Coca Cola and Comic-Cons

Making Time for Your Children

I have eight kids. It’s hard to give each one real one-on-one attention when they range from a toddler to a grown teenager and you’re in the thick of your working years. Every father knows that fight. You come home tired, the day already spent, and there they are… waiting. It’s good work, but it’s heavy work.

Over the past year, I’ve tried two things to get more quantity time with them. First, I started bringing one or two along on errands. Even a gas station run turns into something worth remembering. We’ll sing to the radio, talk about nothing and everything, or grab a snack. Maybe a just soda. It’s simple. But sometimes simple is the whole point. I’ve even taken one along when I just needed quiet. It’s rarely quiet. Still, a day’s coming when the house will be. I’ll miss the noise then.

Second, I’ve learned to follow their interests. They open the door to one-on-one time if you let them. My third-born, Caedmon, has a mind for ministry and politics. When I head to a conference, he’s the one I take. When it’s appropriate, he will sit in on my Zoom calls with pastors or civic leaders, just listening. He’s starting to understand the weight of things. It’s brought us closer.

Galilee, my oldest daughter, caught her mother’s and my love for art. She spends hours sketching her own comic books. So we got VIP passes to a nearby Comic-Con to meet small indie artists. Cyprian, my fourth-born, loves puzzles and building. We build Lego sets together, and I promised him a trip to Legoland in San Diego.

My second-oldest loves to hunt. This fall, he’s taking me out. I could live without the cold and the waiting, but I like being with him. We already connected over wrestling, my favorite sport in high school. There’s something honest about it—two people locked in effort and respect.

The two youngest girls are still mysteries. Foxe mostly wants snacks and mischief. That’s how he says she loves you.

What I’ve learned is simple. When your kids love something, step into it with them. Not because you love the thing, but because you love them. Ask why it matters. Listen close. Talk about life. Talk about calling. Talk about what lasts. These moments aren’t polished. They don’t have to be. They stick because they’re real. It’ll also build trust and openness to discuss deeper matters, such as the state of their soul.

I’ve made peace with this: I can’t give my kids all the time I want to. No man can. But I can give them what counts. A real connection. Some memories. The quiet joy of knowing their father delights in them. Every man’s life looks different, but the duty stays the same. Take what you’ve got and make it matter. Grace has a way of showing up in the small places, usually when you’re not watching for it.

One of my favorite memories of my grandpa is stopping at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. He parked the truck. Went inside. Came out with a cold bottle of Coke. Popped the cap. Handed it to me. We rumbled down that country road while I drank. He just smiled, a small, quiet smile. I think about that sometimes when I’m driving the back roads of the Midwest. Funny how something so small can stay with you for a lifetime.

Don’t overthink it. Just be with them. Sometimes a can of Coke means more than a whole weekend at Comic-Con.