The Magic of a Thunderstorm and a Sleepy Red-Head

This afternoon, a thunderstorm swept in during the early afternoon, and decided to stay awhile. The weather never became treacherous. Rather, the sky turned an almost friendly shade of grey, the wind tugged gently on the trees, thunder rumbled low and comfortably, and the rain drizzled more than drilled over our parched little patch of earth. The weather called me to bed for awhile, and kept Micah happily dreaming longer than usual.

I rolled out of bed in the late afternoon, and peeked my head into Micah's room to see if he was awake. He blinked sleepily, only half-awake, and reached his arms toward me. I pulled him out of bed and into my arms, and settled into the squeaky glider in the corner. He nestled his head against the blanket I had thrown over my shoulder. I cradled him awkwardly, draping him along the left side of my growing belly, and began to rock.

The room was darkened by the cloudy day, and there in the dark, I had one of those precious "Mommy Moments." I held my son as I had many, many times when he was a baby, chest to chest. He so rarely allows me to hold him this way now . . . I breathed in the faint scent of his baby shampoo which still clung to his auburn-red strands from last night's bath. I listened to his rhythmic breathing against the shrieks and groans of the glider as I moved it back and forth. I kissed his hair, his forehead, his neck, his shoulder. I closed my eyes, and enjoyed the weight of him in my arms and the kicks and rolls of my unborn baby girl.

I thought about how important moments like these really are. These moments are fleeting, and they are meaningful. Every moment in which you say to your child with your actions, "There is nothing more important than sharing this moment with you," you tell your kids that you love them far louder than if you only spoke the words. They need to be sure of that love for so many reasons. They aren't whole without it. How can a child comprehend the love of God without experiencing anything with which it can compare, however dimly? And oh, how good it feels to give that love. It makes me whole, too.

I then began to think of myself in the reverse role--as the child nestled on the chest of the loving Parent. Micah and I weren't talking, reading or doing anything other than being present with one another, and both of us were perfectly content with our state of do-nothingness. Why do I always feel that I have to be talking, reading or studying when I meet with God? What am I missing that keeps me from only being present with Him, enjoying Him in quiet and stillness?

I kissed Micah's head again, smiling when he sighed and murmured something unintelligible, yet contented.

"Bliss. This is bliss," I thought. And while I am hungry for more moments like these with my son and my daughter on the way, I am starving for them with God, my Father. It is my prayer that in the months to come, I will learn the art of quietly resting in His arms, silently enjoying Him. Only Him. Give me Jesus.

In Everything . . .

I haven't written in awhile. I could excuse myself in a number of ways, but the truth is I haven't felt like it. The plan was to write a post about our family trip to the Buffalo River which took place the first week of June. I even began mentally composing it the moment we arrived. It should have begun:

"I love coming to these mountains year after year. After better than 16 trips to and through the Ozarks, they almost feel like a second home. Each time I travel through, it's different. I've seen these mountains as a frozen world covered in a snowy blanket, and I've seen them alive with life as Spring draws to a close and Summer prepares for its grand entrance. This year, the cicadas are present and many, and as we exit the vehicle, we are met with their welcoming screeches which come at us in boisterous, rolling waves."

The post was supposed to begin this way, tell a lovely story about Micah's first float on the river, and end with a pleasant sentiment. But tragedy struck and sucked away all of my desire to tell that story. Smaller, yet significant, traumas bookending the trip left me a little dull and lifeless. I didn't quite have a case of writer's block. It felt more like writer's hangover. I had become drunk with the heavy and strong drink of bad things happening and the possibility of other bad things happening, and I couldn't quite get my head clear enough to sort it all out. After a little time--time to view the events of the past few weeks with some distance and biblical perspective--I think I'm finally ready to tell the story. I no longer feel any apprehension about sharing the story because the news and papers had no problem sharing the story, and did so incorrectly, might I add. Besides, they left out all of the good parts. So here goes--

I love coming to these mountains year after year. After better than 16 trips to and through the Ozarks, they almost feel like they belong to me, a second home. Each time I travel through, it's different. I've seen these mountains as a frozen world covered in a snowy blanket, and I've seen them alive with life as Spring draws to a close and Summer prepares for its grand entrance. This year, the cicadas are present and many, and as we exit the vehicle, we are met with their welcoming screeches which come at us in boisterous, rolling waves. I missed the undercurrent moans, forewarning me of the day to come, but I was unable to miss that the day was hot and alive.

The group joining my family was a lovely mix of old friends and new. Souls I had loved as a young child when my family attended Central Baptist Church were mixed with newer friends and brand new faces. Derek Crockett, who I had wanted to marry when I was 3 years old, had his two boys along with him. James Liner hugged my neck, and told me how much Micah reminded him of me as a toddler. My parents' long-time friend, Leo Honeycutt, was there, and as always, provided excellent food and comic relief for everyone. In all, there were 29 people with us, and the mix of people was perfect. However, the meeting of new faces would have to wait until later. Micah and I were exhausted after the long trip, and needed an early bedtime in preparation for the even longer day on the river.

The next day dawned bright and clear. The water was the prettiest I had seen it in a long time. The sunlight pouring from the heavens revealed pleasant shades of blue and green in the deeper pools, and the water was just right for carrying a two-year-old on his first float. Micah excitedly climbed in the canoe with expectant cries of "Catchy fish! Catchy fish!" It promised to be a very good day. (And allow me to interpose here that it truly was.)

The young boys and teenage girls splashed and smiled and tried to tump each other's canoes. The adults relaxed and laughed as they tried to ease into impossibly cold, mountain water. Micah enjoyed dipping his hands in the water off the side of the canoe, taking turns in our laps, and throwing rocks from the canoe into the water until he finally, after a serious effort to fuss himself out of the need of a nap, surrendered into a quiet sleep in my arms.

I watched children and adults alike leap off of Jim's Bluff, and laugh heartily as they surfaced the icy water. It was my turn to laugh when I watched my middle aged parents succumb to peer pressure, and swim out to deeper waters for this photo op.

Later in the day, our group stopped at the trail head to Hemmed-in-Hollow Falls, a beautiful feature on the upper leg of the Buffalo River. Because I was pregnant and Micah was two, our little family stayed behind to enjoy swimming and fishing as we watched the majority of our group disappear into the foliage. Micah couldn't have been happier with our choice. He found the largest rocks he could manage, picked them up grunting, "Heaby," and joyfully tossed them back into the water. He also reeled in a couple of Daddy's catches, and even kissed a fish!


While we were having a good time at the riverside, everyone else was having a good time up at the falls.

When our group returned from their hike, they all made their way back to their canoes. It was getting late. Everyone was getting tired, but we were all in good spirits. The day had been a beautiful blessing.

This is the point of the story where I want to close with a warm, fuzzy, "happily ever after" ending. This is also the part of the story where things from my limited, human perspective go wrong . . .

Brandon likes to be in the back of our canoe caravan because he likes to take his time and fish. We watched the canoes pass safely through a small set of very ordinary rapids one by one until only a handful of canoes were left. James Liner and his young partner had some difficulty with the rapids, and flipped the canoe. Brandon and I didn't see it flip, but we caught a canoe paddle and other paraphernalia as it drifted downstream. Another couple helped them right the canoe, and get back on course. As they paddled past us, I noticed a cut above Mr. Liner's eye. He had bumped his head against something. I asked him if he was alright, and he grinned, saying he was fine. There was no reason to doubt him.

Over the next half hour, Micah grew a little fussy. It was his dinnertime, and he hadn't gotten a good nap that day. Every time the canoe jarred a little against the rocks, he became uneasy. One such bump sent him over the edge into a full-fledged wail, which confirmed my decision that we would stay at the camp the next day so he could rest.

It was immediately after this incident that we saw them. We saw the three standing, performing CPR first, all from our group--a nurse and her husband, one of Mr. Liner's nieces. Then I saw other canoes from our group banked on the shore, their inhabitants sitting stock still with faces blank. And then I saw him. I knew at once who it was even though he wasn't the right color. I knew at once that he was no longer with us. And while we have no way of knowing what happened for certain, my brain quickly jerked back to the cut above his eye.

Micah wailed until Brandon shoved us to the bank. A small miracle, Micah immediately hushed himself and grew still and content in my arms. Without a word, Brandon joined the party performing CPR. Tears formed in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. I may have been the only one blubbering there like a baby, and that is a little embarrassing, but I was hyper-aware of the fact that Mr. Liner's son and nieces were watching and what this would mean for my dad who had loved this man for most of his adult life. My heart broke for hearts breaking. Brandon called for one of my Epi-pens. I tossed it to him. It was no use.

I watched five people, Brandon included, from our group perform CPR for an hour while we waited for help we weren't sure would come. They breathed heavy, and pumped hard. I wept. I prayed. I tried to figure out how help would come. There was no place for a helicopter to land.

Micah remained calm and happy though it was well past his dinnertime and nearing his bedtime, so happy that I was sure it was a God-thing. God was good.

Tami, one of Mr. Liner's nieces, remained strong while she called out to him, hoping he could still hear her. God was good.

Eventually, help came trickling in from downstream. God was good.

There was a sense of peace that fell on all of us, and we let the knowledge that James was no longer with us sink in, yet in a silent pact, kept working and praying for the sake of his family. God was good.

Finally, a group of EMTs poured out of a tiny pig's trail that, wonder of wonders, led straight to our beach, and took over. God was good.

A lot of people sit in the camp of "death is natural" because everyone dies. I, however, see death as the ultimate reminder that all is not right with our world. We were not created to die. Death is man's greatest judgement, an enemy. All the while, it is very good to know that God never abandons us, even in death. His presence was near us the entire day, but especially near in the moments of death. I must remember, as we all should, "See now that I, I am He, and there is no god besides Me; It is I who put to death and give life. I have wounded and it is I who heal" (Deuteronomy 32:39), and I must remember that God is good.

The next day, almost everyone in our group departed for home, overwhelmed by tragedy or necessity. I was in mourning, and the words that Tami, one of Mr. Liner's nieces, spoke to someone else expressing their condolences--"It's okay. God numbers our days"--rang louder in my ears than the screeching cicadas outside. It didn't feel okay. I opened the book I was reading, hoping to distract myself from the events of the day before, the images and sounds I will never be able to erase from my memory. This is what I read--

"I know there is poor and hideous suffering, and I've seen the hungry and the guns that go to war. I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of wild roses in July and the song of crickets on humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good God gives. Why would the world need more anger, more outrage? How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is joy that saves us? Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn't rescue the suffering. The converse does. The brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and all things true, even in the small, who give thanks for it and discover joy even in the here and now, they are the change agents who bring the fullest Light to all the world. When we lay the soil of our hard lives open to the rain of grace and let joy penetrate our cracked and dry places, let joy soak into our broken skin and deep crevices, life grows. How can this not be the best thing for the world? For us? The clouds open when we mouth thanks." --from One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp.

Out of my sadness and temptation to see this trip as, well . . . the worst trip ever, here was this call to leave behind the despair of death and find life by offering thanks. I recognized this to be not only a call for the moment, but for the long term. I also realized that I wasn't only to offer thanks for the good that had happened, but also the "bad."

"In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God." --1 Thessalonians 5:18 (Italics mine.)

I found it difficult to do so, but I thanked God for everything I could think of--Micah's safety, fish to catch, the hot sunshine, the cold water, rocks to throw, every one of James' smiles, the quick and quiet nature of his death, CPR, EMTs, pig trails and every glimpse of God I could find in the details. As promised, I felt more alive with each offering.

Learning to be thankful for everything is a scary thought for me, a thought that has kept me a little pensive and sober for the last few weeks. What if something even more terrible happens, and I am required to say, "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord?" That thought puts a chill in the bones.

The good thing is that God knows where I am, and only asks that I begin learning to give thanks for everything, including the good and the bad, in a place where the good and the small dwell. For now, I can give thanks for fresh blueberries, the rain that poured from the heavens earlier this week, the sun that warms the world, Micah's smile and the gentle kicks of the baby girl growing in my belly.

That's right! I haven't officially stated this on the blog--It's a girl!!!


While these things are all pleasant, everyone has to start somewhere. I'm glad my Father knows that I am but dust, and brings this challenge to my door in a relatively sunny season.

What happened is still hard. I no longer think about it every day, but I think about it often. If I close my eyes and see things I don't want to see, I consciously recall Mr. Liner's smiles and laughter earlier in the day. I remember that he no longer suffers, but lives in a place where the only tears are happy ones. I remember the memories made on the river that day with my family and friends that can't be stolen away by the shadow of death. I remember that God is good, I say a prayer for the Liner family, and I give thanks . . . for everything.

Reflections on the Demise of an Evil Man

Disclaimer: This post is an invitation to read my opinions of the events of the last week. I do not desire or expect that you agree with everything or anything I write here. These are my thoughts, and while I believe that they are supported by the Word of God, I understand that they vary greatly from the majority of the American public.

Sometimes, it takes me several days to process events, especially ones that demand a moral and/or political opinion from me. The death of Osama bin Laden definitely demands both. I found out about bin Laden's death on the fastest news source on the internet--Facebook. I was immediately struck by the nature of the celebration of this American victory including praises to presidents past and present, worship of our military, swear words, and derogatory remarks against an entire race . . . almost all followed by the words, "God bless America!"

With a burdened heart, I turned off Facebook for the night, and began my processing. At first, my only thoughts and feelings were that I knew I could not in any way celebrate the fact that a man is now in hell, and is suffering the wrath of God. Taking part in that celebration feels altogether wrong. I went to sleep that night troubled for the state of the spirit of our country, a spirit that doesn't seem too far away from being able to burn the flags or perform other acts of hate against the people we call our enemies.

It is only appropriate that I acknowledge my understanding of the fact that this is a strategic U.S. military victory. I understand that the hunting down and killing of Osama bin Laden has been the objective of every American soldier since 9/11. I also understand that as the number one military power in the world, that it had to be done in order to keep that status. I understand that the world would have thought us weak and apathetic had we failed to act after such a terrible and unexpected attack. (As an aside, let me say here that I believe that giving anyone--President, military or soldier--sole credit for the death of bin Laden is ridiculous. The Lord, in His wisdom, allowed this to happen. He alone is deserving of humble gratitude.) However, as I acknowledge these facts, I must also acknowledge that my foremost loyalties do not lie with a worldly government--not even the American government--but with the government of my true King. My thought processes do not center around U.S. objectives, but around the objectives of Jesus Christ, which at this time, are not about justice, but about mercy. I believe that the teachings of Jesus Christ make the mindless celebration of this man's death "spiritually inappropriate and politically naive." [Quote borrowed from a friend's Facebook status.]

The Bible is full of teachings about the spiritually appropriate way of viewing our enemies:

"Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, And do not let your heart be glad when he stumbles; Lest the Lord see it, and it displease Him, and He turn away His wrath from him."--Proverbs 24:17-18

"You have heard that is was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy'. But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use and persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust."--Matthew 5:43-45

"Do I have any pleasure at all that the wicked should die?" says the Lord God, "And not that he should turn from his ways and live?"--Ezekial 18:23-24

One soldier on Facebook stated that justice is the business of governments, and that it has been served, but I believe that justice is the business of an Almighty God, and He alone reserves the authority to serve it. When He chooses to execute justice, we should be grateful that He is keeping His promises, but it is obvious that we should not be glad. The Lord isn't only concerned about serving justice to "the wicked." He is also concerned with the state of the hearts of His people. Hate has no place in His children, and hate is the only driving force behind the celebration of a soul lost forever.

Furthermore, it is truly politically naive to believe that because bin Laden is dead that the war on terror is over or that the thousands of lives lost have been vindicated. Have the people who died in 9/11 returned to their loved ones? Are my friends who have lost their lives in this war with us again? No . . . . no. Do we really think that Osama was the mastermind behind his acts of terror? Please! Osama was a tool of the real Evil One--Satan--and believe me, Satan has many willing tools with which he will unleash his terror on the world. Many others are waiting in bin Laden's empty place. Just because my children will not grow up in a world where Osama bin Laden is alive and well does not mean that they will grow up in a world free from the reign of terror or in an age where death has been validated by more death. Death has no validation, and only the death of Jesus Christ is able to save us. Human death is the ultimate reminder that sin still rules the world. Until the Lord comes to rescue us, terror will be a reality we will face every single day.

"Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world."--1 Peter 5:8-9

"For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand."--Ephesians 6:12-13

These scriptures make it sound as if we ourselves are in the same danger Osama bin Laden has been in for his entire life. We all suffer from his disease--sin--and without the daily filling of the Holy Spirit, we will, like him, become tools of the devil. Christians, we must do better! We must remain pure in heart, filling the world with the Light of Christ, and not with the anger and hatred of the devil! I am grateful that Osama bin Laden is no longer able to do evil in this world, and I gratefully accept the Lord's decision to take him out of the equation, but let us not forget that the battle wages on. Let us grieve, mourn and repent of our pride, seek the face of our Heavenly Father, and adjust our thoughts and attitudes to reflect His own.

Let us do better, Christian.

Spring Break: Family Style

On the last Sunday in March, Brandon, Micah and I loaded up, and departed for the Smokies. We left at 4a.m. for a whirlwind trip of 5 days. I use the word, "whirlwind," because when you spend two full days in the car, a 5 day trip is indeed a whirlwind trip. Pigeon Forge, TN, home to a truly ridiculous number of pancake houses, was our destination. On the drive up, we admired the lovely redbuds and dogwoods in glorious, full bloom, and the colorful wildflowers gracing the sides of the road. Rolling hills gave way to softly crested mountains splashed with varying shades of green. Mountain rivers and streams added beauty and shimmer to the latter part of our 12 hour drive.

Our schedule was almost as rigorous as the drive. On Monday, we spent the day in meetings, which resulted in a time-share purchase. I know, I know, they totally suckered us in. In our defense, they work hard to make you see the value and really want their product. On Wednesday, Micah took a 4 hour nap, which pretty much ate our play time. Therefore, Tuesday was our only day to do touristy things, and we hit it hard, which may explain the 4 hour nap the next day.

We began the day at Ripley's Aquarium of the Smokies, and we all loved it! We explored a shark tunnel, a penguin playground and enjoyed the children's interactive exhibit with Micah. This place was incredibly cool, and we plan to hit it up again. We have a time-share now. Why not?

Micah and Brandon crawled through a small tunnel to get an inside look at the tank.

Micah found Nemo!

I did not care to touch a horseshoe crab, but the boys had fun.

I loved this enormous tank full of tropical fish. I could have watched it for hours.


Micah thought the spider crabs were cool. I thought they were creepy and entirely too large.


Why, hello there, Mr. Fish--
the obvious inspiration for the look of Davey Jones in Pirates of the Caribbean.

Jellyfish are beautiful when a healthy distance is maintained.


This was taken right outside the Penguin Playhouse, and is my favorite pic of the trip.


Me, my boy, and the stingray who got up close and personal.

We left the aquarium, and before we got back to the condo, Micah had fallen asleep in the truck. Brandon packed us a quick lunch while Micah and I rested in the truck, and we were off to Cade's Cove--a gorgeous, free park featuring free-roaming wildlife, nature trails, and historical sites open for exploration.

Picnic cuddles.

The stream beside our picnic spot.

We really enjoyed Cade's Cove, but we were a little limited in what we could do. Two-year olds lack the patience for looking at historical buildings, and sleepy, nauseous moms who need to pee in a place where restrooms are far too scarce and people are far too many in order to feel any sense of safety behind a tree trunk have difficulty hiking 5 mile nature trails . . . or many one mile nature trails, for that matter.

Wait a second! That reminds me!

We're expecting! Thus the sleepiness, nausea and need for a restroom.
(I'm fully aware of how unimpressive this picture is. It was taken at 7 weeks. I wouldn't have known it was a baby unless the doctor had told me so.)

I'm only 10 weeks along, but I'm already into that ambiguous "Is she pregnant or is she getting fat?" stage. I hate that stage, especially when combined with the desire to sleep over 12 hours of the day and the urge to lose my breakfast.

Anyway, we plan to return to the Pigeon Forge/Gatlinburg area in the future when we have more time, and I'm not so miserable. We've barely tapped into the treasures these quaint little towns hold. And I'm not sure you can say you've been to Pigeon Forge without visiting at least one pancake house. Seriously.

Happy Monday!

The Power of a Haircut

Micah recently acquired a new do. We are all a little amazed by the way it transformed him from Sweet Cherub to 100% Little Boy.

These "before" pictures were taken on St. Patty's Day, which Micah celebrated by wearing his kilt.


A few days later, he not only looks like 100% little boy. He's also acting like it. I was practicing the piano the other morning, when Micah walked in the studio looking like this:


After seeing the state of his face, I thought I needed to investigate the state of my house, especially since he's discovered the joys of crayoning the floors, cabinets and doors. This is what I found:


Thank the Lord for scotch guard, washable markers, Dreft stain remover, Mr. Clean Magic Erasers, and the wisdom to know that new furniture is a long time coming. And thank the Lord for precious, little red-headed boys.

Collected, Random Thoughts of a Sleepy Mom

After I wrote this post, I began to feel ill again in a matter of days. On the bright side, I've been to the doctor, and had extensive blood work done. The only finding was elevated CRP's, which could be explained by the sinus infection I had on the day my blood was drawn. My doctor hasn't said for sure, but it looks like I'll live, people. That is, if I make it through allergy season.

I find lots of sleep, a simple schedule and a healthy diet packed with 10,000 daily IUs of Vitamin D to be the perfect recipe to improving my health. And I have been feeling better.

I'm growing weary of watching television. Maybe this is because I have spent so many weeks with little else to do. I'm finding every show I watch to be boring or offensive. I find myself sitting with Brandon while it's on, but not really watching. The one show I watch alone is on the chopping block.

The sunshine and spring warmth are calling me outdoors. Micah and I have been answering the call with afternoon playtime in a sun ray, including bubbles, sidewalk chalk, and ball games in which Micah rolls the ball down the hill and laughs hysterically as I run after it before it rolls into the street or too deeply in the woods.

Tomorrow, I will enjoy the outdoors by going on a walk by the lake with a friend.

Micah had a haircut on Saturday. Now, he is thoroughly a little boy, and no longer resembles my baby. I keep meaning to take a picture to post. I will soon.

My novel is calling for me now that I feel well enough to think about it. The problem is that sleep, housework, teaching and loving two very lovable men are taking up all of my time right now. I'm hoping this 10-12 hours a night sleep schedule will let up on its own soon. I would love an hour or two a day to write. I need to "correct" my main character, and edit the dialogue. I was reading through my draft the other day, and realized to my horror that all of my characters talk exactly as I do. As my main characters are kids raised in rural North Louisiana, it doesn't work. At all. My other finding is that I like my main character so much that I shy away from telling the truth about her. She is flawed, and I need to let her be that or her story falls flat. Also, I'm getting new ideas all the time, and would love an opportunity to write them out. The only answer is to sleep less which probably isn't likely anytime soon.

On Monday nights, Brandon is late coming home. Last Monday, Micah and I sat down to eat together before Brandon made it home. I reached for Micah's hand, intending to bless the food, but Daisy distracted me. I can't remember what she had in her mouth, but it was something she shouldn't. I yelled at her, and stomped across the room, yanking the forbidden object from her jowls. I sat back down next to Micah, utterly distracted. He looked at me questioningly.

"Jesus? Pray?" he asked, reaching for my hand. My heart did a few somersaults before my lips had time to unleash my huge grin upon him.

"Yes," I said. And I prayed with him. I love that he expects prayer at mealtime.


Micah's bedtime routine is getting his bath, hugging Daddy goodnight, getting his pacifier and "awie" (blanket), and reading a book (or two). Then, I turn off the light, pray for him, and rock and sing to him until he's sleepy. I always sing, "Jesus Loves Me," and maybe a couple of others. The other night, I sang, "There's Something About That Name."As I settled him into his little bed nest of awies, he began singing the name of "Jesus" to a hybrid tune of "Jesus Loves Me" and "There's Something About That Name." My heartbeat provided percussion to his sweet baby song.


I'm learning to spend time with the Lord differently these days. I no longer find it possible to rise at 6:30pm, and I often take a nap while Micah naps, so my time with God has suffered. I decided to observe Lent this year, choosing to give up Facebook. My objective is to use the time I would spend on Facebook in prayer or in the Bible. Some days I'm successful; some days I'm not. I would appreciate your prayers that I would adjust to the demands of my new schedule, prioritizing the Lord within that schedule. I don't know what this will look like in practice, but I'm willing to try something new in spite of my ultra regulated, routine-oriented personality and preferences.

*Yawn* My pillow calls. Goodnight.

And Then He Turned Two . . .

Micah turned 2 on Saturday.

Twenty years ago, two years felt like two lifetimes. This is going to sound so cliche, but the last two years felt more like two blinks of the eyes. If I allow my eyes to remain closed for a moment, I can still feel the terror closing around my throat as he emerged into the world all purple and quiet, and the relief washing over me, allowing me to breathe again as I see him change color, from purple to pink, within seconds of being freed from the umbilical cord. I can smell his new baby skin. I can hear his indignant screams. The euphoria of having brought him into the world still makes my brain go a little hazy in the most pleasant sense, and all I can think is, "God, please don't let me lose that."

Last year on his birthday, he wasn't walking yet. His vocabulary was under 10 words. His attention span lasted about 15 minutes even with favorite activities. Today, he knows several alphabet letters. I think it's funny that the letters "B" and "S," were learned sequentially and continue to be favorites. He has favorite books, favorite television shows, and he's speaking in full sentences. He's graduated from the high chair to a big boy seat at the table, and has bidden his crib farewell in exchange for a toddler bed, which he loves, because now he can creep into our bedroom at 3:00 am, gleefully cry out, "Boo!," startling us out of sleep. Brandon can tell you, there's nothing quite like a nose to nose greeting at 3am.

On Saturday, our families gathered to celebrate all of that. Well, maybe not the 3am greetings.

Our boy loves balls, so we went with a ball theme.

It may be ugly, but you can see what I was trying to accomplish here.

Gluten-free goodies.

Emory enjoyed her gluten free cupcake.

As did Paisly.

After cake and presents, we ventured outside because Micah wanted to release balloons into the sky. He let them go, one by one, and we all watched until they disappeared into the clouds.

It may sound uneventful, but it was peaceful and happy and perfect. Micah loved his party, and we loved watching him love his party.

Our big boy is two. It happened too fast. I've been unhelpfully warned several times in the past few days that in a few more blinks, he'll be sporting a cap and gown, trying to choose a career, waiting at the end of an aisle for a girl who will be hard pressed to love him as much as I do . . . I can't think about all of that right now. For now, we will revel in his third year of life, eking out all of its goodness. I'm in no hurry to release him into the vast unknown, but when that day comes, you can bet your best chocolate chip cookie recipe that I will be watching all the while, and relying heavily upon technology if he ever finds the right cloud to disappear into.