If you follow me on Instagram, you likely noticed a trend on Tuesday nights this past year. At some point I would post a photo of a stuffed animal somewhere in the vicinity of a hospital. When I began my chaplain residency at Vanderbilt, my youngest son was anxious about what I would face while working at a hospital. He was especially concerned about my weekly overnight shifts. So each Tuesday morning, my son would select a stuffed animal to be my Overnight Shift Companion to keep me company. And I would take a picture of that friend at the hospital to let Liam know all was well.

The truth of the matter was a little more complicated. All was well, but there were many nights when I would sit with the dead, dying, and grieving. These are moments that are sacred and a natural part of life yet they are still incredibly difficult. As the year went on, I became more comfortable sharing appropriate glimpses of these hard moments with my boys. And I still kept taking fun pictures of plush friends every Tuesday night. There was room for both.

Our residency cohort—which included a Black Baptist pastor, a Methodist, an Episcopalian from Massachusetts, a Muslim Imam, and a Catholic priest from India—witnessed a great deal of turmoil both inside and outside the hospital. We had many discussions about the various dumpster fires that were going on in our country. Not to be overdramatic, but there was sometimes a foreboding sense that the world was coming crashing down.

This post contains some spoilers for the movie Superman. If you haven’t seen it, what are you doing? Go see it. It’s good!

The tagline for the original Superman movie in 1978 was “You’ll believe a man can fly.” And, sure, since I was 9 years old, Superman has been cool to me because he could fly, move at superspeed, hoist a car, and shoot lasers from his eyes (technically heat vision). Yet it has long been true that the aspect of this strange visitor from another planet has been his goodness. Despite having abilities far beyond mortal men, Superman always sought to make the world a better place for every man, woman, child, and squirrel.

I’m less concerned with whether a man can be powerful. But to make me believe a powerful man can be kind? That is something extraordinary.

So let’s cut to the chase. Superman, written and directed by James Gunn, did just that. It is a fun and fantastic comic book come to life with bright colors, kaiju, pocket universes, and all sorts of superhero shenanigans. I had a goofy grin on my face for most of my two viewings of the movie in theaters. Yet even more than the fun, the film captured the essence of Superman and even made it work in a present day context.

Last night—the night before you turned 15—I spent way too much time trying to figure out what we needed to do for you to get your Learner’s Permit. Besides the fact that the State of Tennessee unsurprisingly has woefully inefficient websites, I was struck by the fact that sometime in the next few weeks I will be sitting next to you as you drive a car.

Now I completely trust you. Although you did recently say something to the effect of “How hard could driving be? I do it in Mario Kart all the time.” That terrified me slightly. Then we had one of our conversations where I came at you with logic, you doubled down with stubbornness, I pivoted into absurdity, and that finally made you crack a smile. We have a lot of conversations like that and I enjoy them. But I digress. Once you learn the basics of driving, I have no doubt that you are going to be a safe and responsible young man behind the wheel. I’m just having more trouble with the fact that you are going to be a young man behind the wheel.

Fifteen. As that number has approached, you have dangled this upcoming age out there in some sort of attempt to make mine and your mom’s head explode. Every kid probably does that when they sense they are getting to an age that once seemed impossible to their parents. Your mom has usually responded by denying that it was going to happen. I usually look you square in the eye and stoically assert that I know how the math works. But the truth is it is kind of hard to believe you are fifteen. It is here that I am starting to hear the clock tick on you one day going off to college.

One of the major theological shifts in my life occurred when I learned that the triumphal entry—this great parade of palms and hosannas—was a protest. Jesus rode a humble donkey instead of a war horse. He processed into town down the main way like a conquering general and yet it was the conqueror who would be conquered. Like all of his ministry, Palm Sunday was a challenge to how those around Jesus perceived the world; it is still an upside down contrast to how we assume things are presently.

You think that victory, freedom, and justice are delivered by political power or sword? I am going to show you another way.

Lots of people didn’t get it. Lots of Christians still don’t get it. Honestly, there are many days when I don’t get it.

U.S. History has always been one of my favorite subjects. Growing up in South Carolina, I had the privilege to go on field trips to important sites of the American Revolution like Kings Mountain, Cowpens, and Fort Moultrie. There was something about walking in the footsteps of freedom fighters that ignited my imagination. I realized early on that I could learn much from the past: both the events that fill our hearts with pride and those that cause us great shame. The latter is important too. I am, after all, a son of the American South.

As I think about this last year, the first place my mind travels is out west. I envision you climbing rocks everywhere we went: the Oregon coast, Yosemite, Joshua Tree. If there was something to be explored, you were out there chasing after adventure. It was like your spirit was going to bust out wherever you went. As a parent, it was sometimes frightening. You have this knack for charging off without a sufficient amount of forethought. Yet there is this spark in that fearlessness that I hope ignites something amazing in you.

This has been a year of uncharted territory for you. You started middle school. You performed in your first school play. You hit bumps of anxiety. You continue to run deeper into adolescence. All of these treks have been exciting, scary, difficult, annoying, and life-giving for you. I can see the tug-of-war going on in you everyday between wanting to still be our little boy and wanting to be more independent. Even as you continue to pursue the latter, you will always be the former. Your mom and I will never stop caring for you or loving you.

Is it ridiculous that this is your last year before you’re a teenager? Of course it is. As I have told you and your brother many times when you try to bait me into an existential crisis by pointing out how old you are, I know how time works. Yet I can still close my eyes and see you as a baby or as a fedora-wearing toddler or this mischievous kid. There is a voice recording that has been on my phone for over nine years in which a three year old you tells a wonderful meandering story. I know how you got from there to here, but I would be lying to say that there is not a small pang that make me miss all that you have been.