My father was the happiest man I have ever known. Not that he never grumbled (he was a golfer who lost a lot of balls). But he was rooted so firmly in the glory of God’s grace that nothing could keep him down for long. He loved the promises of God. I just heard him say yesterday on an old recording, quoting William Carey, “The future is as bright as the promises of God.” He really believed Romans 8:28. He prayed it and sang it and preached and lived in the joy of it. And he led people to Christ in droves. Under God’s promises, he would have said this was the key to his joy. I asked him one time: What’s the key to joy. He answered without hesitation: Soul winning.

This is no mystery. It is more blessed to give than to receive. Freely you received. Freely give.
He and mother would sing in the front seat of the car while driving long distances with my sister and me in the back. “Isn’t He wonderful.” “Down at the Cross.” “Heavenly Sunshine.” “When We All Get to Heaven.” “Love Lifted Me.”
They were not performing. They were exulting.
I am still catching up.
What a legacy of Christ-exalting joy!
Thank you, Father, for my father.

Why “818?”
818 stands for Isaiah 8:18 where Isaiah makes the follow statement:

“Here am I and the children whom the Lord has given me. We are for signs and wonders in Israel from the Lord of hosts Who dwells in Mount Zion.”

Isaiah realized God had blessed him with his children for purposes beyond providing help in tilling his fields and caring for him in his old age. God had “filled up his quiver” (Psalm 127:4) with children for the express purpose of raising them up to be a voice and sign to their generation and nation.

God had something to say to Israel through Isaiah and his children. God has something to say to our nation and our generation through our families. It is our hope that this resource of Project818 will help dads take the bold stand Isaiah and his children took. Picture them there standing before God and the people of Jerusalem, offering themselves as servants of God.

Project 818 is here to help dads focus on one of the highest callings of life – the call to shape and strengthen the lives of those children they are privileged to call son or daughter.

On the pages of this website you will find articles and stories from dads just like you – dads who refuse to give up or give in to pressures to relinquish that high call of fatherhood, dads who refuse to leave the raising and encouraging of their sons and daughters to a teacher, preacher, coach, celebrity or a network programming executive.

These dads insist on being involved in helping their children figure out life in this confusing world and Project818 is here to serve as a resource for those men.

If someone in your life calls you “dad, daddy, papa, pops, papala, father” or maybe y favorite, “da”, please take a few moments from time to time to check in on the site. We’re new and under construction, and much more is coming in the months ahead.

In fact, as I write this, sitting in a local caffeine store, I am overhearing a discussion at a table next to me. A father is complaining about how unfair the court was to place his children in protective services and not let him know where they are. He loudly announces that he doesn’t even know what he’s been accused of. He is animated and fuming and adamant that this is a travesty of justice. I couldn’t help but notice when he walked up to the table that his long-sleeved t-shirt was emblazoned with a cartoon of a very happy hiker announcing “Life Is Great!” Maybe a reminder of better days.

Now things have obviously changed. The fallout from the conflict with the mother of his children has given rise to this public tirade. He goes on to tell the café full of strangers that he never knows form visitation to visitation if it will be the last time he gets to see his children. Life obviously isn’t so great at this point.

And that’s the case for so many of us isn’t it? We look back to better days. Happy times, hopeful times, promising times.

Maybe that’s where you are. You might believe that the best days are behind. In comparison at the end of the road you might be right but there can still be great days ahead. It is never too late to choose to make a positive difference in the life of our children and our spouse, even it she is our ex-spouse.

Life is often very hard. And in those hard times we discover what we have really become. You and I don’t have to be victims of circumstances, whatever those circumstances might be. We can always find a way to navigate through the wilderness of trials, crisis, catastrophe and disaster and find God’s grace to become an agent of His Kingdom. How? The writer of Hebrews tells us “look unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross despising the shame.” He said “Consider Him who endured such hostility from sinners against Himself, lest you become weary and discouraged in your souls.”

In other words, consider what Jesus went through as you walk through your challenges. Don’t give up. There is hope. And here at Project818 there is a community of men . . . a Band Of Brothers to learn from and grow with.

·         Husband . . . what would you like to say to your wife?

·         Kids . . . what would you like to say to your dad?

·         Wives . . . what would you like to say to your husband?

Say it now and send it to us!
Please note: by submitting your comments you are giving permission to publish those comments on this website : )

• What questions do you have about fathering?
• What features would you like to see here?
• What have you learned about life through your parenting experience?

Please take a moment to send us that email…

Cat’s In The Cradle (by Harry Chapin)

My child arrived just the other day

He came to the world in the usual way

But there were planes to catch and bills to pay

He learned to walk while I was away

And he was talkin’ ‘fore I knew it, and as he grew

He’d say “I’m gonna be like you dad

You know I’m gonna be like you”

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin’ home dad?

I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son

You know we’ll have a good time then

My son turned ten just the other day

He said, “Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let’s play

Can you teach me to throw”, I said “Not today

I got a lot to do”, he said, “That’s ok”

And he walked away but his smile never dimmed

And said, “I’m gonna be like him, yeah

You know I’m gonna be like him”

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin’ home son?

I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son

You know we’ll have a good time then

Well, he came home from college just the other day

So much like a man I just had to say

“Son, I’m proud of you, can you sit for a while?”

He shook his head and said with a smile

“What I’d really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys

See you later, can I have them please?”

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin’ home son?

I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son

You know we’ll have a good time then

I’ve long since retired, my son’s moved away

I called him up just the other day

I said, “I’d like to see you if you don’t mind”

He said, “I’d love to, Dad, if I can find the time

You see my new job’s a hassle and kids have the flu

But it’s sure nice talking to you, Dad

It’s been sure nice talking to you”

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me

He’d grown up just like me

My boy was just like me

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin’ home son?

I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son

You know we’ll have a good time then

Living Years (by Mike Rutherford)

Every generation


Blames the one before


And all of their frustrations


Come beating on your door



I know that I’m a prisoner


To all my father held so dear


I know that I’m a hostage


To all his hopes and fears


I just wish I could have told him in the living years



Crumpled bits of paper


Filled with imperfect thought


Stilted conversations


I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got



You say you just don’t see it


He says it’s perfect sense


You just can’t get agreement


In this present tense


We all talk a different language


Talking in defence



Say it loud, say it clear


You can listen as well as you hear


It’s too late when we die


To admit we don’t see eye to eye



So we open up a quarrel


Between the present and the past


We only sacrifice the future


It’s the bitterness that lasts



So don’t yield to the fortunes


You sometimes see as fate


It may have a new perspective


On a different day


And if you don’t give up, and don’t give in


You may just be o.k.



Say it loud, say it clear


You can listen as well as you hear


It’s too late when we die


To admit we don’t see eye to eye



I wasn’t there that morning


When my father passed away


I didn’t get to tell him


All the things I had to say



I think I caught his spirit


Later that same year


I’m sure I heard his echo


In my baby’s new born tears


I just wish I could have told him in the living years



Little Girl (by Bill Welsh)

Little girl growing tall

Right before my eyes

Soon you’ll be a woman

And won’t I be surprised

But I remember, oh so well

The morning you arrived

Tears of joy for a welcomed guest

Who forever changed my life

Little girl the day will come

When I must let you go

And I won’t promise that I won’t cry

And I hope that you know

You’ve brought me trust and tenderness

And more than I can say

I’m proud to be your daddy

And I’m glad you came my way

Little girl when you are grown

And stop to reminisce

Don’t forget all the love we’re shared

And please remember this

Wherever life may lead you

And as all those years unfurl

Though you may live to be 99

You’ll always be my little girl

Legacy (by Bill Welsh)

Child I want to give you more

Than shelter from the storm

God knows I could never give you silver or gold

But if one treasure I could leave

For you my child my own

This would be my wish and this alone

That somehow through my weaknesses

You may come to know

The love of good King Jesus

And want Him for your own

That somehow through my weaknesses

You may come to know

The love of good King Jesus

And want Him for your own

And not to make excuses

But I am only just a man

And God’s love is much deeper than we can understand

But I will never turn you out

No matter what the score

And mine will always be an open door

So when it’s all been said and done

And we’re all looking back

That you might say you saw the Father

Living in your dad

Yes when it’s all been said and done

And we’re all looking back

That you might say you saw the Father

Living in your dad

Johnny Lingo wasn’t exactly his name. But that’s what Shenkin, the manager of the guest house on Kiniwata, called him. Shenkin was from Chicago and had a habit of Americanizing the names of the islanders. But Johnny was mentioned by many people in many connections. If I wanted to spend a few days on the neighboring island of Nurabandi, Johnny Lingo would put me up. If I wanted to fish he could show me where the biting was best. If it was pearls I sought, he would bring the best buys. The people of Kiniwata all spoke highly of Johnny Lingo. Yet when they spoke they smiled, and the smiles were slightly mocking.

“Get Johnny Lingo to help you find what you want and let him do the bargaining,” advised Shenkin. “Johnny knows how to make a deal.”
“Johnny Lingo! A boy seated nearby hooted the name and rocked with laughter.
“What goes on?” I demanded. “everybody tells me to get in touch with Johnny Lingo and then breaks up. Let me in on the joke.”
“Oh, the people like to laugh,” Shenkin said, shruggingly. “Johnny’s the brightest, the strongest young man in the islands, And for his age, the richest.”
“But if he’s all you say, what is there to laugh about?”
“Only one thing. Five months ago, at fall festival, Johnny came to Kiniwata and found himself a wife. He paid her father eight cows!

I knew enough about island customs to be impressed. Two or three cows would buy a fair-to-middling wife, four or five a highly satisfactory one. “Good Lord!” I said, “Eight cows! She must have beauty that takes your breath away.” “She’s not ugly,” he conceded, and smiled a little. “But the kindest could only call Sarita plain. Sam Karoo, her father, was afraid she’d be left on his hands.”
“But then he got eight cows for her? Isn’t that extraordinary?”
“Never been paid before.”
“Yet you call Johnny’s wife plain?”
“I said it would be kindness to call her plain. She was skinny. She walked with her shoulders hunched and her head ducked. She was scared of her own shadow.”
“Well,” I said, “I guess there’s just no accounting for love.”
“True enough,” agreed the man. “And that’s why the villagers grin when they talk about Johnny. They get special satisfaction from the fact that the sharpest trader in the islands was bested by dull old Sam Karoo.”
“But how?”
“No one knows and everyone wonders. All the cousins were urging Sam to ask for three cows and hold out for two until he was sure Johnny’d pay only one. Then Johnny came to Sam Karoo and said, ‘Father of Sarita, I offer eight cows for your daughter.’”
“Eight cows,” I murmured. “I’d like to meet this Johnny Lingo.”
“And I wanted fish. I wanted pearls. So the next afternoon I beached my boat at Nurabandi. And I noticed as I asked directions to Johnny’s house that his name brought no sly smile to the lips of his fellow Nurabandians. And when I met the slim, serious young man, when he welcomed me with grace to his home, I was glad that from his own people he had respect unmingled with mockery. We sat in his house and talked. Then he asked, “You come here from Kiniwata?”
“Yes.”
“They speak of me on that island?”
“They say there’s nothing I might want they you can’t help me get.”
He smiled gently. “My wife is from Kiniwata.”
“Yes, I know.”
“They speak of her?”
“A little.”
“What do they say?”
“Why, just…” The question caught me off balance. “They told me you were married at festival time.”
“Nothing more?” The curve of his eyebrows told me he knew there had to be more.
They also say the marriage settlement was eight cows.” I paused.
“They wonder why.”
“They ask that?” His eyes lightened with pleasure. “Everyone in Kiniwata knows about the eight cows?”
I nodded.
“And in Nurabandi everyone knows it too.” His chest expanded with satisfaction. “Always and forever, when they speak of marriage settlements, it will be remembered that Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for Sarita.”
So that’s the answer, I thought: vanity.

And then I saw her. I watched her enter the room to place flowers on the table. She stood still a moment to smile at the young man beside me. Then she went swiftly out again. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The lift of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin the sparkle of her eyes all spelled a pride to which no one could deny her the right. I turned back to Johnny Lingo and found him looking at me. “You admire her?” he murmured. “She…she’s glorious. But she’s not Sarita from Kiniwata,” I said.
“There’s only one Sarita. Perhaps she does not look the way they say she looked in Kiniwata.” “She doesn’t. I heard she was homely. They all make fun of you because you let yourself be cheated by Sam Karoo.”
“You think eight cows were too many?” A smile slid over his lips. “No. But how can she be so different?”
“Do you ever think,” he asked, “what it must mean to a woman to know that her husband has settled on the lowest price for which she can be bought? And then later, when the women talk, they boast of what their husbands paid for them. One says four cows, another maybe six. How does she feel, the woman who was sold for one or two?” This could not happen to my Sarita.”
“Then you did this just to make your wife happy?”
“I wanted Sarita to be happy, yes. But I wanted more than that. You say she is different This is true. Many things can change a woman. Things that happen inside, things that happen outside. But the thing that matters most is what she thinks about herself. In Kiniwata, Sarita believed she was worth nothing. Now she knows she is worth more than any other woman in the islands.” “Then you wanted -”
“I wanted to marry Sarita. I loved her and no other woman.”
“But —” I was close to understanding.
“But,” he finished softly, “I wanted an eight-cow wife.”