough enough to handle anything.
As he gets older, he’ll discover more of my limitations. He’ll see me make mistakes. He’ll realize that I don’t always have the answers and that sometimes I need help myself.
That’s OK.
I want him to know that being strong doesn’t mean never getting hurt. It doesn’t mean hiding every disappointment or pretending nothing bothers you. Sometimes being strong means getting up and doing what needs to be done, even when you don’t feel like it.
Sometimes it means staying calm while everyone else is worried.
And sometimes it means falling at the feet of Jesus because you’ve reached the end of what you can do. I want to be the rock my children cling to, but I never want them to mistake me for the Rock who holds us all up.
David understood something about strength that I hope my children will come to understand, too. In Psalm 18:2, he called the Lord his rock, his fortress, and his deliverer.
That’s the Rock I want my children to know.
I want to be someone they can depend on, someone who shows up and does what needs to be done. But I also want them to understand that whatever strength they see in me has its limits. God’s doesn’t.
Because here’s the reality of fatherhood that gets a little harder to think about as the years go by.
I won’t always be here.
There will come a day when my children face something difficult and Dad won’t be around to fix it. I won’t be able to clear out the closet before a storm, repair something that’s broken, or reassure them from the front seat of the car. They will not be able to call or text.
But Jesus will still be there.
And if I’ve done my job well, they’ll know exactly where to turn.
I think that’s what I want my legacy as a father to be. Not that my children thought I was invincible, but that they knew I was steady because I trusted the One who is.
Still, I’m thankful for those little moments of encouragement along the way.
We dads don’t get performance reviews. There’s no annual meeting where somebody sits us down and tells us we’re meeting expectations and get scored 1-5. Most days, we just get up, do what needs to be done, and hope we’re headed in the right direction.
Then every once in a while, God allows us to see ourselves through our children’s eyes.
For me, it happened beside the grill, holding a plate covered in hamburger juices, when a nine-year-old casually informed me that I was tough.
He had no idea how much those three words meant.
And I’m pretty sure he was more interested in getting his burger than discussing the emotional significance of the moment. That boy can eat.
And that’s fine.
I got something I needed that evening.
And he got a GAB.
Or a BTY.
We’re still working on the name.
The GAB/BTY Burger Recipe
Two sons. Two names. One pretty good hamburger.
Since this whole story started with hamburgers, I figured I might as well share the recipe. I have never shared this, so ya’ll are special.
Grayson calls them GABs (Goated Amazing Burgers). Brighton prefers BTYs (Better Than Yours). I haven’t decided which name wins, but I appreciate their love of their Daddy’s burgers.
I’ll warn you ahead of time that I don’t measure much. If you’re looking for exact teaspoons and tablespoons, this might be a frustrating experience. You should see my Grandmaw’s recipes. Karen loves those, lol.
What You’ll Need
Ground beef
Worcestershire sauce
A1 Steak Sauce
Your favorite steak or hamburger seasoning (I often use Montreal steak seasoning)
Bacon and onions, if you like them
Hamburger buns and your favorite toppings
How I Make Them
I start by getting the ground beef out of the refrigerator shortly before mixing. I don’t leave it sitting around to reach room temperature, but I prefer working with it while it’s still cold without being quite so uncomfortable on my hands.
Next, I grab a mixing bowl and pour about an inch of Worcestershire sauce into the bottom. Then I sprinkle my favorite seasonings directly into the sauce enough to cover the top of the liquid.
I use Montreal steak seasoning quite a bit, but sometimes it’s whatever happens to be in the cabinet or was on sale at the grocery store. Use what you like. I’m not going to judge your seasoning choices. Use them all. I’ve done that before.
Then I drop the hamburger meat into the bowl and start mixing everything together by hand.
About halfway through, I call one of the kids over to pour some A1 Steak Sauce into the mixture. This isn’t some elaborate culinary technique. My hands are covered in raw hamburger, and I need somebody who can operate the bottle.
Once everything is mixed, I form the patties and get the griddle ready.
Sometimes I’ll cook bacon and onions first. When the bacon is done, I take it off and push the onions to the side. Then I put the burgers on the hot griddle and let them cook in the bacon grease.
Use a meat thermometer to make sure the ground beef reaches 160°F, the recommended safe internal temperature. Add your favorite toppings, put everything on a bun, and enjoy.
That’s it. Nothing particularly fancy. Just a good hamburger with plenty of flavor and a little family participation.
Make them for your family sometime. You can decide whether GAB or BTY is the better name.
Personally, I’m just glad my kids still want Daddy to make dinner.
I recently became a father, and your words always make me smile and fill me with hope. Thank you.