Giving Thanks for the Christmas Circuit

Every Christmas, we pack up our lives and pile up the gifts. We drive south on I-65 and we begin our Christmas circuit that takes us all over the state. From house to house, we drag all our items out of the car (an obscene amount no matter the length of stay thanks to the little ones). Drew distributes and unpacks while I begin the vigilant watch of our 4 year old and 20 month old in new territory. Suddenly everything seems breakable or a choking hazard.

Christmas with two young ones is exhausting. Chasing them around leaves me so tired that 9:00 p.m. sounds like a perfectly acceptable bedtime. Watching them in new environments is a game of risk, a test of multi-tasking abilities while maintaining conversation, and a sport of trying to communicate with Drew through mere hand signals or looks that clearly say, “It’s your turn! I need a break!” Mitigating negotiation-deals with the four-year-old at every Christmas meal is always humbling while we sit in front of those who prepared the meal. He contorts his face and says in the whiniest, most pitiful voice he can muster, “I don’t like this. How many bites do I have to eat?” We unwrap presents and I practice my telepathy as I send eye-signals to the oldest to not immediately blurt out “we already have that” or “I don’t like that” or the most obnoxious, “Where are more presents?”

And yet, Christmas with two young ones warms the jaded adult heart like nothing else. Christmas morning in striped matching PJs, the boys jump up and down with un-matched glee as they see the stockings. From house to house, we get to watch our grandparents be great-grandparents to our boys. Our youngest’s shyness dissipates and he begins cackling and playing games with everyone. He plays peek-a-book, freezes, and shows his mean face. To watch my boys be known and loved by family – it is the greatest gift. Continue reading

Kneeling at the Altar

His tiny hands rummaged through the ground and picked up the seed. Holding it before him, my oldest exclaimed with the joy of discovery, “Hey, Look!”

“It’s a buckeye seed,” my dad answered enthusiastically. “Remember what seeds do?”

In his little boy voice he echoed back, “They drop in the ground and turn into a new tree!”

My dad had begun the education on our way in the car. For the forty-five minutes it took to get from Brownsboro Road to pull through the gates, “Grandpa” did his best to describe in young-boy terms the formation of North America and the molecular wonder of creation. Staring out the window, my newly-turned four-year-old seemed both young and old at the same time. A filled-out boy frame with the ability to listen while still sitting in a car seat and distracted by bull-dozers by the side of the road.

It was November and we were finally fulfilling my dad’s birthday present – an afternoon hike to Bernheim Forest. Continue reading

Tidying Up Our Pile of Days

Outside our windows, change is at work.

The trees are letting go of their leaves.
The skies are letting go of their composure.
The season is letting go of its resistance.

Inside, the day is slow. And yet, change is at work.

Arms moving frantically, the oldest maneuvers the trains around the tracks. While little brother naps, he enjoys the quiet solitude that settles in and gives space for his imagination to live without the brother’s grasping and demolishing hands. He sings “Going on a Bear Hunt” off and on, intermixed with crashing sounds and imaginary dialogue amongst the trains.

Staring at him, I try to uncover and bring to the light the change I feel. His fourth birthday has brought about all the cliche bittersweet feelings. My eyes lock on his face and as he asks for help, I loose myself in his eyes as I wonder… how do four years feel both long and short at the same time? It feels like I’ve been parenting forever. And yet it feels too soon to be entering big kid territory. The power of looking in his eyes can feel almost threatening. I don’t know how to quantify it. I don’t know how to predict it. With each milestone, each year, I wonder… what hard lessons are yet to be faced? What is yet to come before us? What aspects of life are going to threaten to undo him, and me? Continue reading

For Days Whose Endings Are Sweeter than their Beginnings

Dear oldest,

The car was our breaking point this morning. Your Sunday morning wake-up call was too early. Your excitement about getting out of bed was too nonexistent. My patience was too low. There are burdens from work and casualties that come from being a son to a minister and a doctor. The casualty this morning was our beginning. It was not sweet and it was not pretty. It was ragged and rough. It was what was necessary to get Mommy to work on time. It was not how either of us wanted to start our day.

“When we get to church, I want you to drive back home and start agin,” you said.

Me, too. Continue reading

Beautiful is the Tapestry that Holds Me

Pink and white seersucker trimmed in lace. Raised and tapered at the shoulders. Skimming the ground. Cinched at the waist. Clothed in my mother’s old robe, I putter around the kitchen as I make breakfast before the world stirs. Out-of-date and yet full-of-history, it is the robe my mother wore in the hospital as she spent her first hours holding on to my little life. The feel of the seersucker and lace edges. The sight of the pink and white. Her face glowing in love. My first moments.

Any attempts to remember those moments beyond the photos taken are merely imagination. And yet, I venture to guess the memories exist somewhere within me. Time may have locked them away. But all are not lost. Rather, every caring gesture, nurturing act, and tight embrace are threads within the tapestry knit within me. Continue reading

Eleven Months and Ten Days.

Eleven months and ten days after his first arrival in this world, it’s time to say goodbye to the intimate role of being the source of nutrition for my youngest. As the days come to an end, I give thanks for the blessing that it was – to nourish, to comfort, to sustain this little life from my own. It was gift. It was blessing. From the early days in the hospital to the grueling first months. From the return to work with all the embarrassing mechanics to the nighttime bedtime routine with all its sweet tender moments.

Since the beginning when we savored that first golden hour after birth, there has been an invisible tether that kept our personhood interwoven together. We have been two human bodies in deep need of one another, sharing in our fragility and strength in a way in which no other human relationship can compare. Continue reading

The Greatest Story (N)ever Told

Three soul-friends
Three peers in ministry.
One small office.

Huddled together, her smile and the light in her eyes gave away the surprising news. After over three years, it was finally here – a positive pregnancy test. I don’t remember what was said, but like a film clip, I remember it in the silence – wide-eyed disbelief, stunned faces, tears streaming down our cheeks.

Three soul-friends.
Three peers in ministry.
Three women pregnant at the same time. Continue reading

The Gift of Overalls

Two years ago, I sat in our nursery and began the work of separating clothes into piles. I sorted each item by size and season. Holding up pants with the size “2T,” I marveled at the idea that he would one day be that big. They were pass-downs from a family whose three boys had outgrown them. The printed mock-turtlenecks went into drawers but never ended up getting much use. But everything else has now gone through the wash many times as they have adorned both boys. Out of all the items, my favorites are the ones hanging in the closet.

This morning, I balance our 11-month-old on my hip and open wide the closet doors to survey the overalls. I run my fingers through the many different pairs. Navy. Jean. Khacki. Red. Patterned. Plain. They have endured high chair debris, washing machine cycles, and changing table wrestling. A family’s history hangs on the hangers. Continue reading

Love Remains

The babysitter is secured and the plans are coming together to celebrate a friend’s birthday tonight. We’ll gather at one of his favorite restaurants and retell our memories. We will recount the small things that once seemed inconsequential. But in the absence of his physical body with us, they have become everything.

When I let my mind wander, I can get lost in the memories. The moments we shared. The adventures. His dreams. His smile. The times he was fully alive.

For a moment, I am with him. All that has been lost returns. All that is fractured is made whole. Continue reading

It is Well With My Soul

The cries pierce my sleep. I wait it out a few moments and listen to determine if they are the cries of a momentary disturbance or if they are the cries of nighttime need. I walk to the room and rub his back. His arm reaches around to touch mine. Finding my hand, he wraps his fingers around mine. The cries cease and in the silence, he holds on and finds his calm again.

Eight months old, I am still his refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. One of the greatest privileges of parenthood is getting to be the peace my little one needs – to be the arms that make everything alright. During the early months when the needs are concrete and specific (food, diaper, sleep), parenthood means being the one to anticipate, notice, and satisfy.

When the oldest wakes now, I venture down to his room the same I did when he was young. Now, though, there are some night terrors where I struggle to break him out of the crying. I hold him close in his little bed and try to whisper those words, ancient and sacred, “Do not fear, I am here with you.”

And yet the words and my presence do not hold the magic power they once did. Right before my eyes, my oldest is growing up. The chubby cheeks are dissipating and his physique is more “boy” than toddler. As his vocabulary grows, he is becoming more and more aware of his surrounding. He is beginning to taste the Great Sadness Continue reading

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the practice of paying attention

Sacred Relationships