What do I think of when I think of a father?
Darth Vader.
And my own dad. God, of course. A Catholic priest. An image of a man balancing a toddler precariously on one hand above his head. And now, my son, Weston.
These are the things I think of when I think of the word “father.” Or, at least, these are examples of what a father might be. I’ve found myself wondering a lot over the last few months what exactly it means to be a father.
If that last example on the list wasn’t a dead giveaway, this year, the word “father” has taken on a whole lot more meaning to me because my wife, Meghan, and I welcomed our first child into our lives. Since then, life has been a roller coaster, to say the least.
Weston was born on February 21 at B.C. Children’s Hospital in Vancouver. At the 20-week ultrasound, the doctors discovered he had a mass growing on his neck, which they called a “lymphatic malformation.” Basically, he had a cyst growing on the left side of his neck that, by birth, was 9 cm long. The mass itself wasn’t dangerous, but its placement created a concern that his airway would be closed shut by it, resulting in an inability to breathe once he was born. So, with over a month to go until his due date, we packed up from our home in West Kelowna, B.C., left behind our friends, some of our family, our church, our ministry, and life as we knew it, and moved into the Ronald McDonald House next to the hospital.
Weston underwent what’s called an Ex-utero intrapartum treatment (EXIT) procedure, where he was removed through a C-section birth, but before having the umbilical cord cut, he was intubated to prevent loss of oxygen. The last EXIT procedure they had done was in 2016. So, we were the talk of the hospital. It was one of those times when being popular wasn’t fun.
Everything went as smoothly as possible, and what followed was three weeks of watching our son begin his life connected to a ventilator, with a feeding tube, two IV lines in his belly button, and a vitals monitor around his foot that he hated more than anything else. We couldn’t pick him up and hold him for fear of dislodging his breathing tube. When he cried, no noise would escape because his vocal cords were obstructed by the tubes. “Eating” for him meant watching a slow stream of milk be pushed through the cord in his nose directly into his stomach by a pump. In a word, it was heartbreaking.
We desperately wanted to see him healthy, we wanted to pick him up, and we wanted him to feel the fresh outside air. With every doctor and procedure, we were more hopeful. Then, finally, we heard that his breathing tube would be removed on Friday morning, and we would be able to hold him. At least, that was what was supposed to happen.
Instead, there was a miscommunication between his doctors and nurses. He wasn’t given medication to reduce the swelling in his throat in time, which meant that his breathing tube wouldn’t be able to come out until 8:00 p.m. The doctors who could remove his tube went home at 5:00 p.m. Then, it was the weekend, so the earliest they would be back and able to remove the tube would be Monday. His procedure would need to be rescheduled, so Monday evening was now the earliest that the tube could come out.
I was on the phone when the doctor came in to tell us. By the time I got off, the doctor was outside talking to the nurse, so I asked Meghan what the update was. Being in ministry, it sounded ridiculous to me that the doctors couldn’t help at 8:00 p.m. because they went home at 5:00 p.m. I recognize that work/life boundaries are important, but staying a few extra hours in youth ministry tends to be par for the course. The fact that my son would continue to choke and gag on his breathing tube for the weekend because a doctor refused to stay a few hours to remove it was exasperating.
When Meghan updated me, I barely let her finish her sentence before storming out of our room to voice my displeasure to the doctors. I was furious. It was anger in a way that I’ve never felt anger before. I was not angry because I was being wronged but because someone I love needed defending. I didn’t scream and swear, but it was clear that I felt this was unacceptable. I must have sounded at least a little bit stern because, eventually, Meghan grabbed my shirt from behind and slowly began pulling me back.
After a frustrating weekend, Weston’s tube was removed the following Monday. We got to go home around 10 days later.
The experience genuinely surprised me. Reflecting on the way I acted when I learned my son would continue to suffer, I realized I acted in a way that I don’t think I ever had before. It wasn’t rageful anger. It was a sense that someone I love needed defending, and it was my job to defend him. In that moment, there was nothing I wouldn’t have done in his best interest. I would have given him anything.
That feeling has changed the way I think about God as a father. Of course, I knew He loved me as my Heavenly Father, always believing He wanted the best for me. Recently, I’ve realized it’s more than that. He doesn’t just want what’s best for us; He fights for what’s best for us. His heart breaks when we don’t get the best, and He is ready to storm out of the room to fight on our behalf.
And by sending Jesus, God fought for what’s best for us. His heart broke when we didn’t have the best, so He fought on our behalf.
As weird as it sounds, the idea of God sending Jesus to die for our sins has always felt business-like and transactional to me. I didn’t even realize that until this year, but in my mind, it was an emotionless decision—a sort of “they need this, let’s do it,” and that was that. Leaping to my son’s defence when he couldn’t fight for himself made me realize how far from the truth that is. Because of His love for us, while we were separated from Him, God felt compelled to give whatever it took for us to receive the best. There was nothing He would not give, and He didn’t hesitate. There was no decision to be made. His love for us drove Him to do practically anything it took to save us, including the death of His own Son. If my love for my son burns so strongly that I’ll confront a doctor, how much more will God do for me since His love burns that much more?
Learning what it means to love like a father has shown me the vastness of God’s love for me. My flawed human heart loves Weston in ways that I didn’t think I could. I’m learning that God’s perfect, godly heart must love me infinitely more. That’s humbling. And you know what? It makes me love Him so much more.
Caleb Bloch lives with his wife and son in West Kelowna, B.C. They attend Emmanuel Church, where he is the youth pastor.
This article appeared in the July/August/September 2024 issue of testimony/Enrich, a quarterly publication of The Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada. © 2024 The Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada. Photo © istockphoto.com.