Showing Them What’s Possible

I’ve been saying something out loud to my older two kids lately, and I mean it every time I say it.

C’s will make me happy.
That is the goal.
We’ll celebrate B’s.
We’ll exalt A’s.
But I will never be mad about a C.

I want them to understand that effort matters more than perfection. That learning isn’t fragile. That mistakes aren’t moral failures. That school is not a referendum on who they are.

At the same time, I’m quietly, visibly, and intentionally holding myself to a different standard.

Not because they have to.
But because I can.

Right now, life feels heavy and full. I’m still working 50 to 70 hours a week, and work has only gotten more demanding. But I’m trying to do more than just keep up. I’m focused on finding new ways to do things, not just pushing through the same routines. That kind of work takes more thought, more energy, and more of myself.

Alongside that, I’m back in school full time, taking two courses every two months. I’m writing a book. I’m getting back into blogging. My wife and I do daily devotionals together, and I have one on my own. I’ve rebuilt our afternoon schedule. There’s more reading time with the kids. Every other Saturday, I set aside time to sit with them, working on handwriting, learning, and practicing patience together.

None of this is hidden.

It’s happening at the same table where homework gets spread out.
On the same couch where they curl up to read.
In the same house where life is already loud, busy, and imperfect.

That’s the point.

I’m not asking my kids to chase A’s. I’m not demanding excellence from them. I’m not telling them to be anything other than kids learning how to learn.

But I am showing them what it looks like when an adult chooses growth on purpose.

They see me study.
They see me read.
They see me write when I’m tired.
They see me keep promises to myself.
They see me care about doing things well—not because someone is grading me, but because I decided it mattered.

There’s a tension there, and I’m okay with it.

On the surface, it might look inconsistent:
Why do we get grace, but you give yourself pressure?

But the lesson is the same, just lived at different stages.

They’re learning that their worth is not tied to performance.
I’m showing them that discipline can be chosen, not imposed.

They’re learning that effort counts.
I’m showing them that standards don’t have to be cruel to be meaningful.

There are tradeoffs, of course. I miss streaming, not because of the content, but because of the connection. Still, every Friday and Saturday night, I make time to sit with my closest friends, laugh the week away, and sometimes have deeper conversations. Presence matters. Sometimes that is the work: simply being there for each other, especially when things feel heavy.

And the weight does get heavy.

Time feels like it’s speeding up. The kids are growing, doing more, understanding more, and moving closer to lives that will one day be their own. Not now. No. Definitely not now. But someday.

And what I’ve realized is this: the need for fatherly presence isn’t fading as they get older. It’s increasing.

They don’t just need me to be around.
They need me to be engaged.
They need to see what a full, intentional life looks like when responsibility grows rather than shrinks.

I don’t want them to grow up believing that adulthood is where curiosity goes to die. I don’t want them to think learning stops when school ends, or that creativity is something you “used to do,” or that growth is reserved for people with fewer responsibilities.

I want them to know, deep in their bones, that you can build a demanding life and still be present. That you can care deeply without being harsh. That you can aim high without expecting the same from everyone else.

This isn’t about being impressive.
It’s about being visible.

If one day they remember that their dad sat at the table with a book, a notebook, or a laptop, not to escape but to engage, that will matter more than any grade.

I’m not trying to show them what they must do.

I’m trying to show them what they can do.

This is where I’m writing from.
Somewhere between responsibility and curiosity.
Between grace and self-chosen standards.
Between the work in front of me and the people watching how I do it.