The Tough Decision to Stay Home

I often felt frustrated early on as a stay at home dad with the stereotype associated with men in our culture.  When I went looking for blogs and places of support online, I found almost nothing.  When I Googled ‘stay at home dad,’ the top hits were often news reports or blogs that were heavily critical of staying home with kids as a dad.  One blog, I forget which and do not have a link now because it was several years ago, was of a dad who outlined his first week, after which he gave up and went back to work.  I think the most profound bit of fathering he described himself doing was to throw Cheerios on the floor while he turned on a sports game.

The other came from London, and the author wrote about how difficult it was when, after about five years as a stay at home dad and the couple’s situation changed, the man had to go back to work and could not find a job in his field of expertise.  They wrote about insurance, monetary benefits, getting the kids back in school, and other practical matters – all negative.  

And, that was it.  Nothing positive about the experience whatsoever.  

Meanwhile, at home, I was struggling to adjust.  I did plenty more than throw Cheerios and watch sports, but taking care of young children, particularly when one or more of them are still in diapers, is a challenge no matter how good you are at it.  When I opened up my feelings to other men, usually I would get a positive response, “Oh, man, you are so fortunate that you get to spend so much time with your kids!”  That was across the board.   Even men I barely knew would say this when I told them what I did for work.   

So, why did there seem to be such a negative view out there of stay-at-home parenting when so many men around me seemed envious of what I was able to do?  Should I be worried about finances and 401k programs, and what my retirement might look like?  Should I worry about abdicating my role as a sole-provider of my household?  Was I really providing?

The answer has come years later.  I am now almost nine years into being a homeschool dad.  I haven’t earned a paycheck in nearly seven of those years (minus a brief stint as a copywriter, but I only earned two small paychecks each totaling less than $200 a piece).  I have learned over the years that I provide for my family in many ways that I might not otherwise be able to provide if I worked full time.  I provide stability in their education.  I provide as a parent.  I am able to help them stay involved in their activities.  I manage our budget.  I plan for groceries and cook the meals.  I provide my kids with a spiritual leader in the home.  

Do I do all of this perfectly?  No.  It’s way better than throwing cereal, but I know there is more I could do, and often my selfishness gets in the way.  There are days I just want to sit on the couch and watch sci-fi and war-films all day.  I have whole bookshelves of books I long to read, but have no time for.  There are plenty of days when I wake up in the morning and pray, and wonder to God, “Why?”  

When I was young I wanted to be a singer-songwriting performing musician.  Then when I went to grad school to fill out my teaching license, and found I was pretty good at holding down a discussion on difficult topics, I dreamed of becoming a college professor and hanging out at a university all day.  None of that has or will ever happen in my life, but why then do I still have these desires?  Why, when I pick up my instrument, or walk past my dusty bookshelf, do I feel this intense pang inside me of regret and loss? 

If I were to pursue those dreams, I would pull myself out of the life of my family well beyond the normal 40-hour work week of the standard job.  My kids would all have to go to school full-time, and I would still have to pick them up and bring them to their activities, or I would have to hire an expensive nanny to do it for me.  My wife would still have to work.  We would have less time to go out together as a family.  We might, eventually, have more money, but I honestly think the struggle between my desire to live my dreams and my desire to be a decently good parent would literally break me in two, such that I would enjoy neither in the end.  

William Butler Yeats wrote a poem which I memorized as soon as I came across it, and it has stayed with me for many, many years now, called “The Choice”:

The intellect of man is forced to choose,

Perfection of the life or of the work

And if he takes the latter must refuse

A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.

But in the end, what’s the news?

In luck or out, the toil has left its mark

That old perplexity, an empty purse

Or the day’s vanity, night’s remorse.

I think this poem is still applicable even to those of us who have to hold down a job or a career while raising children.  There’s always a moment of choice – am I going to travel down this road, or that?  Am I going to accept the raise and move up in the company, or should I stay in the stability of my current position in order to invest more in my family? 

Making the decision to stay home as a dad is a very difficult one to make.  It forces you to confront the stereotypes of culture, perhaps even the choice to put oneself aside for the sake of your family.   It means self-sacrifice, but not self-destruction or martyr-hood.  But it also means choosing that “heavenly mansion” over the feeling of being split between two desires, what I interpret as “raging in the dark.”  For me, as a Christian believer, the “heavenly mansion” has a double-meaning.  Not only is it the better way that all my friends told me it was when I shared my angst with them, but it also means that those other things I long for have a home with God in heaven.  C.S. Lewis wrote somewhere that our unfulfilled desires are meant to point us toward hope in a new creation after death.  I believe very strongly that someday I shall have the time to read those books and write those songs, even as my redeemed and renewed family and children surround me, as I surround and encourage them as their father and husband.

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In Jeremiah 45, the scribe, Baruch, is given a message from God through the prophet Jeremiah. This takes place during the destruction of Judah by the Babylonians. The men of Judah are considering fleeing to Egypt rather than to stay and get captured, but God warns them through Jeremiah not to leave the land. Eventually they do anyway, dragging Jeremiah with them, and things do not go well for them and for Egypt.

Baruch is also tempted to flee. “This is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says to you, Baruch: “You have said, “Woe is me, because the Lord has added misery to my pain! I am worn out with groaning and have found no rest.””

“This is what you are to say to him: “This is what the Lord says: “What I have built I am about to demolish, and what I have planted I am about to uproot – the whole land! But as for you, do you pursue great things for yourself? Stop pursuing! For I am about to bring disaster on everyone” – this is the Lord’s declaration – “But I will grant you your life like the spoils of war wherever you go.”” (Jeremiah 45:1-5, emphasis mine).

This passage speaks for itself. I think there are times when things seem to be going wrong in my life, and I begin looking for a way out that will better my circumstances rather than to remain at my post. I imagine Baruch seeing the storm that was coming on his city, and then looking to Egypt like we might look to New York as a way to escape and maybe set up a nice career as a writer. He could get out and go to a city that was much safer from attack. But God wanted him to stay with his own people.

There’s a great book I highly recommend if you’re at all interested in this line of thought. It’s called The Monks of Tibhirine by John Kiser, about a group of Trappist Christian monks who choose to remain faithful to their covenant and to serving the Muslim community they were serving in Algiers as a group of extremists come into the area and begin attacking the people there. It is an amazing story about a group of men who, like Baruch, heard the call of God to remain at their posts even in the face of destruction by an invading force.