October 21st, 2009

Today marks number fifty-two in The Chronicles of Sadie.  When I set out, my goal was to capture and reflect upon enough events and observations in Sadie’s first year that I and others could have one for every week of the year.  Therefore, I find it appropriate to write today about the much-anticipated, highly-celebrated, and greatly-animated first international birthday gala.

I know that it’s hard to believe that one could possibly add to the celebration that I’ve already created through this year’s worth of reflections; but against all odds, the birthday ship came to port and we all embarked for new seas of Sadie adventures.  Now, there are two extremely obvious characteristics about birthday parties for babies.  First of all, they have no idea what’s going on.  The party is really about us . . . the parents . . . and our elaborate attempts to shower our children with love and joy.

Secondly, there is no . . . I repeat . . . no item in this world that would be desired by a one-year-old that my little Sadie Bell doesn’t already possess.  Between two sets of grandparents and a mommy who’s no stranger to shopping, Sadie could play with a new toy every day for the next month and probably still not get to all of them.  As far as clothes go, she has so many that she usually ends up growing out of them before we can get the tags off and her “breeches” on (a token southernism.)

But we didn’t let those minor details stop us . . . the Sadie-show must go on!  She experienced birthday presents, cakes, and surprises from all parties involved on both sides of our family.  Toys galore poured forth from all the family and the “papa”razzi (that would be the overly verbose daddy who follows Sadie around with his camera . . . please, no flash photography.) In all cases, Sadiefest involved multiple birthday cakes which she was allowed . . . scratch that . . . encouraged against all the usual logic to dig her hands into and partake of with reckless abandon.  She came through with flying colors.

We ended up spending a few days with Laura’s family in Gatlinburg, Tennessee when the second birthday coronation . . . I mean . . . party occurred.  In the beauty of the Smoky Mountains, we celebrated Sadie’s big day in all its glory.  It was in Galtinburg that Sadie really began becoming more comfortable with taking “real” steps.

It was also there in the mountains that I gave Sadie my gift for her first birthday: a little piano.  It wasn’t as high-tech or as gadgety as most of her other presents, but it meant something to me.  Now I’m not attempting to mold Sadie into my image.  Just because I play the piano doesn’t mean that she has to.  At this point, we’re not so sure that Sadie isn’t turning out to be a lefty . . . which may complicate the whole issue of teaching her to play anyway.  Who knows?  I’m not left-handed so I’m not sure how it would work.

At any rate, Sadie loved her little piano . . . well, it was really a plastic tiger with a xylophone built in.  When she pushed the keys, an internal hammer would hit the xylophone keys.  She played it for minutes at a time, which for her is a pretty big deal.  I was thrilled to see the beginnings of some similar passions that we may one day be able to share together.

At the heart of this whole faith conundrum is a similar truth.  The Father is gifting us daily with shadows of His glory.  Glimpses of His passion. But His purpose is not to perpetually reproduce carbon copies of Himself; it is rather to see us grow in our own individuality, yet retain the brilliance and passion of His image.  Just like children, we share a similar reflection with our Father.  As Colossians 3: 9-10 (NIV) says, ” . . . you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.”

Sadie shares my image.  My eyes.  My skin tone (poor child.)  My propensity for ice cream eating. Yet, she is her own person.  Such is the mystery of faith: the growth of one’s individual self in the midst of a reflection of God’s image.  That is the goal.  That is the process.

I’m glad that God is in this for the long haul.  There are still many traits that I have left to reflect, but just like a child, my Father is patient to provide creative gifts and overflowing love so that I may one day play a tune that sounds something like His.  We’ll see.

The first year came and went faster than I had anticipated.  I know, I know . . . that’s what everybody says.  But in this case, I’m beginning to realize how it is possible to allow life to be lived at such a maddening pace that you shoot right past the most important things . . . the things you should have stopped to notice . . . the roses that were worth the smelling.  For one of the first times in my life, I feel pretty at peace with the fact that I’ve given one of my best efforts to treasure in the moment that which is most valuable.  These Chronicles of Sadie . . . along with the advent of the iPhone and thereby a great camera/video camera always at my fingertips . . . have produced untold treasures to me as a father.  I pray that they have enriched you as well . . . especially as we each learn the intricacies of walking with the divinely Paternal One.

If it is true, as God has said, that He cherishes us as a Father does His children . . . that He thinks of us constantly.  Protects us.  Guides us.  Even disciplines us. If all of that is true, then my first year as a Father has sealed the deal on my faith.  Not that I’m impervious to falling away or to doubt; rather, I mean that if God truly has an exponential version of what I feel for my baby, then I know that I am loved beyond the bounds of this universe.  In light of this truth, I choose to pursue the passion to please the Father.  I pray that you will too . . . even in the unlikely medium of an internet blog.  That’s right!  If the true love of God is being revealed to your heart in this moment, don’t hesitate . . . reach out for Him and see . . . just see what kind of loving Father He really is.

October 19th, 2009

About three weeks before we celebrated Sadie’s first birthday, we embarked upon another “first” of epic proportions: her first vacation to the beach.  Saddling up the SUV with every possession that we owned along with some that I had no recollection of purchasing, we hit the road a’runnin’.  Oh and photos will be most definitely be necessary along the way on this one.

We left around bedtime so Munchkin could sleep and then we stopped at a hotel for the night.  Hotels and babies can be quite the explosive combination.  A Pack-n-Play portable bed is necessary and unlike at home, there are no closed doors to separate Mommy and Daddy’s space from baby’s space.  That means that you have to unpack, clean up, and move around as quietly as possible when baby is down.  By the next morning’s departure, Sadie had grown weary of the confined space and created quite the stressful situation of reloading the “wheeled Titanic” for the next departure.  Some much-needed coffee and a few apologies between Laura and I found the whole family still intact and relatively happy.

After a hilarious stop at an old seafood buffet that was curiously devoid of any seafood, a host of diaper changes in the backseat of the vehicle, and a supply-stop at the busiest Wal-Mart I had ever laid eyes on, we finally arrived at the beach house to join my family for a week of beautiful weather and relaxation.  It was quite the experience . . . which the beach always is, but so much more so simply because every detail was filtered through the lens of Sadie.  This was another series of firsts that we would never forget . . . even though she already has.

Her first swimming experience was something else.  After slathering the poor child from head to toe in SPF 500, we then put her in a swimmy diaper, a bathing suit, a float with a shaded branch-shaped cover, arm floaties, and a special hat from NASA that blocked every form of light including gamma rays.  The little squirt was as protected as a Civil War ironclad and as unsinkable as a Coast Guard buoy!  She enjoyed the whole swimming thing, but only in “spurts” . . . is this thing on?

At that point, she still wasn’t walking.  Therefore, her little hands and knees touched every square nanometer of the entire beach house where we were staying.  A qualified team of expert adults was on “Sadie-Watch” round the clock, especially around the pool area.  She was incorrigible and entitled . . . seemingly infected with some toddler version of Manifest Destiny . . . and the frontier of Coastal Alabama was hers to possess in its entirety.

Now, what happened next boggled our minds . . . though these days there seems to be less to boggle.  Up to that point, Sadie loved to be outside, but she wasn’t a big fan of grass.  I know it sounds strange, but she would much rather crawl around in the driveway than play in the grass.  She would stick out an offended finger and lightly graze the end of a blade of grass, and then retract her arm as if she had just touched garbage or something . . . of course, she had no problem whatsoever with actual garbage.  Therefore, we concluded that she wouldn’t be much of a fan of sand.

Boy, were we wrong!

Against our somewhat natural affinity for cleanliness, we decided to let Sadie sit in the sand just to see her reaction.  Unlike the grass, she took to the sand like a fish to water . . . so to speak.  Sitting quickly morphed into gleeful crawling as if she had been dropped into a treasure chest full of toys.  She sifted the sand between her little fingers and toes, laughing and enjoying every minute of it.

But it didn’t stop there!  Next, Sadie decided that that gritty substance that we originally thought she would hate was not only edible, but eclipsed in deliciousness only by dog food.  I know it makes us bad parents, but we decided to let her have her fun for a few minutes.  We didn’t let her ingest much of it, but we did let her taste it . . . and apparently, she loved it!  We were befuddled and more than slightly amused.

Eventually, the sand ran out of the hourglass and we had the auspicious task of cleaning up a very, very dirty little munchkin . . . but she had had so much fun, we really didn’t mind.  There were a host of other experiences that dotted the landscape of our trip.  Sadie’s first boat ride.  Her first glimpses of the ocean . . . which left her seemingly unimpressed . . . now the sand at the end of that huge ocean, that was a different story.

Not to make an observation that is too overly obvious, but my first Sadie-beach trip changed my perception of the beach.  I have been to beaches more times than I can count, but Sadie brought “fresh-eyes” to familiar sights.  Through her little eyes, ears, and nose . . . I saw, heard, and smelled the salty spray of the coast for the first time . . . again.

Togetherness brings new perspective.  I suppose that God is the ultimate architect of this concept, finding something in the perfection of Eden that He thought was “not good.” “It is not good for the man to be alone . . . ” (Genesis 2:18 NLT). Now, “man” here can apply to each of us independent of our gender.  At the end of God’s week-long creative extravaganza, He still felt that something was missing: togetherness.

Our little sand excursion was a great example that God does not intend for us to face life’s challenges or to enjoy life’s experiences in isolation.  The more hands that touch the sand . . . the more mouths that taste the salt . . . the more eyes that behold the wonder . . . the more joy that is multiplied to all.  That God is one great mathematician!

We’re still counting the blessings that Sadie has brought to our lives.  They are somewhere in that innumerable category like God’s thoughts about us . . . they are like grains of sand.

October 16th, 2009

In the first year, mobility is the key indicator of what stage of development your baby is in.  Sure, cognitive responses, motor skills, and verbal responses are all very important, but no other factor changes the very culture of your home as mobility.

The first couple of weeks are pieces of cake as far as mobility is concerned.  Little munchkins can barely turn their heads, so if you decide to put them down in one place, when you return you can rest assured that they have not migrated anywhere else on their own.

Then comes rolling over.  For us, Sadie rolled over . . . against all odds and statistical data available . . . when she was three-weeks old.  Again with the overachieving.  At that point, you’ve got to be cognizant of possible hazards in the crib and positions where she might inadvertently obstruct her breathing.  You can no longer just lay her down for a second on the bed without keeping a close eye on her.  Already, your radius of freedom has been shortened.

Next is sitting up.  Ah, this is where it starts to get good.  Sadie turned into a little tripod, sitting up and steadying herself with one hand while the other hand was either holding something or was jammed halfway down her throat in an attempt to soothe her teething pain.  Here, the plot thickened, as did the consistency of the food she was eating.  At this stage, awareness seems to heighten by the day and there is no turning back . . . you better plan on sleeping with one eye open from here on out.

Then, one day our little princess decided it was time move across the floor on her own.  Now I don’t really know how it works for everybody else’s children, but my rugrat hits her benchmarks only when she perceives a possible benefit for her own goals.  In other words, she ain’t doing it until she has a good reason to do it . . . such as a toy that is just out of reach.  The crawling began with an army-style crawl on her belly.  I’m not proud of it, but Laura and I would take certain toys that we knew she wanted and place them about six-inches from her grasp.  She would reach and reach and eventually rock, writhe, and slither her way forward to get what she wanted.

From that belly crawl, Sadie would get up on all fours and tease us all for weeks at a time.  She would rock back and forth, and then go back down on her belly to crawl.  Then one day, the lights came on . . . a green light to be exact . . . and Sadie was off to the races.

Now I’m not adding a hint of exaggeration to this part.  Once Sadie had the full-crawl down, she could pretty much outrun anyone in the house on all fours.  Our hardwood-laminate flooring provided very little friction and thus only increased her need for speed.  To be honest, Sadie stayed at the crawling stage a lot longer than I anticipated and I think I know why: she was so stinking efficient at it.  If I could crawl that fast, I might choose to crawl around the office instead of walk . . . I could save so much time and garner a few odd looks all at the same time.

But Sadie again found that there were things she wanted that crawling simply would not facilitate.  At this point, she was moving horizontally, but she was struggling to grasp the treasures that towered over her vertically.  So, she began to experiment with pulling up from a crawling to a standing position.  I’ve often wondered how long it took babies to learn to walk before modern diapers were available.  I say this because babies today have a distinct advantage with a huge padded cushion softening their hard falls.  Sadie would stand for a moment and then would go down hard.  Eventually, she learned to walk while holding on to the couch or to our hands, but the moment she wasn’t holding to something, she would instantly sit down.

But those pesky items up high taunted her so.  Therefore, she deduced that she could simply crawl to the counter, the chair, or whatever she desired to reach for, and then stand up when she got there.  That created a season of half-walking, half-crawling . . . a bear-crawl, if you will (and I think you will.)  Bear-crawling is crawling on your hands and feet.  Back when I played football, the bear-crawl was the favorite punishment of our coaches because it is so physically-demanding.  Yet, Sadie bear-crawled around our house like it was child’s play (excuse the obvious pun.)

How interesting that she chose to do something for so long that was more difficult than the very thing (walking) that she was so nervous to attempt.  Do we not often do the same thing?  Do we not let ourselves live in a habit, attitude, or lifestyle that is more detrimental to our well-being just because we are nervous to step out in faith as we know we ought to?  If I commit to pray everyday, then I’ll get busy and forget and the guilt will be unbearable.  If I give, what happens if I don’t have enough.  If I forgive them, I won’t know how to act . . . I’ve carried this grudge for so long.

And so, we bear-crawl around . . . halfway in our past and halfway in our future.  The Bible calls this mindset being lukewarm: a condition where we live in between the world’s desires and God’s desires for our lives.  Thinking we can have the best of both worlds, we actually rob ourselves of the only “world” that really matters.  Bear-crawling is still crawling.  Lukewarm living still living a life unpleasing to God.

To walk, you’ve got to stand up and take the chance of falling.  Without walking, there is no falling . . . but there also is no walking.

Sadie was too young to reason with over the futility of bear-crawling, but we are not.  That’s why God says, “Learn to do good; seek justice, rebuke the oppressor; defend the fatherless,
plead for the widow . . . ”  In other words, it’s time to walk! But He continues, “‘Come now, and let us reason together,’ Says the LORD, ‘Though your sins are like scarlet, They shall be as white as snow; Though they are red like crimson, They shall be as wool.’” (Isaiah 1: 17-18 NKJV).

For Sadie, all it took were a few steps and we’ve been off to the races ever since.  She went from crawling to sprinting in a matter of a few days . . . the same would probably be true for us.

I think that God is probably still trying to reason with us.  It’s time to stand up and move forward in maturity.  We’ve got a “walk” with God to gain and a fruitless “bear-crawl” of lukewarm living to lose.

October 14th, 2009

My wife has a few obsessions in life.

A house that is spotless before we leave for a trip so that upon our return, there will be no work to do (yeah right.)

Food is either piping hot or “ice cold” . . . there is no in-between . . . there is no just warm.

Though most arenas of her life are completely organized and spotless, she subconsciously reserves for herself one completely trashed place to satiate her need for a little disorder: her car.

She can’t eat when the lighting is too low because she must see her food in complete clarity in order to consume it.

Her daughter cannot go out in public without being completely dressed to the hilt and usually adorned with a hair bow . . . even if it’s just to the grocery store . . . any trip outside the house means Sadie must look pristine.

And finally . . . the humdinger of all my lovely wife’s obsessions: shaved ice.  I know, you weren’t expecting that, were you?  It’s very true though.  It’s a part of the beautiful mystery of Laura.  She possesses a gourmet palette and understands the fusion of international flavors with a skill that rivals any judge on Iron Chef America.  This isn’t yellow journalism . . . I’m very serious.  She knows cuisine from around the globe and can usually tell you it’s regional origins and what ingredients set it apart.

Yet, the “mysterious” part plays out in her random cravings.  Despite her refined sense of taste and style, when she really gets hungry and has a craving, she’s very likely to swing her filthy car into Taco Bell or a hot dog joint.  I know, I know . . . I don’t get it either.  Hot dogs really do make her weak the in the knees . . . “knees” being one of the chief components of the hot dog, along with a whole host of other miscellaneous meat “parts” such as stomachs and eye balls all ground together and squeezed out in a meat tube to form a culinary delicacy that my wife actually craves.

Now, the only thing that can top off a good, meaty hot dog is a sugary shaved ice.  Not to be confused with lowly snow cones, shaved ice can only be made with a “high-end” ice shaving machine that produces just the right texture of ice.  Laura looks down her nose at carnival snow cones . . . such lowly fare.  Ah, but an authentic shaved ice . . . now that’s some fancy eating.

She’s so obsessed with them that she knows the opening and closing dates of the local shaved ice joint down to the day . . . a day marked on our family calendar and counted down each day with a reminder email . . . okay, I joke just a little bit, but not much.  It has an opening and closing date because it is exists on wheels and is parked for certain months of the year.

This past summer found us loading up Sadie almost every day late in the afternoon and heading out for some shaved ice.  It became an extremely enjoyable summer family tradition.  Sadie likes shaved ice, but not as much as Mommy.  Me?  Yeah, I’d rather swing through Dairy Queen on our way back.

So on one of these shaved ice sojourns, we decided to take Sadie to the local park and let her try out the swings for the first time.  Just let me tell you, she was ecstatic.  She laughed and screamed and giggled and squealed.  It was a glorious moment . . . here, see for yourself.

We played and had a wonderful afternoon. Shaved ice.  Warm weather.  Happy little princess.  Mommy and Daddy together. The only thing missing was a big hot dog!

So, a couple of weeks later, we decided to repeat the experience.  Now, you should know that this is a theme in my life.  I am guilty of constantly trying to replicate past experiences that I considered to be quality.  Like George Castanza in the “Jerk Store” episode of Seinfeld, I just want to recreate the moment again . . . just one more time.  “Hey, the jerk store called . . . they’re running out of you!”

Great vacations?  Yeah, I rebook them and try the exact location again hoping for similar results.  Same thing with restaurants.  When will I learn?  You just can’t mimic the past; you must live in the present.  My own personal aphorism would read, “Those who try to recreate the past are destined to taint their present.”

As usual, Sadie took it upon herself to help Daddy learn the lessons he needs in life.  The second time we visited the park, you would have thought that we were holding the child up to an open flame!  She cried and whined and wanted nothing to do with slides, swings, or anything of the sort.  We kept trying, but against what seemed to be sound adult logic, Sadie simply didn’t want to swing again.

I guess that’s the way it goes.  Life isn’t an algebraic formula and plugging in the same variable today may not produce the same result as it did yesterday.  This concept should be considered within reason . . . there are certain things that you can always count on.  God’s forgiveness when requested.  The consequences of foolish choices.  Violent stomach cramps after eating hot dogs from a street vendor in a third-world country.

What I’m really referring to is the daily stuff.  What made your spouse happy yesterday isn’t a ticket for laziness that you can keep cashing in on forever by repeating what you once did.  Don’t be surprised when he or she actually expects you to be creative and live in the moment.  (Laura, if you’re reading this, please don’t rub this one in later . . . hot dogs on me tonight, baby!)

In God-terms, there is a newness to each day that requires us to listen, seek, and walk with Him independent of the positive or negative events of yesterday.  Like the refresh button on your internet browser, God resets the goodness of his mercy each day . . .we start with a clean slate and the chance for a new perspective.  As His word tells us, “Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.”  (Lamentations 3:23 NLT)

So, some days we eat hog dogs and other days we eat shaved ice.  On some hallowed days, we eat both!  But don’t think that a grand day at the park yesterday means a repeat experience today.  Let your perspective be renewed and approach life today with creativity and hope that God wants to do something beyond what He did in you yesterday.

Oh, and after eating hot dogs, wait thirty or forty-five minutes before swinging.

October 12th, 2009

Before I was an “actual” father, I had visions of grandeur when I considered what my little munchkin could . . . scratch that . . . would be.

Now I’m a fairly logical individual with a decent grasp on reality.  I understand and embrace the strengths and limitations in my own life.  I realize that I’m an okay writer and a pitiful golfer.  I know that I can sing well enough to lead a worship service, but I won’t be selling a million records as an artist anytime soon.  Physically, I have come to grips with the fact that while some of my friends can do one sit-up and produce six-pack abs, my particular body style demands that any miniscule, physical improvement will only come after months of logging every calorie and a rigorous personal regiment of intense exercise.  Yeah, I’m realistic.

So why should I consider it illogical to think that Sadie will be regularly sinking birdies at WPGA events or knocking down Nobel prizes like their going out of style?  Is it too lofty an aspiration as a father to dream that my little girl might find the cure for cancer or write books that influence the lives of millions around the world?  Okay, maybe it’s a bit lofty.  Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell her that I expect these things from her anytime soon  . . . at least not until she’s four or five years old . . . give me some credit.

The reality of our Sadie’s present skill set is a bit more down to earth than my longterm dreams of what she may someday become.  I’m thrilled when she says “Dadt” (see previous blog history).  I’m elated when she successfully points to my nose or when a “no-no” deters her from an attempted expedition into one of the kitchen cabinets.  At this point, I guess I’m easy to please.

One particular characteristic that Sadie seems to have excelled at from day one isn’t exactly one that I’ve been walking around bragging about.  It hasn’t won us any awards and we haven’t made the finals on America’s Funniest Home Videos.  The “skill” in question is Sadie’s uncanny ability to grow teeth.  Now I have to tell you, this child has been teething since just a few months into this crazy adventure.  She had teeth coming in so early that I just knew she was already ahead of her peers . . . in teeth-growing, mind you . . . but ahead nonetheless.  I theorize that she must have seventy-five or eighty teeth crammed into that little mouth of hers.

This particular skill, at first glance, has seemingly produced more pain than praise.  Little sharp teeth taking months and months to burrow out of their embedded cavernous homes deep within her delicate little gums . . . yeah, it’s been a real blast.  Sadie’s superhuman ability to produce teeth has also produced the lesser-known superpower of supersonic drooling.  Spider Man has webs.  Superman has strength.  Batman has . . . well, a fanny pack.  Sadie has drool . . . and rivers of it.  I can already see visualize the movie trailer.  “In a world where crime rules, one little girl dared to drool.  Sadie Driver is . . . the Droolinator!”

Well, a caped-crusader she may never be, but a teething veteran she most definitely is.
For any of you out there who may be unversed in the art of parenting, teething isn’t just about teeth.  The process produces other undesirable byproducts as well.  Runny noses.  Irritability.  Diarrhea.  Constipation.  Ear infections.  In some cases, even fever.

Sadie hasn’t had all of these symptoms, but she’s overachieved in the areas of runny nose, irritability, and her speciality . . . ear infections.  Try three ear infections in the first year.  I know that that’s common among babies, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.  Who knew that all of these issues could be caused by these tiny infant incisors?

In all seriousness (which usually isn’t much for me), God has a plan for Sadie that He hasn’t chosen to let me in on.  As a pastor, I’ve learned that sometimes the things I seem to understand in the lives of strangers doesn’t always translate into an understanding of my own family.  In other words, when I come home, it’s time to take off my pastor’s hat and let down what little hair I have left.  My wife and daughter need a husband and a daddy . . . who needs to be the spiritual leader, but not in the same respect as church.  Pastoring my home is nothing like pastoring my church.

All that being said, God’s plan for Sadie’s life thankfully supersedes mine.  His Word reveals that “ . . . No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him” (I Corinthians 2:9 NLT).  That means that His scheming for her is much higher than mine . . . and my schemes are pretty extraordinary.

Can you even begin to imagine what kinds of things God imagines?  Just consider that six days of His imaginary musings produced the universe and the earth as we know it.  I know what you’re thinking.  “Yeah, but God may not have that kind of glory in mind for my life.  No one around seems to be that special either.” Ah, but such a perspective only takes into account the thumbnail of time that our earthly lives really are.  Juxtapose that against the canvas of an endless eternity . . . an eternity where within we will do more than float around on clouds and play harps . . . and we begin to see maybe just a glimpse of the potential God is dreaming over our lives.

The point is, just like my little plans for little Sadie, God’s plans for each of us is greater than the plans we can conjure for ourselves- in the present and in the annals of eternity.  So while at present we may feel adept at things that seemingly have no value . . . simply “teething” our way through life . . . we can rest assured that the heavenly Father’s dreams entail a lot more greatness . . . and a lot less drool.

October 9th, 2009

Sadie brought with her new energy to all things holiday-related.  Sometimes I feel like I need some energy in these areas.  I started out strong in my adulthood, but as the waves of time continually crashed upon the shores of my life, I reached a point where my holiday-savviness had seen better days.

The most obvious victim of this decline has been my incredible wife.  I mean, I’m not completely worthless.  I do take her to dinner on our anniversary and the occasional play . . . although don’t get me started on the debacle of this year’s completely botched efforts to acquire tickets to one of Laura’s favorite broadway productions.  For that matter, last year I went to incredible lengths to secure tickets to a special Valentine’s Day concert at the symphony some six months in advance.  I had planned well and was locked in to a sure thing.  I even “boasted” (or at least I was told by the guys at the office after the fact) that I was hitting a husband-homerun.

I surprised Laura a few days before the event with the tickets.  She was so excited; I was king.  We got dressed up all fancy and prepared to embark upon our night of romance . . . yeah, that was when I decided to look at the tickets I had purchased . . . the tickets for the show that had already happened the night before.  I had missed the night somehow and my epic plans crumbled faster than my dignity as the guys at work still refer to my antics as one of the greatest “fails” of all time.  Thanks guys.

But I used to be pretty good at this stuff.  When Laura and I were dating, I pulled off the best first Valentine’s Day in modern history.  We met up at her apartment where I sent her out to my car to retrieve her “present.”  What she found was a intricately planned and romantically written puzzle of gifts.  They began with little trinkets . . . but each gift had with it a little note with a contiguous, rhymed poem whose stanzas serenaded her with sweet nothings and then creatively led her to another gift stowed away in another area of the car.  I watched from her window as Laura, shivering in her little black dress, gleefully glided from front seat to back seat to trunk and to all the compartments in between.   I knew that I had landed myself in dating folklore.

Maybe that’s my problem these days . . . I’ve got nowhere to go but down.  I’m still trying though.  Laura tolerates my ineptitude with grace.

Sadie, however, isn’t yet aware of my issues.  So when her first Valentine’s Day came around, I knew that I needed a win.  The good part is that winning with Sadie is as easy as a little bite of my ice cream or a trip out to play in the driveway.  So I wrangled up a little teddy bear and came home as a hit.  My little darling seemed so excited at first, but then she succombed to the same kind of reaction that most of my recent gifting attempts have produced . . . she fell asleep.

I blame myself, really.  I bought her an extremely fluffy little stuffed animal whose softness no doubt taunted her little eyelids into submission.  All in all, it was an adorable moment that, of course, I captured for you to see.

I think that fatherhood, and marriage for that matter, both bring an intensity to the perspective of life because they demonstrate the wonder and challenge of the normal day.  Years spent planning a one-day extravaganza known as the wedding often leads newlyweds into a somewhat anticlimactic (if they let it be) daily routine called marriage.  The same is true of parenthood: the sheer number of daily moments far outweigh those moments that you expect to be the most memorable ones.  The question is: do we savor the daily memories as much as the “big” events of life?

Now I’m not copping out on my husbandly and fatherly duties to remember and provide gifts and events for special occasions and holidays; I’m only stating that those moments shouldn’t be the only times that we recognize or celebrate life.  Sometimes “special” happens when you’re not looking for it.  When your wife says something funny while you’re watching Food Network.  When your baby burps so loudly that you swear she sounds like a forty-seven year old retired lineman.

It’s easy to live our spiritual lives in a similar mindset . . . only looking for the “Valentine’s Day” moments of emotional elation or revelatory breakthrough.  We can miss the “bigger picture” in a diligent search for “bigger moments.”  Those moments are grand and necessary for growth, but the nuts and bolts of the wonder of walking the adventure of faith is just like any other walk . . . it happens one step at a time . . . day by day.

II Corinthians 4: 16 (NLT) reveals this truth: “That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day.” Every day is where the magic happens.  Every day is where the discoveries are made.  Every day is where we must grasp the wonder of our walk with God.

Don’t miss anniversaries and for the love of all things good and holy, buy your spouse and children presents for Valentine’s Day.  However, know that no single day can sustain you; you must keep living and finding real life all the days after and in between.

Just ask Sadie: she’s snoozed through more than one intricately-planned, Daddy-driven, huge moment.  The good stuff is often found in the daily stuff.

October 7th, 2009

The fourth week of parenthood found Laura and I still running on the fumes of the emotional slip-n-slide of bringing home the baby.  We were somewhat accustomed to our new life, but everything rapidly changed everyday.  Sadie seemed to grow right before our very eyes and we were just happy to be standing upright . . . well, most of the time.

It was during these times that I would often accidentally rock myself to sleep in the big, padded recliner/glider in Sadie’s room.  The peaceful serenity of her tiny breaths and her cuddly coos combined with the rare moment of sitting still created a recipe for certain snoozes . . . for both of us.

In the early days, Sadie was pretty well-contained within the sphere of her own babydom.  I mean that she kept her arms and legs curled in tightly as a result of nine months of being bundled up in the baby-oven of Mommy (I’m not a doctor; I’ve never claimed to be).  Her senses were also confined to a very small radius.  She could only see things clearly about six inches from her face.  She was unaware when we came and went and was generally oblivious to anything in life besides her own hunger or discomfort.

But at about four weeks, I first began to notice that when I passed by, her eyes moved in my direction.  She suddenly became much more aware that the world as she knew it . . . a planet called Sadietron III that was in fact the very center of the universe and the sole location of all life and existence . . . was in fact also inhabited by other creatures known as Mommy, Daddy, and a strange little furry fellow named Brutus.  Make no mistake that the universe was still revolving around her, but she at least began to acknowledge that there was other intelligent life out there . . . or, at the least, we were there.

When those gorgeous blue eyes began opening wider . . . little glistening irises meticulously adjusting to the flood of light that they were finally beginning to tolerate . . . my heart expanded yet again to new capacities.  When my little girl could finally focus her vision on Daddy, I was elated.  From that moment forward, she never “looked” back.  She’s followed us with her eyes ever since . . . especially when she needs something. Food.  Diaper.  Comfort.  Adjustment.  Sleep. The eyes began to join the other non-verbal (only if you count screaming as non-verbal) forms of communication that poured forth from her being.

There is a miracle in awareness– that moment in time when someone becomes aware of themselves outside of themselves.  The instance in life when perspective widens and the lens through which the world is viewed suddenly turns from black and white to high definition color.  I used to see such life-altering moments in the eyes of students in my classroom when the light bulb suddenly illuminated their cognition.  I still see it in this adventure in which I live called ministry when someone becomes cognizant of their need for change . . . of their need for an overwhelming dose of divinity in the midst of their previously-thought superior humanity.

A change in focus comes across as a change to the whole world around us.  Like Scrooge after the visit from the trifecta of Christmas ghosts, nothing about the holiday or the people who had lived near him for many years had changed . . . except himself.  To change one’s perspective is to change the world . . . or at least one’s personal vantage point of it.  In other words, when we find clarity in our viewpoints and begin to acknowledge truth . . . truth that has always existed just over the horizon of our personal spyglass’ range . . . we begin to change.  And when we change, one part of the world changes as well: our part.

Such is true of Sadie’s new awareness; we all changed because she began to see things a bit more clearly.  We looked her straight in eyes and talked to her more directly.  We began to better identify her unique expressions.  Her change in perception produced a chain reaction of change in action.  Did you get all of that?

Deep stuff, but necessary for understanding our role in the process of truth.  Truth isn’t waiting to be created, only discovered.  We would never say that Benjamin Franklin invented electricity or that Christopher Columbus invented the Americas . . . we would only state that they were some of the first people in their time and culture to change their viewpoint enough to more clearly see something that had already been there for eons.

Oh, to find more moments of new awareness in our relationship with the Creator of truth.  How often we approach God requesting that our idea of what truth should be will appear like stocking stuffers over the mantle of our lives.  In reality, our role is to open our eyes and expand our viewpoint to view the wonder of who He already is and what He is already doing around us.  Like Sadie, the more we mature, the wider our eyes should open and the more aware we should become of a universe that does not, in fact, revolve around us.

Yet the Eternal Father still stoops down and hovers over the crib of His little ones . . . delighting in them and watching for the moments when their eyes begin to follow Him.

Psalm 32:8 (NKJV) says, “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
I will guide you with My eye.” What interesting imagery we see here.  I “see” it like this: God guides us by moving His eyes to the things He wants us to look at.  We find guidance, purpose, and effectiveness when we look in the direction that He’s looking . . . becoming more aware of His will and more attuned to path we should walk in to find it.  But to see what direction He’s looking in, we must first look into His eyes.

Literally, this means that we expand our spiritual awareness when we seek to know what lies in the heart of God, not just what lies in His hands for our benefit.

For Sadie, her newfound awareness changed everything; it will for the rest of us as well.

October 5th, 2009

Sleep is the key to parental sanity, or at least that has been the case for us.  By about five weeks into this crazy process, Sadie Bell began sleeping through the night  . . . which meant that Mommy and Daddy did to.  I don’t know about you, but being tired transforms me into a totally different person complete with fangs, venom, and sometimes the willingness to maim innocent bystanders.  Funny thing is, I’m a fairly genteel individual with a love for all things peaceful.  Get me sleepy, though, and all that flies out the door leaving me armed and dangerous.

That’s one of the main reasons that I do so few “lock-ins” these days.  In my early days of youth ministry, I can remember one particular lock-in that we did every year that was located about an hour from the church at a go-cart/arcade/lazer tag joint.  After a night of mindless running around, picking off middle-schoolers with laser guns, and trying to get kicked out by continually breaking the rules and bumping each other’s go-carts on the track, we would load the van and begin the hour-long drive back to the church to meet the parents.

That hour was always one of the worst hours of my life.  The morning sun would peak over the distant horizon and taunt my weighty eyelids with the realization that my circadian rhythm had lost its beat and that I had cheated the night of its right to provide me rest . . . and I would be repaid with certain drowsiness, crankiness, and possibly even delusions.  And of course, I always had that one youth leader who “promised” to stay awake and talk to me to protect me from falling asleep.  I would look over only to see them hunched over in their seat sawing logs somewhere in distant La La Land.  But I could always count on one middle schooler (a different one each time) sitting on the very front seat and staring at me the entire time . . . which made me want to close my eyes and go to sleep even more, if for nothing else but to get away from the piercing stare of awkward adolescence.

So when Sadie began sleeping through the night, the whole house settled into a much more restful existence . . . even our dog, Brutus, seemed to feel better.  Laura and I learned that although our days of staying out late had been culled down to just a few every once and a while, the regularity of Sadie’s sleep schedule provided quite the nightlife for us at home.  These usually included late-night desserts and DVR episodes of Man vs. Wild, Heroes, Chuck, Iron Chef America, or Chopped . . . or several other Food Network shows.  Are you catching a theme here about food?  It’s no wonder that new parents often put on the weight.

After spending some time together watching television or talking, cleaning up the toys in the living room, loading up the mountain of Sadie’s dishes, and starting a load or two of Sadie’s clothes, Laura and I (along with Brutus) would usually turn in for a restful night of sweet sleep.  However, when Sadie was almost a year old, we had a nocturnal experience that we may never forget.  Out of a dead slumber, Laura and I were roused by the sounds of Sadie screaming . . . I mean absolutely letting out a blood-curdling cry of despair.  I don’t remember stopping to think, but I found myself sprinting through the house in my underwear fully expecting by the sounds of her wailing to find someone stabbing her or perhaps a wild animal climbing up her bed rails.  Adrenaline pumping, I was ready to take on Goliath if necessary . . . I was like an older, probably less-attractive, weaker, slower, and half-naked version of brave little David and his slingshot . . . except I had no weapon save the shock value of my near nudity.

When I flung open the door, there was no intruder and no animal . . . only Sadie still screaming full force.  Laura and I snatched her up and immediately began taking off her clothes thinking that possibly she was being bitten by an insect or something.  Thankfully, we never found a thing wrong with her.

We concluded that she must have had a night terror . . . a dream so real that she couldn’t distinguish it from reality.  My reality was also terror that night!  I can’t even begin to describe the autopilot responses that kicked into gear when my brain thought something might be wrong with my little darling.   Some call it “fight or flight.”  The caveman in me was ready to do some clubbing to protect what was mine!

After quite some time of rocking and soothing, Sadie eventually rejoined her friends in Sleepy Land.  Sidebar, I always wonder what little ones really dream about . . . I always ask Sadie if she dreamt of puppies, princesses, ponies, and penguins . . . it just seems right, though she can’t actually tell me yet.

That night of adrenaline caused me to reflect upon a fact that is easily lost in the muddled culture we live in: we are made in God’s image. In His likeness.  Sharing some raw semblance of His traits. I think that the “autopilot” moments may reveal some of our ancient roots and bring out those pre-programmed basics that lie buried somewhere deep within our Twenty-First Century psyches.  If this is true and if I feel an innate and incredibly powerful auto-response mechanism kick in for my child when I sense danger, I bet that God feels similar emotions as well.  Makes sense, huh?  I probably got that trait from Him.

Now sure God does have the advantage of knowing exactly what is going on without having to run to find out, but the instinctive paternal reactions within this little father’s heart are God-designed and God-installed.  I usually only use one or two verses to drive home my point, but today I want to leave you with the ultimate Father’s adrenaline-soaked reaction to the troubled cry of His child.

Psalm 18: 6-19 (NLT) paints the picture of David’s waking night terror in the midst of life’s harsh circumstances.  Read through it (see below) and notice the sequence: David cried out (vs 6), God heard (vs. 6), God showed up in an impressive array of power and glory that made my little underwear run seem even more comical (vs. 7-15), God reached down, rescued him, and led him to a place of safety simply because He delighted in his child (vs. 16-19).

Wow, that’s some protective parent we’ve got listening through the baby monitor of the heavenlies!  See, we Mommies and Daddies come by it honestly.  Here’s the kicker: unlike yours truly, our heavenly Father doesn’t get tired or cranky . . . He is consistently the same in grace and strength.  So don’t be afraid to cry out; He’s not afraid to run to your defense.  May you find rest in that realization today and may you and your little ones sleep peacefully.

Psalm 18: 6-19 (NLT)

⁶ But in my distress I cried out to the Lord;
yes, I prayed to my God for help.
He heard me from his sanctuary;
my cry to him reached his ears.

⁷ Then the earth quaked and trembled.
The foundations of the mountains shook;
they quaked because of his anger.
⁸ Smoke poured from his nostrils;
fierce flames leaped from his mouth.
Glowing coals blazed forth from him.
⁹ He opened the heavens and came down;
dark storm clouds were beneath his feet.
¹⁰ Mounted on a mighty angelic being, he flew,
soaring on the wings of the wind.
¹¹ He shrouded himself in darkness,
veiling his approach with dark rain clouds.
¹² Thick clouds shielded the brightness around him
and rained down hail and burning coals.
¹³ The Lord thundered from heaven;
the voice of the Most High resounded
amid the hail and burning coals.
¹⁴ He shot his arrows and scattered his enemies;
his lightning flashed, and they were greatly confused.
¹⁵ Then at your command, O Lord,
at the blast of your breath,
the bottom of the sea could be seen,
and the foundations of the earth were laid bare.

¹⁶ He reached down from heaven and rescued me;
he drew me out of deep waters.
¹⁷ He rescued me from my powerful enemies,
from those who hated me and were too strong for me.
¹⁸ They attacked me at a moment when I was in distress,
but the Lord supported me.
¹⁹ He led me to a place of safety;
he rescued me because he delights in me.

October 2nd, 2009

I’m not proud of it; no, it is actually something I’m somewhat ashamed of.  I couldn’t help it and I think that fact was the source of greatest frustration from the whole experience.  Confession is good for the soul, so here goes: I was a . . . (insert long, drawn pause that leaves you waiting with bated breath . . . go with me on this one) sissy shot taker.  There, I’ve said it!  That’s right, I was one of those wimpy individuals who became woozy and usually either threw up or passed out when my skin was punctured by a medical needle.

Now, you should know that I’m very tough and masculine . . . just ask my manicurist.  Seriously, I grew up working long and tireless days outside in the blazing summer heat.  I serviced greasy equipment and often cut myself in the process.  It would be nothing for me to gash open my hand when a wrench would slip off of a tight bolt.  Blood didn’t bother me at all and to this day, I’ve never had stitches . . . even when I probably should have.

But there was something about the doctor’s office that had my mental number.  Some call it “White Coat Syndrome,” I call it self-preservation.  I think that the seed of anxiety was planted when I was very young and I received a booster shot for kindergarten.  I remember dreading it so much that I tensed up and flexed every muscle in my body as they held me down to inject the medicine into my arm.  Yeah, that made for quite the amount of soreness, no doubt exaggerated and exasperated by my adolescent antics and mindset.  The damage was done and from that point forward, a shot was certain to send me “hurling” over the edge . . . of the proverbial boat, that is.

When I reached some level of teenage maturity (now there’s an oxymoron), I no longer dreaded the shots consciously.  I knew that my physical reactions were silly and that I endured much greater pain on a regular basis.  But I couldn’t shake it!  I remember getting an MMR shot during school in eighth grade and returning to Algebra seemingly okay and relieved that I had conquered my fear.  Just then, like a science fair volcano gone wrong, waves of nausea began rolling over me culminating in one huge and very loud dry heave.  HUHHHH!  Thankfully, I was spared actual vomit, but imagine how funny I must have looked after gagging so loudly for no apparent reason.  This was my plight.

It wasn’t until my adult life and seeing my wife go through three brain surgeries that my anxiety left me . . . yeah, that’ll do it.  These days, between shots for international travel and having my blood drawn for cholesterol checks, getting stuck is no longer a problem.  In fact, while they’re doing the sticking, I usually try to get them to go ahead and give me all the immunizations they’ve got.  Why not?  Oh, how times have changed.

But then came Sadie.  If you’re a parent, then you’re no stranger to the fact that from the moment that precious, delicate baby enters the world, some medical professional is after them with dozens of needles . . . poking, prodding, drawing blood, and generally torturing them as often as possible.

I can remember taking Sadie to the pediatrician when she was about six weeks old and watching the nurse “prep” her little thigh for several shots.  I felt so helpless and useless . . . like I should warn her or something, but she only speaks Klingon, so that was a bootless endeavor (a little Olde English for ye.)  When that evil nurse grabbed hold of those chubby little legs and stuck that absolutely huge needle straight through her perfect skin, I fully expected to see the needle come out the back side of her leg.  The gentle lay of her emotional landscape instantly earthquaked into a national disaster area as Sadie no doubt wondered to herself the lamentation: “Da Da, why did you let them stab me?”

Now, I don’t recommend calling inoculations “stabbing” in front of your healthcare professional . . . especially if you live in a high-crime urban area.  But between Sadie and I, we know that’s exactly what it is: stabbing.  And though I don’t get queasy or pass out, I can’t help but feel her pain as I too know the sting of getting stabbed.

I hope you don’t know where this is going . . . it may be a bit too obvious.  We could reflect upon the fact that our heavenly Father allows us to experience pain for our greater good and protection in the long run.  Sure, that’s a good thought.  For me, the concept really hits home when I consider the fact that my Father knows the pain I’m facing.  He was there!  He was tempted.  He was tired.  He was even tortured . . . experiencing stabbings far beyond my little cultural cuteness.

I remember the first time I didn’t get sick from a shot.  My dad went with me and looked me in the eyes the entire time the nurse did the stabbing.  It may sound silly and a bit trite, but the truth is that Dad’s prayerful joining with me in my experience produced strength that has now lasted for years.  Such is true of Jesus.  Always listening.  Always sympathizing.  Always offering strength in the midst of weakness . . . and sometimes offering weakness in the midst of strength.

And yes, the hardships are sometimes necessary to inoculate us against airborne dangers we will face in the future . . . spiritually, of course.  Even Jesus found the will of the Father through the “stabbing” experiences of difficulty and obedience.  Hebrews 5: 7-9 (NLT) says, “Even though Jesus was God’s Son, he learned obedience from the things he suffered. In this way, God qualified him as a perfect High Priest, and he became the source of eternal salvation for all those who obey him.” Wow!  That’s pretty heavy!

So, though the temporary stabbings of the medical community seem unbearable to little Sadie at present, I know that they are producing a type of protection and strength within her immune system that will benefit her for a lifetime.  And at the end of the day, I can sympathize with her anxiety . . . for I know it all too well . . . just as I am known all too well.

September 30th, 2009

Today is a special day because Laura and I are celebrating our ninth wedding anniversary.  Whew, now we’re starting to get up there a bit!  One year . . . peanuts.  Four years . . . piece of cake.  Seven years . . . sure it’s a fine, biblical number, but still nothing compared to nine.

Okay okay, so obviously I jest.  The reality check of my parents’ upcoming fortieth anniversary brings me down to earth.  Yet, nine years still isn’t chump change in relational terms.  Sometimes I think about those crazy guys and girls back in Genesis who lived for like eight or nine hundred years and got married when they were ten or eleven.  Are you doing the math here?  Their marriages lasted literally hundreds of years while these days, couples seem to struggle to make it hundreds of days.

All that being said, I’m no Methuselah and my years of marriage haven’t yet hit the hundreds mark . . . not yet anyway.  What has hit the hundreds are the adventures I’ve had with my sweetheart . . . scratch that, try millions.  From the alluring aroma of her perfume on the first date to the ravishing beauty she displayed on our wedding day to the current morning meetings over coffee in the kitchen as Sadie scurries about in her morning joy and the countless moments in between, these past nine years have softened me, sharpened me, instructed me, humbled me, thrilled me, and challenged me.  But at every turn, they have enriched me  . . . she has enriched me.

Wedding anniversaries take on a different shade from the vantage point of parenthood.  Little Sadie has shifted the paradigm of our relationship.  As you may have read in my past reflections on fatherhood, Sadie has changed every aspect life from eating out at restaurants to riding in the car.  These days, when Laura and I cuddle up together on the couch, it is usually to watch our little princess play with her mountain of toys in the living room.  It’s our favorite pastime, but it’s a far cry from the days of dating or marriage without the joys of children.

But hey, different doesn’t mean bad . . . in our case, Sadie has brought another level of joy to marriage.  Again, I’m no “superhusband” or anything.  Sure, sometimes Sadie makes marriage downright complicated.  A night out with the wife that used to happen at a whim now requires extensive preparation including the securing of a brave babysitter; the preparation and laying out of appropriate food and drink items; the choosing and laying out of diapers and clothes; the printing of schedule, emergency numbers, and procedures; the number for the anonymous babysitters’ emotional help hotline; a letter from the White House; and a lengthy goodbye to a sometimes teary-eyed princess who takes great offense at being left out of the date in question.

Then there’s the fact that our dinner conversation on said “hot date” usually revolves around what’s going on at home with munchkin.  Who knew that our romantic talk would one day include spit up and poopie diapers.  And who can overlook the fact that because our schedule is so routinized due to its alignment with Sadie’s schedule that we begin getting sleepy ourselves at around 8:30 pm . . . well, at least it’s a good excuse for some Starbuck’s therapy.  That’s when you stop and examine the life that once was versus the life that now is.

Nine years of marriage has taken Laura and I through a host of different seasons.  I don’t think I would choose the adjective “easy” to describe any of them.  Some have been “easier” than others, but I think that “easy” stopped being the goal a long time ago.  I’ve discovered that easy doesn’t usually produce a rewarding existence.  Early on in marriage, I began to realize that avoiding the argument (you know the one I’m talking about . . . the argument that involves the matter that is crucial to your heart) might be the easy way sometimes, but not the best way.  That’s right!  Dealing with the crucial matters (even if they involve uncomfortable conversations) can lead to rewards unrealized when one is unwilling to stray from the easy way.

So now with the Driver-Trifecta in play (that would be the three of us), the journey has become three-times as exciting and probably thirty times as unpredictable.   Before Sadie, I usually didn’t have to change my dress shirt four times before leaving the house due to errant projectiles soiling them in nastiness.  I didn’t worry about closing all the doors in the house all the time and I didn’t sleep with a monitor by my bed.  Laura and I consulted outside sources less and spontaneously went out to dinner more.

But, I also never sat in the darkness of night rocking my little princess just after my sweetheart kisses her goodnight and turned off the lights.   I never knelt by a bathtub as Mommy hovers near to watch our little girl splash and laugh with her rubber ducky.  I never woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Sadie’s nocturnal babblings only to glance over at the smile beaming on the face of my wife who was joining me in the impromptu listening booth of parenthood.  My biggest dreams were mostly confined to two people instead of three and my heart must have been much smaller . . . because it feels that my capacity to love has grown exponentially . . . to love both of them, that is.

So although I often reflect on the gift of Sadie, today I fall on my knees and thank God for the partner who lives the adventure of Sadie with me.  As Proverbs 18: 22 (NLT) says so beautifully, “The man who finds a wife finds a treasure, and he receives favor from the Lord.”

Laura has enriched my life in more ways than a library of my musings could ever contain, yet somehow God found a way to make our life together even sweeter through the addition of Sadie.  May sound cheesy to you, but so be it . . . this is my treasure we’re talking about here.