Dad In The Stands

That's me. Number 16. Playing first base for the Huntington North High School Vikings on a cold, blustery, spring day in Indiana.

And, just off my right shoulder, that's my dad. He's the one in the French beret next to the pretty lady I call, "Mom."

Dad in the stands.

This scene, captured in our local hometown newspaper, was a normal sight for Brooks, Luke, and me as we were growing up "Fetters."

Our dad, Paul R. Fetters, is a great encourager.

One of the words most associated with him is "attaboy." Over the years, he's said it so much to his three sons and to others that he made up postcards with the word printed on it. He gives attaboys generously and religiously, constantly looking for the littlest achievement that deserves recognition. I still have most, if not all of the attaboys he ever gave me. I've received attaboys for good grades, for learning to drive, for helping mom clean the house, for preaching my first sermon, and the list goes on and on. I even scored an attaboy for baking a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

Looking back, it really didn't take much to get an attaboy from dad. Whether it came in the form of his hard-to-read handwriting or as words from his mouth, Pop's never been stingy about dolling out encouragment. It flows like water from a faucet. And, yes, it sometimes causes a bit of blushing.

One of Pop's most infamous "attaboys" was blurted out at a High school track and field event. My oldest brother, Brooks, was entered in the 100 yard dash against an in-school rival whom he had never beaten. As he came to the last 10 yards, Brooks was leading the field of runners. When he was about to bust through the tape for the win, Pop announced at the top of his lungs, "Atsa my boy!" (Not sure why he chose the Italian version, but his burst of pride was as awesome as it was memorable).

You see, whether it was a sporting event, a band or choir concert, or a theatrical performance; if we were playing in it, performing in it, or otherwise participating in it, Pop was in the stands or in the seats ready to cheer on the sons he sired.

For that, I thank you Pop, and give you a robust "ATTABOY!" on this Father's Day.

Who's Responsible?

I recently heard a statistic that certainly concerns me as a pastor. But, to be honest, it scares me as a parent. Brace yourself.

When children reach 18 and leave home, more than 80% leave an active Christian faith.

Ever since our sons took their first breaths, we’ve understood that God expected Lisa and me to help Jordan and Quinn “grow in wisdom (mentally), in stature (physically), in favor with God (spiritually), and other people (socially).” It’s the model of Mary and Joseph, Jesus’ parents (Luke 2:52).

We chose Jesus’ parents as role models, not because we perceive Jordan or Quinn to be messianic gifts to the world, but because we believe each boy is primarily God’s son, given specifically to us to raise for His glory and the earthly good of others.

So please, get my point: It is every parent’s responsibility to steward the holistic growth of his/her children.

With every advancing year, I am grateful to parents who didn’t discount their influence on me nor shirk their God-given responsibility to be the most influential people in my holistic growth. It was in the home of Paul and Barbara Fetters that I learned what it looked like for a Christian to respect authority, to develop a productive work ethic, to relate respectfully with girls/women, to live with personal integrity, to relate with God.

While the local church was an important part of their strategy, they knew it was their responsibility to introduce their three sons to Jesus, help us investigate the teachings and claims of Christ through the scriptures, integrate those teachings into lifestyles that reflect the character of Christ, and intercede for us every day. What I learned and received every week from the church’s preachers, Sundays school teachers, and ministry workers was simply a reinforcement of what I was learning everyday in the House of Paul and Barbara.

Deep within my heart resides an earnest prayer that every child of Christian parents will grow to be a spiritual giant because of the direct investments of his or her father and/or mother. Our church, Devonshire, is committed to assisting parents lead their sons and daughters to love Jesus and reflect His character in every one of their social venues. That means we can help parents. We can supplement what parents are personal living and teaching. But in just one or two short hours per week, a church cannot replace a mom or dad's influence nor assume their responsibilities. Simply put, the scriptures are clear—every parent is responsible for the holistic (which includes spiritual) development of their children.

My gut and my experience suggest that the above statistic is accurate. However, the statistic does not mean that our sons and daughters have to give up an active faith. With your living example and tireless attention to your child's complete growth, I imagine with great enthusiasm that God will raise up a new generation of missionaries, pastors, doctors, nurses, teachers, musicians, actors/actresses, lawyers, public servants, actors, and business entrepreneurs who know Jesus and live for Him every day.

If you are a parent or a grandparent, won’t you join me in my prayer for your children? It’s actually my prayer for you to actively seek God’s best for those you love!

Attaboy, Jordan Fetters!

The Fetters recognized a family milestone on June 2. Our oldest son, Jordan, graduated from Central Dauphin Highschool. It was a wonderful night as we sat with family and friends in the Giant Center (Hershey, PA) to watch his class of 480 students turn their tassles and grab their diplomas. He appeared more than happy to say "Goodbye" to this phase of their lives. He admitted to me later that it was the "moment he looked most forward to in high school."

It's hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that Jordan has reached this point in his life. It came so fast. (I was warned about the breakneck speed of a child's development). As the graduates were called name-by-name, I was flooded with memories. I coached some of them in soccer, baseball, and basketball. I watched some compete in the athletic arenas. Some I watched on the theatrical stages. Many others I simply recalled traveling grade-by-grade with Jordan since Kindergarten. I was especially proud of the four students that have known me as "Pastor Todd" since they were three years old. What a night!

Attaboy Jordan! I'm very proud of you!! I can't wait to see what God is going to do in and through your life.

Jordan with best friend, Ian Isaac

Standing with classmates

Getting his hands on the diploma

You Oughta Know

Just thought the world should know today that...I LOVE MY WIFE!

Have a great day, Lisa.

Guest Blogger: Paul R. Fetters

I'm really excited about next week's series of blogs. My dad, Paul , will carry the blogging load all week in a series called, "Fetterisms."

Let me tell you a little bit about my dad.

To the three boys who call him "Pop," our father is one of those larger-than-life figures. While he started his career as a local church minister, the largest portion of his dosier shows accomplishments in higher education.

For 25 years, Pop was the academic dean for the Huntington University Graduate School for Christian Ministries. He took a dying graduate program in 1972 and turned it around with innovative strategies. In 1997, he rejoined the faculty ranks at the University, teaching courses in Bible and religion. At 74, dad is still at HU, enjoying his many teaching and mentoring opportunities to students who call him "Papa Fetters." Pop has written and/or edited 5 books (one in history and theology) and wrote countless articles. He's been honored many times over by churches, a denomination, and a university. This fall, Dad will have a chapel named after him on the Huntington University campus.

But, with all his academic professionalism, my brother Brooks says, "Dad is as common as a clod." Pop is an everyday theologian, not an ivory tower thinker. His brand of theology is incredibly practical. It's for everyday living. It has personality and wit. And, it has shaped his sons' work ethic, respect for authority, relationships with God, respect for women, and maintainence of personal integrity.

Dad's wisdom is shared with memorable one-liners that stick. Things like, "You don't have to like liver to eat it," remind me to persist with a situation or endeavor that is necessary whether I enjoy it or not. It's Pop's wit and wisdom that I want to share with you next week. I hope you enjoy.

Welcome to blogging, Pop!

Vacation Time...AHHHHH!

All next week, the Fetters' family is headed to the beach. Rehoboth, to be exact. It's our family favorite. Gonna do some reading. Alot of sun-soaking. Eat more-than-I-should Grotto's Pizza. Golfing with Jordan and my friend, Tod (poor guy got cheated out of a "d" when he was named). Go to the Candy Kitchen Ocean City (Md) with the Fetters boys and the Whitman girls. Watch movies. Do a bit of shopping at the outlets. But, I am most looking forward to just hanging out on the beach with Lisa and the boys. It's been three years since we've had this type of vacation. Word to the wise...don't wait that long for this kind of get-away. Here are some pix from our last beach vacation.

Championship Game!

Jordan's summer basketball team won their second championship in three years. In a spirited battle with the boys from McDevitt, the guys from Central Dauphin won by 15-plus. That makes two Rec-Team Championship for Jordan this year...winter and summer. Attaboy, Jordan!

Jazzmine, the Wonder Dog

Jazzmine is our family dog. Today, she is lucky to be alive! Just a few moments ago, Jazzmine took a van-shot to the side of the head.

Here's the unfortunate scenario.

While I was out on the patio doing some reading, she quietly escaped her lead. I had no clue until Lisa came running out to the deck with an urgent, "Jazzmine is over at the park!" Apparently, one of the parks and rec workers got hold of Jazz and called the number on her tag.

The park is behind our house and through the small woods. So, Lisa and Quinn went running. I chose the Civic. When I got there, Jazz was in the hands of the workers who were entertaining 30 kids. How scary for them. The worker mistakenly thought Jazz would run right to me and let her go. She did run, but not to me.

Instead, she ran through some yards and across another street. So, Quinn and I went after her. We saw her on the opposite side of the street. I called for her to come back. Mistake. I didn't see a van coming. She timed (or mis-timed) her run perfectly to...thump...take a glancing blow to the left side of the face and shoulder from the van she didn't see either. After she shook her head and collected her senses, she came right to me. We both walked home quietly, probably thinking the same thing, "Didn't YOU see that van?!"

She's fine...as normal as Jazz is. Nothing seems to be hurting or painful to touch. No vet visit in our future, we hope.

Oh...life with Jazz.