Craig, 48, had a mental picture of how this season would unfold. His son Ethan would finish his degree, find some direction, start moving. Life would have a shape. Craig is a planner; he’s built a career on mapping out what comes next and making it happen. He applied that same expectation to fatherhood, and for most of Ethan’s life, it worked pretty well.

Ethan is 21 now. He’s still home. And from where Craig sits, the movement isn’t happening. Every day he watches his son and wonders what’s going on in there. From the outside, it looks like inertia. Like avoidance. Like a kid who should know better by now.

The speech is ready. Craig has rehearsed it. There’s a version of this conversation that ends with a deadline and a moving date, and Craig knows exactly how to deliver it. It would probably work, in the short term. But it wouldn’t be first fruits. It would be frustration wearing the costume of fathering.

Craig gets quiet. He doesn’t read a book or make a plan. He prays; not for Ethan to change on Craig’s schedule, but for Craig to see clearly what his son actually needs. And what comes back isn’t a strategy. It’s a posture. Stay. Love. Trust. 1 Corinthians 13 says love bears all things. Not the manageable things. All things. Including the season you didn’t plan for, in a kid you’re still learning to understand.

Craig stops delivering the speech. He starts showing up differently. He sits with Ethan. He asks questions without attaching outcomes to the answers. He speaks hope instead of pressure. He gives God the timeline and brings his patience as the offering.

That is first fruits. It doesn’t look impressive from the outside. It looks like a father sitting on a couch next to his son, not fixing anything, just staying. But it costs Craig something real, his need for Ethan to move on Craig’s schedule, his need to feel like a successful father by visible metrics. He lays that down and trusts God with it.

Love bears all things. Even the waiting. Especially the waiting. Stay in it.