Twenty years ago today we met this beautiful human being and became parents for the first time. The process from the phone call we received that "you have a daughter" to that moment involved a few weeks, several administrative steps, and a long flight, and it has all been worth it to watch Jada grow up into an ambitious young woman who is not afraid to want things and work hard to get them. Happy Gotcha Day, Jerds!
At home, I've had on repeat this YouTube video of a worship song, including when I am having some solitary time in prayer and Bible reading, and particularly when I am lifting up our children to God. With one in Taiwan, one in Kansas, and one in fifth grade, it distinctly feels like our kids are further away from us in physical distance and in personal influence. Being a parent means loving another human being more than yourself, wishing good for them more than your own good, and as they grow up realizing that there's less and less you can do to secure that for them.
Amy and I have prayed for our kids since before they arrived in our family, but in this phase our supplications are more raw and visceral. We wish to protect them and increasingly can't, for them to make good decisions even as they are freer to make bad ones, for them to be kept from harm though they have never been more susceptible to it. And so, with a little bit of faith and a lot of desperation, we find comfort that, through the bumps and bruises of life, God's hands are upon them.
What is so moving about this worship song is that God's presence extends well beyond our reach into our children's lives. "A thousand generations" is an unfathomable word of blessing to speak into our existence. "And your children, and their children, and their children" is but three generations, and yet it is such a wonderful thought, that the same God who has blessed us will be in the same business for our great-grandchildren. No wonder why I savor this blessed thought.
Stand-up comedians are some of the bravest people around. Their craft involves standing in front of an audience, just you and a microphone, baring your soul and hoping you get a few laughs. Indeed, many comedy clubs are tough crowds, eager to heckle someone off the stage and quick to smell blood in the water when someone is floundering.
Failure is an essential pathway to success for the stand-up comedian. A good joke never arrives fully formed, but rather needs to be told 100 different ways, the first 99 times bombing and yielding you a torrent of boos. A whole set, let alone one good enough for its own special, therefore involves an almost unimaginable amount of bearing failure.
This is not an unfortunate byproduct of success, like medicine that is good for you but happens to taste like crap. It is in fact a necessary ingredient in getting to success. For without failure, the comedian doesn’t know how to change the joke so that it will land. As one stand-up comedian said on a podcast I recently listened to, “failure is a data point.”
I firmly believe that success in life is the same as success in stand-up comedy. You have to want to accomplish something. And you have to be willing to bear many data points in the form of countless failures, in some cases quite painful and public in nature. Putting those two things together, that means you have to want to accomplish something enough that you are willing to bear many failures.
Failure is hard for a kid in 2025. Nobody likes to fall on their face. Very rarely do we see the people we admire fall on their face. Young people desire success no less strongly than past generations, but they have very little support in the hard parts of the journey to success.
Which is why good parenting is so important. Are we the kinds of parents who, day in and day out, are helping their kids believe at their very core that no matter what happens in life they are loved and accepted by their parents? Are they seeing in how we live our lives a humble acceptance of failure, an embrace of the painful process of going through failure to get to success?
I fall short on all these
things. I will extend myself grace that I do have my good moments. And I will
hope our kids also extend themselves grace, to fail over and over again as they
stumble towards success.
Amy and I joke that Jada's love for travel was birthed during those long days in the orphanage, when being stuck in that plain crib for months compelled her to think to herself that if she ever got to move around she would see the world. Well, 20 years in, she's already been to Europe on five separate trips, one of them being an epic 5-city 16-day jaunt that she planned, paid for, and experienced all by herself. (The spreadsheet she made, of every minute and every penny, is one of my singularly "proud papa" moments.)
This month brings her back to Asia, the continent of her birth, and specifically 10 weeks abroad in Taiwan through a program Drexel has. She'll be living on her own and honing her Mandarin, as well as visiting as many of my family side's relatives as she has time for and accomplishing as many side trips as her budget can accommodate.
We miss her dearly already but are proud of her having ambitions and being willing to put herself out there to achieve them. Spread your wings, Jerds!
This is actually the second post with this title." Here's the first, in which we rejoiced in having so many to rejoice with about Asher's arrival into our family. Today, I similarly want to express gratitude, for we are abundantly blessed that so many are journeying with us as we journey with Asher.
It is not easy to be Black in America. Thus, it is not easy to raise a Black child in America, especially since neither Amy nor I have anything to draw from in our own lives to prepare Asher for how he must navigate through this world.
So we are thankful for the solidarity, compassion, and instruction of our friends, whose knowledge and empathy make up for our deficits, to Asher's benefit and ours. So to you who are in our tribe I express a profound appreciation.
Fall 2025 marks a milestone in the Huang family, namely that only one kid is home with us. Asher just started 5th grade, but his two older siblings are off at college, Aaron at Kansas State and Jada at Drexel. (Though Jada is literally down the street from us and comes home most weekends, we see her less and less as her schedule fills up more and more with friends and studies and work, and later this month she leaves for a quarter abroad in Taiwan.)
The nest is emptying, which Amy and I feel in both emotional and practical ways. How many groceries to buy, who's going to wash the dishes, and how weekend plans are formed will now change. As will how we parent each of our kids in this new equilibrium. Time is undefeated, and has brought us to this stage in our family's journey, for which we are both sentimental and grateful.
With Aaron moved into Kansas State and having started classes, and Jada also off at college and coming home less often as she establishes her own social and professional space, the Huang family is settling into having only one kid at home. Amy and I miss our older kids, but alongside that sentiment we also feel proud of their maturing into adults, and proud of ourselves for giving them the foundation to do so. And, truth be told, we find ourselves daydreaming more and more of the greater freedom that comes from not having to constantly tend to the needs of our children.
But Asher has only known a world in which his big sibs have been home. Oh sure, they rib him, mercilessly at times. And other times he has been content, even when they want to hang out with him, to keep his nose in his screens or see his own friends.
Ah, but now that they are gone he has been feeling his big feels, missing their presence on his floor at night and not knowing what to do with their absence in his life. "I just want the five of us to be together," he lamented to me between big sobs the other night. It was small comfort that we'll all be going to California four months from now.
So, day by day, we solder on, lifting up the big kids in prayer that they are safe and thriving, making good decisions and deriving the right lessons from bad decisions. And we hug extra hugs for our little one, who's not so little anymore by the way, that he also finds his friends and activities and joy and purpose.
