A truly humble prayer

1 Timothy 1:15-17 (NIV)

Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners — of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his immense patience as an example for those who would believe in him and receive eternal life. Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen.

It’s been a while since I ran across a passage that doubled as inspiration for one of my favorite hymns, but I can’t read Paul’s words in this letter to Timothy without hearing the melody to “Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise.”

If I remember correctly, this is the first (perhaps only?) hymn my mother learned to play on the piano. That’s one of the reasons I chose it to be the first song I taught to the tone chime choir I directed when we lived in Fulton. (That the fourth-graders who started with me are graduating high school this weekend makes me feel far older than my own kid being nine years old.) The melody still stirs my soul.

The lyrics, a truly humble prayer, also serve as useful in my faith life. Reading, reflecting on and even singing the words (when no one can hear, of course) helps center my mind on the kind of person I want to be, helps define my beliefs and the relationship I intend to have between myself and God. And if you don’t mind the archaic pronouns (thy, thou, thee and so on), the entire thing holds up incredibly well.

Immortal, invisible, God only wise,
In light inaccessible hid from our eyes,
Most blessed, most glorious, the Ancient of Days,
Almighty, victorious, Thy great name we praise.

Unresting, unhasting, and silent as light,
Nor wanting, nor wasting, Thou rulest in might;
Thy justice, like mountains, high soaring above
Thy clouds, which are fountains of goodness and love.

To all, life Thou givest, to both great and small;
In all life Thou livest, the true life of all;
We blossom and flourish as leaves on the tree,
And wither and perish — but naught changeth Thee.

Great Father of glory, pure Father of light,
Thine angels adore Thee, all veiling their sight;
Of all Thy rich graces this grace, Lord, impart
Take the veil from our faces, the vile from our heart.

All laud we would render; O help us to see
’Tis only the splendor of light hideth Thee,
And so let Thy glory, almighty, impart,
Through Christ in His story, Thy Christ to the heart.

Take the veil from my face, take the vile from my heart. Poetry. So, too, is Paul’s hope his life might be a testament to God’s patience, that he might live for God’s glory. Sometimes when I don’t know what to pray or write about, passages like this come along and fill my heart and mind with the exact words I didn’t know I was seeking. I consider this its own gift from God, and I hope I can in some small way take that blessing and turn it into praise.

A prayer for May 20:

Lord, powerful creator, you have given life to everything. But not only do we have this life on Earth to enjoy and fulfill, but you also have promised life beyond our human existence. I don’t understand why I should be so privileged as to be a beneficiary of your love and forgiveness, given my many imperfections, but I have faith in your steadfastness, your permanence, your glory. Guide me through this life and into the next, and help me, as I am able, to be one of your lights in the world. Amen.

A bit of family news

1 Corinthians 2:10b-13

The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who knows a person’s thoughts except their own spirit within them? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. What we have received is not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, so that we may understand what God has freely given us. This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, explaining spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words.

And then there were four. Or six, depending on how you’re counting. Either way, come October there will be one more Holland in our house. Our next baby, another boy, is going to fill our house, our minivan and the camera’s memory card, going to push our refrigerator and laundry machines to the brink, going to finally wear out the elbows and knees on a robust collection of hand-me-downs started nearly a decade ago and going to be absolutely adored by a loving nuclear and extended family.

We are not trying to populate a basketball team or start a family bluegrass gospel troupe. We are not just “trying for a girl,” and not because there’s a good chance such a feat may be scientifically impossible. We are not unaware of the cause of all these little tax deductions, though that is my go-to joke whenever someone gives me a look that screams, “You know you’re a crazy person, right?”

Well, I might be a crazy person. But not because I signed up for a fourth baby. I am well aware of all that’s in store — good, bad and otherwise. This won’t be our first rodeo. We’ve got to dig the crib out of the basement and maybe borrow (again) the changing table from my parents. Unless we can get Charlie toilet trained sometime in the next five months, we’ll have two in diapers simultaneously. Sleep is already just a rumor for me, so why not let the trend be my friend?

But just because it’ll be the fourth baby in less than ten years, and another boy at that, doesn’t mean it’s all old hat. Each of the older boys came home to a different house, but Number 4 won’t have that distinction. He will, however, be born in a different hospital from his brothers. After welcoming children in February, March and April, it will be quite different to have an October birthday. It also will be a new, perhaps unpleasant, experience for Kristie to be in the late stages of pregnancy during a hot Illinois summer.

And of course our new baby will have his own, independent personality. When I think about Jack’s technical skills and ability to quietly outthink everyone in the room, or Max’s boundless energy and astounding vocabulary, or Charlie’s hug-and-kiss routine and the way he masters puzzles, I almost can’t wait to meet the new guy and see what makes him tick or how he fits into our family dynamic.

Yet I realize the next few months are important as well. All the kids, especially Charlie, need to be involved as much as possible in the process of welcoming a new family member. Jack is already considering the video gaming implications (the Wii only incorporates four remotes, after all) while Max knows he’ll get to move to the back row of the van. Charlie knows there’s a baby in mom’s tummy, but there are plenty of indications he’s not yet willing to share his parents any more than he already does.

It’s a funny thing, to be all at once perfectly content with life as you know it, yet still be open to a drastic change. We’ve known about this new arrival for quite some time — since the night Charlie went to the ER, actually — and there are moments when I am as big a bundle of excited nerves as I was before my first kid was born, and other moments where I am completely terrified and wonder if I really understand what we’ve gotten ourselves into. There are times I feel blessed with our abundance, like a farmer bringing in a record yield, and times when I feel guilty because so many people struggle to have even one child, let alone four.

Ultimately, we both felt, quite strongly, the window was still open for us to welcome another child into the world. We never prayed about it as a couple, but I’m entirely certain the decision was not made lightly. It felt God was telling us — not with literal, audible words, but deep, inescapable emotions — to take one more step. This just feels like the right thing to do, and I’ve tried all along to make sure I’m not projecting my desires and instead am actually seeking a call, following the path set before me.

I have many blessings in my life, many more than I deserve, demanding gratitude far beyond what I could ever hope to convey. And near the top of that list are my children — the three who fill our home with joy and now the one who gets to join the party in just a few months. To be a father is such a joy, honor, privilege and responsibility. To be the father of these boys especially is a gift beyond words. May our home and our still-growing family forever be built on the foundation of God’s love.

A prayer for May 19:

Lord, I thank you for the gift of my wife and each of my children. I am completely overcome with joy at having them in my life, and it stuns me even more to consider how many people there are who care so deeply about our little family. Thank you for the family with whom I share a home, the extended family spread across the country and all the people who let us know what it’s like to be loved. It feels like a taste of heaven on Earth, and we owe it all to you. Amen.

Back in the creative groove

Psalm 149:1-3 9NIV)

Praise the Lord.

Sing to the Lord a new song,
   his praise in the assembly of his faithful people.

Let Israel rejoice in their Maker;
   let the people of Zion be glad in their King.
Let them praise his name with dancing
   and make music to him with timbrel and harp.

I need to take more pictures — at least that’s how I’ve been feeling lately. My personal blog, which I now mostly use as a dumping ground for adorable family photos so as not to clog up Facebook and also reach the family members who don’t use social media, has been borderline dormant since the holidays, with the exception of birthday slideshows for the boys. And while I do have nearly a thousand photos in need of editing and posting, I still feel like I’m not doing the same good job of documenting everyday life as has been my style in the past.

Maybe it’s because we don’t have a baby in the house changing every day. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent more time reflecting with words than trying to capture life in images. Maybe it’s because the awareness of the giant backlog makes me hesitant to add to the “to do” pile. Maybe I just haven’t been motivated.

Each time New Year’s Day rolls around I consider tackling Project 365, in which I would take and post at least one photo each day of the year, but so far I’ve lacked the willpower to commit. I don’t miss big events, like holidays, school events or birthday celebrations, but I do feel I’m dropping the ball on the special moments that just kind of happen around the house. But again, with 700 unedited photos since February 6, I’m probably not as negligent as I fear.

Saturday. In the Park. And so on...

Today, though, was a different story. Kristie set up a playdate with some friends at a local park, and I made sure to grab the camera bag as we headed out the door. I was back in my creative element, using the playground like my own personal photo studio. With a quick enough shutter speed I have gotten pretty adept at chasing the boys around jungle gyms and swing sets, snapping at precisely the right moment to catch a genuine smile, a carefree expression or just the right amount of pensive reflection.

Paired with a few great lessons learned from conversations with (and careful study of) the photojournalists I’ve been honored to call professional colleagues, I’m pretty darn satisfied with the fruits of my labor. Not to the point of smugness or snobbery where I feel I’m the best-equipped parent at the park — though today I did see a young couple snapping poorly framed smart phone pictures of a baby in a swing and briefly considered offering to take some “real” pictures and email them later — but it’s more a sense of satisfaction that comes with enjoying time spent with my kids and using my creative talents to create lasting images. It’s like a combo platter of gifts and blessings.

I fully realize the pictures are special because they’re of my kids. I don’t claim to be a genuine camera wizard, just someone who knows how to capture a moment or expression or event that makes me feel like I’ve entered into posterity a memory of my kids I want to keep forever. The experience just fills me with a sense of gratitude for all the good things in my life. My life is not all good things, but the good far outweighs the bad and it is right to give thanks and praise.

The sun, the warmth, the squeals of laughter, the snapshots I know will make the grandmothers smile — it all adds up to a perfectly delightful Saturday. Happy doesn’t begin to describe the feeling.

A prayer for May 18:

Lord, tonight I go to sleep with a smile on my face, a song in my heart and an abundance of joy for a day well spent doing little aside from enjoying my family. Even when we don’t have a jam-packed schedule or a milestone to celebrate, I’m always able to bask in the warmth of a loving family, to appreciate my numerous blessings and to try my best to turn it all back to you in praise. Life is good when I remember what your love really means. Amen.

Preschool graduation

Ezekiel 34:27 (NIV)

The trees will yield their fruit and the ground will yield its crops; the people will be secure in their land. They will know that I am the Lord, when I break the bars of their yoke and rescue them from the hands of those who enslaved them.

Preschool graduations are not my thing. When Max was sick the day of his “graduation” from the three-year-old class last spring, I wasn’t exactly heartbroken. But despite being ill Monday this week, he was in full health today and after lunch we headed off to celebrate the end of his preschool career.

While the mortarboards and “Pomp and Circumstance” were still a bit much for me, I will admit enjoying the afternoon. How could I be anything but happy to see such a genuine smile on my kid’s face? He was excited about the ceremony itself — it was clear he was a little nervous trying to remember all the words to his songs, where to walk when and so forth. But as he stood on the little platform to accept his “diploma” and pose for pictures with his teachers, it was clear he somehow grasped the significance of the day.

Max, his teachers and a 2012-2013 preschool scrapbook.

Plus, after all the birthday parties I’ve taken him to this year, I’m starting to know a lot of the parents and kids in his class. Not on a deep level of course. Most of them I know only as “Madison’s mom” or “Evan’s Dad,” but I don’t suppose they know much more about me. But despite the wide age range among the parents, the fact some of us are experienced in sending our kids off to school and others are going through this for the first and perhaps only time, we all share the bond of having a little one ready for kindergarten.

My favorite part of the event was returning to the classroom after the ceremony. The teachers made scrapbooks for each kid with a year’s worth of photographs and art projects. After Max showed Kristie every page, he turned to some of his classmates. “See? This is a picture of me in my penguin costume and you in your cat costume!” They all know his name (he’s Max H. in order to be different from Max Y.) and he knows theirs, and some of their parents and grandparents, and it’s just such a thrill to see any of our kids have age-appropriate peer interactions. Something about those fleeting, substance-free conversations somehow makes me more aware of the growing up process.

So Max is now ready for kindergarten. In a few weeks Jack will be done with the elementary school and ready for the intermediate (fourth and fifth grade) building. It’s not quite as dramatic what we expect in 2022, when Jack graduates high school while Max is finishing eighth grade and Charlie wraps up fifth grade, but still, we’re clearly in another point of transition. Standing at the brink of summer it seems we’ve got a long way to go, but I know it’ll seem like only a few days have elapsed by the time we’re putting two kids on a school bus each day.

When I see the kids making progress and moving into different life phases, it does somewhat feel like a tree yielding its fruit. Not in the spiritual sense of course, but these little moments like today are significant because they give parents another milestone to observe. The first few years of life are all about big occasions — rolling over, sitting up, crawling, walking, talking first solid food, first tooth, first trip to the emergency room (I didn’t say they were all positive — and then, gradually, the red-letter events start to be a “few and far between” proposition. I don’t think I’ve had my own “big day” since I turned 30, and that was almost four years ago. Our ten-year anniversary last June elapsed almost without fanfare.

Not that I’m complaining. Life is all about the kids these days, and that’s how we wanted it to be. We’ve been parents for more than nine years ago, the larger majority of our married life. These children are our everything, and a day like today, when one of them has a smile plastered on their face, is a day worth remembering. “Kindergarten,” as Max’s class sang today, “here we come.”

A prayer for May 17:

Lord, thank you for special occasions and the chance to celebrate our children’s accomplishments. Thank you for the feeling of security that comes with a life of faith. Thank you for the strength of family ties and for being not just an overseer, but an active, essential element of our relationships. Help me as we again enter a period of transition and open my eyes to anything I might do or say to keep you and your love front and center as our routines and responsibilities evolve. Amen.

Seeing myself in them

Ezekiel 18:1-4, 19-20 (NIV)

The word of the Lord came to me: “What do you people mean by quoting this proverb about the land of Israel:

“ ‘The parents eat sour grapes,
   and the children’s teeth are set on edge’?

“As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord, you will no longer quote this proverb in Israel. For everyone belongs to me, the parent as well as the child — both alike belong to me. The one who sins is the one who will die. …

“Yet you ask, ‘Why does the son not share the guilt of his father?’ Since the son has done what is just and right and has been careful to keep all my decrees, he will surely live. The one who sins is the one who will die. The child will not share the guilt of the parent, nor will the parent share the guilt of the child. The righteousness of the righteous will be credited to them, and the wickedness of the wicked will be charged against them. …”

Today was our final IEP meeting of the school year. As we sat there discussing past, present and future, I once again encountered the reality of just how much of my own personality is reflected in my kids. There are times as well where Kristie can chime in with, “He gets that from me,” so it’s not like they’re all total clones of just one parent.

We’re also able to break down which traits might have skipped a generation, or which run hard through family lines as far back as we can tell. If all three children could be established as a Venn diagram, there would be times when two of three intersect, but not always the same two, and in a few special instances all three are in the tiny circle in the middle.

These topics make for excellent discussions on long car rides when the boys are asleep and can’t hear their parents breaking down their genetic makeup. It’s part of the fun of parenting, getting to think about all of the intricate, uncontrollable circumstances by which each child was created and how they’re not just unique people but our unique people who both complete us and also leave open the question of what future generations might become.

IEP meetings, of course, are less pleasant. But even so there are times when something in the conversation can fill me with pride. And yes, there are parts of the discussion that make me feel I’ve passed on some trait I’d just as soon keep to myself. It’s not exactly a “sins of the father” type of situation as described in Ezekiel, but I can’t escape feeling guilty when I see any of my kids doing or saying something they clearly either inherited from me or picked up from watching my own questionable behavior.

It’s a weird thing, to love someone so much because they’re literally a part of me, yet to also sometimes feel so bad for them because they’re unable to escape the things about me I don’t like about myself. I’m sure this is going to continue happening in different ways as each boy grows into adulthood as well. All along the road there will be happy occurrences and frustrating epiphanies. There was never any doubt these kids are the biological product of their parents, and also of the environment they’re being raised in, but they have a way of proving the truth year in and year out.

But, as Ezekiel writes, we all belong to God. Our good days, our bad days, our best traits, our tallest hurdles — God accepts us always. If there’s anything I have in common with my kids that will always bring me joy, it’s the comfort that comes with being created and redeemed by the same loving God. That trumps everything.

A prayer for May 16:

Lord, thank you again for the opportunity to be a father. Some days I can’t understand why I would be trusted with this enormous responsibility, but I am always grateful to have these children in my life, and to be so lucky as to have found the perfect partner for the rest of my days. As we wrap up another school year, please help us appreciate the break from the regular routine. Show me ways to make summer special for our family, and may we always remember the peace and comfort that come when we surround ourselves with your love. Amen.

'An undivided heart'

Ezekiel 11:19-21 (NIV)

“…I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh. Then they will follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws. They will be my people, and I will be their God. But as for those whose hearts are devoted to their vile images and detestable idols, I will bring down on their own heads what they have done, declares the Sovereign Lord.”

An undivided heart is a fascinating, appealing concept. To the extent the mind can be distinct from the heart, I suppose an undivided heart is attainable. An undivided mind, at least at this stage of my life, seems impossible.

Whenever I’m at home and even one child is awake, I can’t count on getting anything accomplished without an interruption. I’ll start to make food for one kid when another wants water. Packing Jack’s lunch each morning seems to be an invitation for Charlie to come downstairs to get his diaper changed. Max has a fantastic ability to get me started on one task for his benefit and then interrupt me with a second request.

Whenever I’m at work I’m deep into my expertise as a multi-tasker. Heck, half the time when asked to list my job title I just write down “miscellaneous,” and that’s not a complaint. The phone doesn’t often ring for me, but it happens and that requires a complete shift in my attention. This doesn’t even factor all the times my mind wanders toward the same tiny people who interrupt anything I try to accomplish at home.

I don’t consider myself unique, of course. Lots of people have jobs and families and hobbies and social groups and so on. A divided mind is more or less expected of a functioning adult in modern society. It starts in school when teachers and guidance counselors push involvement in music, athletics, drama or other extracurricular activities. They suggest well-rounded students are attractive to college admissions counselors, and they’re probably right.

It’s more of the same once you actually get to college. During my junior year I was president of the fraternity, editor of the student newspaper and, for a month or so, general manager of the campus radio station. I was involved in the startup and leadership of our drumline the same year, but that didn’t require much effort spring semester. I was in the concert band and the show choir band. I worked six hours a week in the music department office. I also was working on maintaining a maturing relationship with a young lady who probably was busier than me on account of her classroom requirements — plus they started construction underneath her dorm room right after spring break. And I also went to class myself, and occasionally did the assigned work.

Again, not unique. Just like the high school guidance counselors, college academic advisers are not afraid to explain how spinning all these plates is simply a prerequisite for life in the real world. And again, they’re probably right. I’ve often said, meaning no disrespect to my classes or professors, the most important lessons of my college years were learned outside the classroom — how to deal with other people, how to be accountable for my commitments and how to stay true to myself regardless of how crazy or busy life became.

And that’s how it comes full circle. The divided mind is a given, but the divided heart? It need not be so. If I’m able to really tap into the focus and clarity God can provide, I can rest my heart in Him and see everything else in my life through that perspective. If I try to be divisive, to love things that conflict with God’s will for me, I invite my own peril. But when I make God’s will my own, everything becomes clear. It makes me a better husband, a better father and simply a better human.

The transformation is part of allowing God to mold me into what I’m supposed to become. I will gladly surrender my heart of stone.

A prayer for May 15:

Lord, I am trying to keep an undivided heart. I know if I establish you as the foundation of my life that everything else will fall into place. I know the hectic nature of being a working parent is supposed to be mentally taxing, but I also trust you to keep me in check. I have faith that if my heart is saved for you above all else, my mind will not lead me astray. Guide me, use me, make me yours. Amen.

'Like lambs among wolves.'

Luke 10:3, 5 (NLT)

“Go on your way. Listen! I send you out like lambs among wolves. … When you go into a house, say that you hope peace will come to them.”

I don’t want my kids to be wolves, but neither do I want them to be slaughtered like lambs. I’ve got quite a few years to worry about the whole “sending them out” business, but now is the time for establishing the foundations on which they’ll build their adult lives. It’s probably best to accept and acknowledge the world is a fairly brutal place and they’ll always, to some degree, be subject to forces far beyond their control. But there’s no reason I can’t do my best to get them ready for life beyond the walls of our home.

A greater fear than failing to prepare them adequately is for me to screw up badly enough that I’m turning out the wolves and contributing to a bad deal for the lambs. It might be unhealthy for me to put this kind of pressure on myself, but it seems to come with the territory of parenting. Now they’re fairly young and I’m worrying if I can do enough to build them up. Give me a decade when the oldest will be out of high school and I’ll just be looking in the past and wondering what I could have done better along the way. I have a sneaking suspicion the worrying never goes away, it’s just a matter of shifting focus.

This fretting, which is not constant, but regular enough for me to notice and consider it a going concern, is a big reason why I have come to put such a priority on peace. Peace of mind, peace between siblings, being at peace with things I can’t control, praying for these and other types of peace for those going through turmoil — I have a lot of questions about God and the way the world works and what we’re all doing here and why we can’t seem to get along. But one thing I’m sure of, something I know I’ve felt on many occasion, is a peace that defies logic, a peace that can only come from the trust I placed in my creator and redeemer.

This peace doesn’t fix problems. It doesn’t heal the sick or put money in my bank account or repair my broken car. But it calms the voices in my head, brings me to a place of rest where I can almost see the worldly concerns fade into the background. I know that when it matters — the singular time in my existence when it actually matters — God will bring me home. Nothing can be more important, and feeling that belief to my core is what allows me to construct the positive relationships I have with other people.

Can I raise children who are lambs among wolves and brave enough to forge ahead regardless? Can my boys not just offer the hope of peace but actually be advocates for peace in their scopes of influence? Anything is possible when God is involved, and that faith is what allows my worries and concerns to take a back seat. I can’t repress them entirely, nor do I feel I should. But when the intensity increases and I near a breaking point, that’s when the peace of God makes all the difference. Every time.

A prayer for May 14:

Lord, send me out like a lamb among wolves. Use me to offer hope for peace to those in need. Give me the strength to answer your call for me, and help me teach my children what it means to seek your will. Amen.