Why Fathers Cry at Night
An Invitation
Dear Friend,
A couple of years ago, #1 New York Times bestselling author Kwame Alexander published a memoir entitled Why Father’s Cry at Night: A Memoir in Love Poems, Letters, Recipes, and Remembrances. It was real and raw, exactly what I needed in that season of life and fatherhood.
I used his book as a guide to navigate my own story at the time. Reading his thoughtful poems and crafting my own alongside him. As he detailed recipes that brought back seasons of life gone by, I thought about meals shared, as Google Photos reminded me of cherished memories.
I wrote and prayed, but no tears flowed. I connected with Kwame’s story—his pain, pleasure, and pauses: the reflective moments and the weight of unrealized futures. Yet, as much as his poetry and prose moved me, we didn’t cry together.
Tears have been hard for me ever since I was a 7th-grade boy. I know why, but that’s a story for another time, maybe another place. I’ve cried since then, but tears don’t flow; they trickle as often as an eclipse of the sun.
I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again
~ James Taylor (Fire and Rain)
As a father, it's been a tale of two cities, the best of times and the worst of times. The joy of fatherhood is almost unrivaled. When my daughter was born, I didn't know that such deep and instant love was possible. Becoming a father changed me. I grew up and became a man. Not because of my daughter's birth, but my desire to meet the moment. To not neglect or abdicate responsibility.
Fatherhood was new for me and made complicated by being a 21-year-old reformed man-child. A new father who had a difficult relationship with his father. A familiar story. Broken relationship with the mother of his child, because they were kids playing adults. Trying to find our way in the broader world. Musicians, singers, performers—moving through life playing a role, singing a song with a broken melody. I've written about this elsewhere—no need to rehash it here.
I can write about this publicly because I've taken the time to process it privately. As Kwame does in his memoir, I've traced the lines of my life and lineage to better understand myself, my proclivities, and my past. This is a hard-fought skill, and I want to share it with you. Creating space to process the pain and experience.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.
Proverbs 13:12, ESV
That’s why we are hosting Write Your Way Back: Father’s Day edition. To get honest with ourselves about the things that have made our hearts sick. I’m grateful to Kwame Alexander for sharing his story. I’ve shared some of mine with you. Will you join us to start sharing your story with yourself? I hope you can join us!
With love,
A father
Invitation
If anything I’ve shared resonates with your story—or someone you love’s story—I invite you to a space we’ve created.
Cristal and I are leading a special "Write Your Way Back" gathering on Sunday, June 8, at 3:00 p.m. CST. It’s for anyone who finds Father’s Day to be complicated, painful, or heavy.
Through guided writing prompts, optional sharing, prayer, and a brief period of worship, we’ll create a space for grief, reflection, and perhaps even hope.
This is for the fatherless.
For the father in mourning.
For the one who’s trying.
For the one who still aches.
Join us here: bit.ly/wywbfde
(You'll also receive a 10-day journaling guide to continue the work afterward.)
