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Let’s answer two questions right off the bat. Yes, I am from West Virginia. No, my son is not marrying my daughter. Good try. I just happen to be the father of twins, a boy and a girl, who were not supposed to grow up this fast and to plan on getting married within the same calendar year – 2009.

I am still trying to lose all the weight from our pregnancy. Where have all the years gone?

No one tried harder to get our children here safely than their mother. She watched her diet, rested when she wanted to be out of bed and being her normal active self, and prayed. Not only did she pray for the safety of the two small babies growing within her womb, but she also prayed for wisdom as a mother, for the Lord’s guidance, and for the eternal security of her children. And the Lord answered her prayers. Some bumps were encountered along the way, an appendectomy half-way through her pregnancy and a missing heartbeat near the end, but soon two long, skinny and healthy neonates were in the nursery at Southern Hills Hospital. The pediatrician “slam-dunked” (literally raised my swaddled son above his head with one hand) my son into my arms, and I was only allowed to look at my daughter in her bassinette until my wife would have the privilege of first holding our little girl.

Dramatic changes occurred quickly. By summer, we had a tanned, bald son that kind of resembled a caramel, Michelin-man. Our boy had more rolls than the local bakery. In contrast to the blonde peach fuzz on our son’s head, our daughter had a thick head of dark, curly brown hair. She was our little Shirley Temple with a much fairer complexion than her Coppertone brother.

I should have invested in Pampers. It did not take me long to join “Dads against Diapers.” As their slogan says, “It is not just a job, it is a doodie.”

Footie pajamas. Thinking that completely unrolling the toilet paper was a game. Throwing a “binkie” from the church balcony to the main floor of the auditorium during worship. Dreaming of growing up and becoming a donut maker in New York City so that he could visit the Statue of Liberty every day. Lace dresses and socks and patent leather shoes. Where have the years gone?

The future dietitian would only eat one sweet in the Brownsville Road Preschool and would dutifully report that her brother ate a sweet during the regularly scheduled snack time and when a fellow student’s mother brought birthday cupcakes – a cookie and a cupcake in the same day!. The future lawyer would explain to me that the reason it was okay for him to kick the little girl across the street was that “He was doing unto her what she had done to him” (for those of you who have heard me preach, you can easily understand my son’s confusion). Should I have known in 1991 what careers these two preschoolers would be pursuing in graduate school in 2009?

Co-ed baseball. One child chosen for the All-Star team and the other asked to play the roll of athletic supporter. One bench-clearing incident – it wasn’t that the umpire made a bad call, but it was a key player that passed “something” other than home plate while sitting on the middle of the bench.

Kindergarten and the school-age years. First year = “Twins can not be in the same class!” Shortly after that = “We want to put the twins in the same class.” One of the twins mastered the “turkey dance” and the other wisely took a more conservative roll in the school play.

Middle school, high school, and college are a blur. They passed as quickly as our daughter’s sprints toward a cross-country finish line or the curtain going down on one of our son’s plays.

Twenty-two Christmas holidays have come and gone. Tonight is the twins’ twenty-third Christmas Eve.

Feels sort of funny. I do not have a plastic play house with misaligned holes for plastic screws that needs to be assembled tonight. Due to my not being too mechanically inclined, I am not perspiring while trying to complete setting up an elaborate toy purchased by grandparents (I used to make rules in the middle of night – “From now on, if a grandparent purchases a gift, they put the gift together!”).

I am not even worried that the twins will try to sneak and see what I am doing. Rather, that little boy is now a young man and that little girl is now a young lady. Both were quite content, to retire to their bedrooms early to speak to their respective fiancés on their cell phones (and both were born in the B.C. era – before cell-phones).

No one asked if we were going to put out “cookies and milk for Santa.” I am not even sure where the plates are or if Santa will even eat the types of cookies that two dietitians allow in this house.

Where have the years gone?

It is hard for me to believe that if the good Lord wills that our twins will be married by next Christmas season. Our family will have increased in size by 50%. Holidays will be shared with other sets of parents who love their kids and their mates just like we do.

Truthfully, I am asking myself, “When did my children start dating?” Where have the years gone?

Were you to ask me to speak publicly about raising a child, my outline would be a lot shorter tonight than when we were anticipating the arrival of our twins. I am kind of like the man who never had kids, but wanted to tell all the parents in the neighborhood how to discipline their children without ever raising their voices. All of this advice went out the window one day when some neighborhood kids did some art work in the newly poured sidewalk of the man without children. When the man without children was caught yelling at the kids who had messed up his sidewalk and questioned about his actions, he responded: “It is a lot easier to raise children in the abstract than it is in the concrete!” I sure do not have parenting completely figured out.

But, I do know this. Our twins have a great mother. They will arise and praise her in the gates. If they have any doubts, they will realize soon enough (to borrow a wise observation from a good friend) that she not only gave them life, she allowed the Lord to work through her to make them who they are. I am in awe of the twins’ mother (my wife) and the awesome work and love she has poured and continues to send into our children’s lives.

And now, I am the father of the bride . . . and of the groom. As a dad, I have no right to be an anchor to hold my children from setting sail. Neither is it my role to step in and to endeavor to navigate their vessels over the seas onto which they will embark. I can still endeavor to point them to the Lighthouse on the hillside that overlooks those seas. Surely, I can pray and encourage them in their souls’ journeys.

I love my son and my daughter. I am grateful that they love the Lord. I praise God for raising up a young lady and a young man that are Christians and who will help our children (their mates) get to heaven.

In a few months, I will have a little less hair and a thinner wallet. Who knows, I may even lose a little of the weight I gained during pregnancy as I anticipate wearing a tuxedo. Then, if so blessed by God, it will be my privilege to watch my son marry a beautiful young lady and to witness my daughter giving herself fully to a handsome young man.

I am content to step into the twins’ twenty-third Christmas. The big hand is now past twelve midnight. For what greater gift could I receive this Christmas than to be the father of the bride . . . and the groom? In this moment, I am most blessed (and grateful that I do not have to assemble any gifts from grandparents!).

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