It wasn't, but it will

Psalm 33:10-11 (NIV)

The Lord foils the plans of the nations;
   he thwarts the purposes of the peoples.
But the plans of the Lord stand firm forever,
   the purposes of his heart through all generations.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. No, Baby 4 was supposed to arrive like Baby 1 and Baby 3, a more or less traditional labor and delivery process. We figured it would be just like every other time, water breaking in the dark of some weekend night, drive to the hospital and follow orders. Anything less dire than what we experience with Baby 2 — an emergency c-section, a collapsed lung and an ambulance ride to the neonatal intensive care unit — would have been considered a success.

But that’s not how it’s going to go down. On account of a few medical issues that need not be detailed, and barring a radical change in condition between now and then, Baby 4 is going to enter the world surgically Friday afternoon. I’ve long maintained herding three children going back to April 2004 is not nearly a large enough sample size for us to have experienced every possible parenting scenario, and Baby 4 has proven that to be correct many times already, and his arrival will be an exclamation point.

But having a long-held belief is not the same as actually encountering it in real life. And so I sit here tonight in a position I’ve never occupied, and one I quite frankly never fully anticipated even as evidence mounted it would be inevitable. We’ve been given a time to report to the hospital and, provided things go as is generally the case, it’s fairly easy to map out our next few days. That it coincides with a four-day weekend for the older boys and a long-planned visit from my California sister is an added benefit — we likely couldn’t have planned the whole thing much better.

So why does it feel so weird? Why can I not get my brain around the reality of the situation? I now have enough time, and a deadline, to accomplish the last-minute tasks we need to take care of to be fully ready. I can pick out clothes days in advance for the older boys. No one should have to drop plans at the last minute to shuttle Max to his soccer game or one of the two birthday parties he’s been invited to Saturday afternoon. No midnight phone calls. No waking up Jack to give him the news so he’s not upset in the morning when we’re gone (fool him once, shame on us; fool him twice, swear up and down it won’t happen a third time).

Maybe the other three times there was some comfort in the element of surprise? I know the fact I was watching “Saturday Night Live” when Kristie told me “it’s time” for both Max and Charlie was pure coincidence, but a large part of me expected her to give me the same message last weekend.

There’s just something weird about knowing, and I’m likely never going to be able to fully understand or explain. I know I get twitchy when encountering people who discuss their unborn children by name, and this feels kind of similar. In many ways it’s no different from having a milestone event on the calendar, like a wedding or graduation, but it’s never been off-putting to discuss things like those as certainties. A lot of my perceptions changed the day Max was born, and I’ll probably never see the world the same way.

But we have a date and a time and a place and a name (we’re not telling) and now I have about 36 hours to get ready. I will wash all the dishes and the clothes and pick up as best as possible and transfer car seats and for the love of all things holy take a vacuum to the minivan. We will sit down with Babies 1, 2 and 3 to discuss what’s going to happen over the next couple of days and answer any possible questions. We will go to sleep Thursday knowing it is our last night as a family of five. And by Friday night we’ll have two in diapers, pictures to share and a name to reveal and the long process of recovery from surgery while also caring for the most adorably helpless of creatures.

I’m going to do the best I can to clear my mind, to seek God and to open myself fully that I might have wisdom, strength, patience and peace far beyond my own abilities — whatever I may need to not just get by but to effectively lead my family through the days ahead. We are not alone, and we are blessed with enough family and dear friends to make sure we never feel isolated. And woven through it all is God’s love, uplifting and redeeming. Even when nothing else makes sense, of this I can be sure.

A prayer for October 9:

Lord, I want to surrender myself to you. I need to let go of my worry, fear, anxiety and whatever else might be clouding my heart and mind. I need to make room for peace, for clarity, for strength and patience. As we inch ever closer to the day, the hour, the minute when our family forever changes, I want to be made like new in your eyes. I want to welcome our child into a house filled with laughter and love. And I want all of us to be healthy and safe. Watch over us now and always. Amen.

'I'm just doing what you do!'

1 Corinthians 11:1 (NIV)

Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.

We were driving home from church Sunday, moderately rocking out to Fall Out Boy’s “My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark,” which is, for a variety of reasons, very popular in our house. Even Charlie knows the chorus, and he and Max were in the back seat singling along and bopping their heads happily.

Our of nowhere, and for no apparent reason, Charlie started crying. My best bet is maybe he bit his tongue a bit while letting his freak flag fly, but the reason isn’t important. I turned down the radio to try to see if he could or would tell me the problem. Jack decided he would contribute by screaming, “Charlie!” as if that would make things better.

I tried, as calmly as possible at the time, to tell Jack that was not helpful. His retort was quick and cutting: “I’m just doing what you do!”

I let that one marinate for a while, turned my attention to the little guy and eventually he soothed himself. After a few more deep breaths, I reminded everyone in the car, politely, it doesn’t do any good to scream at a crying toddler. As expected, Jack took that bait and restated his position, reminding me I have been known to yell at him.

He’s right, of course. I raise my voice. Certainly more than I should, but I am sincerely trying to cut back, especially since we’re about to have a baby in the house and I’d rather he not think of me as just “Tall Loud Guy.” However, as I explained to my oldest and most contrarian son, sometimes when his parents try speaking to him, he acts as if he cannot hear us. When we feel we’re being ignored, we raise our voices until we get a response.

My main point, which I am sure was heard but cannot be certain was understood, is that far too often our children will act disrespectfully, fueling parental frustration, and then act completely dumbfounded when we lose our temper. There is no way to calculate how many times I have asked them how it can be possible they have no sense of when they’re fraying our nerves. Sometimes I’ll come right out and say something like, “Do you need me to yell at you so you understand I’m serious?”

I don’t like yelling at them. I generally get mad at myself for doing so, which only serves to compound my frustration on top of whatever it was that got me riled up in the first place. I accept I need to do a much better job of setting an example for them to follow, and I actually appreciate it when Jack’s brutal, blunt honesty holds me accountable for actions I’d like to correct. I’ve yet to find anything more effective at instigating inward reflection and analysis.

That said, I’m on a constant crusade for a method that will communicate my intent to the kids effectively. I want them to know they’re being treated with respect, but I realize it’s all too easy for them to perceive muted language and delivery as a permissive attitude that more or less communicates a lack of parental seriousness. Maybe I dug that hole for myself over several years of speaking (often loudly) before thinking, but I can’t undo any of that, I can only make things better going forward.

Every day is its own challenge. And just because something works Monday through Thursday is no guarantee it’ll have any effect on Friday. Parenting is a constantly, rapidly evolving task, but these kids make me want to be a better person. I want to inspire them to walk proudly the paths I have not always been able to follow, and that requires me to force myself to try harder than I ever would on my own. Fatherhood is a blessing and a responsibility, and I am trying to do my best to handle both aspects appropriately. God, give me the strength.

A prayer for October 7:

Lord, help me follow your example. I know I’m imperfect, prone to mistakes and quick to stray from the path you set before me. I need you to draw me back to you, to have patience with me and to keep me pointed in the right direction. I need to be a better husband and father, and I need for my family to see in me a person who is truly transformed by your love and grace. Help me break down my stubbornness and impulses and rebuild me fully in your image, answering your call without fail. Guide me, love me and forgive me. Amen.

In need of peace, pronto

2 Kings 19:1-4 (NIV)

When King Hezekiah heard this, he tore his clothes and put on sackcloth and went into the temple of the Lord. He sent Eliakim the palace administrator, Shebna the secretary and the leading priests, all wearing sackcloth, to the prophet Isaiah son of Amoz. They told him, “This is what Hezekiah says: This day is a day of distress and rebuke and disgrace, as when children come to the moment of birth and there is no strength to deliver them. …”

I want this baby to come out. This is the fourth time my wife has been pregnant, and although we’re still almost a week shy of her due date, I have never been more ready for her to go into labor. I can’t fully explain why, but it is time for this baby to be born.

Anxiety is not a regular presence in my mind. Anticipation, sure, but this feels different. As I stood in the shower earlier today, my mind would simply not stop racing with all sorts of best- and worst-case scenarios. I’ve experienced enough to know we’re not guaranteed the good or immune from the bad, but at this juncture if there are going to be difficulties I would rather be in the process of overcoming them than simply waiting to see if they might arrive.

All along, nearly since the beginning, Kristie has said this pregnancy physically feels different than the others. The longer it goes, the more that intensifies. Last weekend we were scrolling through some old pictures and paid special attention to images from the last six weeks or so before Charlie arrived. The differences between then and now are obvious and striking. I attribute a lot of my anxiety to concern for her well being and frustration over my inability to make any difference in her physical or mental comfort.

The challenges of rebuilding our house are fairly well documented. Kristie’s mom came in yesterday and stayed the night. By the time she left after dinner today it’s almost like an entirely new place. The basement is almost entirely put back together, we’re back to being able to use as much of our first floor as ever and she picked up, neatened, wiped down and vacuumed to an astounding extent. We still have some nesting tasks — things we’d likely have banged out over the last few weeks were we not dealing with larger issues — but I never thought we’d be put back together to this degree before the baby arrives. Perhaps part of my anxiety is owed to feeling as if we are physically ready in a way we were not before.

This is a very busy weekend in the life of our church, and I’ve had to scale back all of our involvement on account of trying to be as ready as possible when go time begins. In both my full- and part-time jobs there are ongoing issues that are fighting for my mental attention at a time when I’d prefer to focus solely on labor and delivery. But the career stuff can’t be ignored, and so far we’re not checked in to a maternity suite, so no sense forcing my mind into a place it need not go. Like two weather fronts meeting, the storms in my head are increasing the anxiety.

Layering on top is the terrible resolution to an ongoing local news story hitting fairly close to come, mentally and geographically. The details are exceedingly difficult to even consider, let alone think or write about. Suffice it to say it is the kind of story that makes parents want to huge each other and their children a little tighter and make sure everyone knows how much they are loved. That I’m unable to reach my newest little guy with a hug or a kiss or an “I love you” is eating away at me like never before. I realize if he were born right now it would be weeks or months before my words made any sense to him. But the touch of his parents could mean everything, and I am flat out guaranteeing I will be a blubbering, sobbing mess the second I see his gross little newborn face.

I know the counter to all this anxiety is God’s peace. It’s therefore no coincidence I am repeating that word, peace, over and over again in my head, and have been for several hours now. I don’t know what the future holds, tonight, tomorrow or 18 years from now. But I do know I can’t control that future, only how I react to whatever actually happens. Further, I know my ability to react appropriately depends entirely on my ability to let go of that anxiety and let God’s peace wash my worry away.

I need that peace, tonight and every night. I’m sure I’m not alone.

A prayer for October 4:

Lord, calm my worried heart. Put my mind at ease. You have promised to bear my burdens, to love me unconditionally. I know I am letting the things I can’t control take over my mind, but I need that to stop. I need to clearly focus on ways I can be productive and useful, the chances I have to delight in my many blessings and to share your love with others. Work in me and through me. I want and need to be fully yours. Grant me peace. Amen.

Free from concern? No thanks

1 Corinthians 7:32-35 (NIV)

I would like you to be free from concern. An unmarried man is concerned about the Lord’s affairs — how he can please the Lord. But a married man is concerned about the affairs of this world — how he can please his wife — and his interests are divided. An unmarried woman or virgin is concerned about the Lord’s affairs: Her aim is to be devoted to the Lord in both body and spirit. But a married woman is concerned about the affairs of this world — how she can please her husband. I am saying this for your own good, not to restrict you, but that you may live in a right way in undivided devotion to the Lord.

As a married man for more than 11 of my 34 years, I am here to report I am indeed concerned about the affairs of the world and, more importantly, how to make my wife happy. There are plenty of times I am thinking about my wife and children before I’m concerned with the Lord’s affairs, though I realize logically I am a much better husband and father when I view the former through the lens of the latter. But still, I get what Paul is saying, to a point.

Because for nearly 23 of my 34 years I was not a married man. And for a great, great deal of those 23 years, I was heavily engaged in thinking about what it might take to one day become a married man. In fact, I would suggest on balance I’ve been more concerned with the Lord’s affairs in the third third of my life so far than the first two thirds. It’s not unheard of to suggest young people are more inclined to think beyond their own interests — and often that includes a turn or return to faith — once children enter the picture.

On the simplest level, I want to be someone my children can be proud to call their dad, and I hope to raise them to be better citizens of the world than I have been. I don’t think that makes me special or unique. Part of the way I hope to accomplish these goals, a personal choice, is to seek God’s direction and will. This is not to say “I go to church to be a better husband and dad.” That’s far too simplistic. But I am trying to let faith drive the train, to keep the Lord’s intent at top of mind and through that devotion to live as the type of person God wants me to be.

Does it work? Some days better than others. Has it ever let me down? No, but I’ve failed to hold up my end plenty of times. Living in a right way, in undivided devotion, is monumentally difficult. Many folks would suggest it’s an impossible feat given the limitations of being human, and I’m not sure I disagree.

I don’t find these lines from Paul’s letter too difficult to swallow. If I’m devoted to God and actively seeking guidance and direction, I’m going to be able to please my wife and help care for our children. If I’m not properly caring for my wife and kids, I’m no longer right with the Lord. I’m not advocating for trickle-down parenting or anything, but I have been able to clearly identify in my own life the ways I live and love better if I am paying attention to what God wants on a consistent basis.

I would love to be free from concern. But anyone — single, married, parents or otherwise — truly lives a life free from concern. We can say no concerns of this life amount to the matter of our eternal soul, and that’s true, but when there are people in our life to love deeply and care for, well, concerns are a part of that deal. And so on we go, day after day, trying to make the right choices and just be good people. At least that’s what I hope we’re all doing. It’s certainly how I hope my sons view the world as they grow into maturity. And it’s my job to lead them by example. May God help us all.

A prayer for October 1:

Lord, I am thankful for the concerns in my life. There are so many important people for whom I care deeply — and who in turn show their care for me — I now realize the occasional heaviness in my heart is the reward that comes from loving and being loved. And yet I imagine it pales in comparison to the love you have for us, whom you lovingly made. How many times have I let you down? How many ways have I been a disappointment? I am so sorry for my shortcomings. Please help make me whole, set me on the right path and guide me each step of the way. Amen.

Change is coming — eventually

Psalm 66:10-12 (NIV)

For you, God, tested us;
   you refined us like silver.
You brought us into prison
   and laid burdens on our backs.
You let people ride over our heads;
   we went through fire and water,
   but you brought us to a place of abundance.

Here’s the thing about waiting for babies: this is our fourth time , and it’s just not getting any easier. Jack was nine days past his due date, Max missed the mark by ten days. Charlie actually came about a week early, which felt darn near premature given our track record. And though Kristie’s due date is Oct. 10 — a week from Thursday — there a few factors making me feel like Baby Four is dramatically overdue.

We thought he was coming early all along, on account of Kristie being told she’s measuring ahead of schedule for months now. That’s the clinical reason. When our sewer ruptured Sept. 5 — a full five weeks before the due date — I was so convinced the kid would arrive in the midst of the insanity I’m flat stunned he’s still on the inside.

That’s not to say we’re through the woods yet on the house turmoil. The bathroom floor is mostly fixed and there’s a toilet in there, but we’ve not been able to finalize a replacement vanity. Thanks to family and some dear friends today, the bulk of our basement is now vacant. The drywall was repaired last week, the walls and ceiling will be painted Monday and the carpet comes in Wednesday, which means we can begin the process of uncovering our dining room and playroom and really start to feel normal.

At that point, the disruption of replacing the wood floor in the entryway, kitchen and dining room would be minimized, at least compared to what would happen if that crew showed up tomorrow morning. And at any rate, as nuts as it’s been around here for the last several weeks, it actually seems it’ll be easier when the baby gets here because then Kristie will be on the road to recovery instead of simply waiting for figurative shoes to drop — and packing enough extra weight it’s difficult for her to breathe, walk and sleep with any semblance of comfort.

So we’re having all sorts of “what if” conversations, which technically are “if the baby comes tonight” hypothetical situations. Who would take Jack to his Monday morning appointment? Max has after school events Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday each week. Am I keeping up with paying the bills and making sure laundry is clean and put away? Is the dishwasher clean or dirty? And so on and so forth.

But beyond all the practical matters, the more babies I have the harder it is to wait to meet them, hold them close and marvel at how tiny they are. Anxious is not a strong enough word to describe how much I want to stare into those newborn eyes, to take pictures of big brothers, grandparents, aunts and uncles as they share their first moments. It’s something of a ritual, but we’ve not gone through these motions nearly enough for them to feel stale or unimportant.

Though Kristie and I are oldest children, it seems we both have a sense of trying to make sure none of the younger boys will grow up thinking their early days were chalked up to old hat. She, especially, has plenty of ideas for how to go above and beyond to make this time through a little more special, likely because we both realize we’re not walking this road a fifth time. For her that notion manifests itself in a lot of “this is the last time we ever…” sentiments. For me it’s the overzealous anticipation of having everyone here. Even though we don’t know anything about the little guy, we know he’s an essential piece of our family.

It’s sort of the same as Thanksgiving or Christmas with my family last year. It was a good time and a wonderful celebration, but it just didn’t feel all the way full with all of us in Illinois and my sister out in San Francisco. Maybe it doesn’t make sense equating a sibling in her mid-20s with a family member who still is technically a fetus, but that’s the kind of love I have for this person who is as much my son as any of the ones I can kiss goodnight.

That’s what we’re in this for. At the end of April, our oldest son will be ten. Our youngest will be old enough to sit on his own, to smile laugh and have his own personality. We’ll probably all be getting decent amounts of sleep. The house should be as done as can be on the inside, and we might even have had a chance to polish up the outside, too. This episode won’t be a distant memory, but we’ll be over that particular hill and stronger for the experience.

And sure, we’re not promised any of that. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow and choosing a bathroom wall color will seem pretty darn incidental by comparison. As noted, we still have some incredibly challenging days ahead. I’d be a fool to think I can predict how it’ll all play out; even though I have a pretty refined taste for the days and weeks ahead I must be open to the fact we’ll be dealing with things we’ve never faced before. Each baby brings its own unique complications, and I expect exactly the same this next go around.

Life in the waning stages of a pregnancy is high on questions and short on answers. If ever there’s a time to free myself from worrying about things I can’t control, these are the days. Hard as it can be, that’s my goal. I’ll focus on what I can do, give all the love I can to my wife and kids, muster as much energy and focus as possible to deal with our house and seek God’s strength and guidance for every step. And when that baby finally show up, I’m probably going to stop being able to contain the motions swirling around inside, and I’ll make no apologies.

Our house may not be back together when it’s time for the nugget to come home from the hospital, but it will be filled with laughter and love anyway, and that’s all that really matters.

A prayer for September 29:

Lord, guide us through the days ahead, as we near the end of the wait for our new arrival, as we slowly begin to put our home back together, as we continue to try to give our boys the love and support they need from their parents. Help me fight through the physical and emotional challenges to give my family the best of myself, no matter the circumstance, and help me seize opportunities to let your love shine through me and my dealings with everyone I encounter. Amen.

'What do you prefer?'

1 Corinthians 4:21 (NIV)

What do you prefer? Shall I come to you with a rod of discipline, or shall I come in love and with a gentle spirit?

I read this verse earlier tonight — sometime between dinner and bath time, while one kid was upstairs trying like heck to get some Minecraft software to function properly and the other two were in the living room ignoring the super loud TV and making their own ruckus. There also were two guys in the basement installing drywall, which is not exactly a noiseless endeavor.

At that moment, my reaction was similar to a response I’ve had quite often while working on this project. I think about the way I want to be treated, and it tells me an awful lot about the way I should treat other people. As it relates to my kids, to whom I can bring either harshness or benevolence, it’s pretty obvious which path to walk. The challenge is remembering this choice when actually face with the option.

As luck would have it, I had such an opportunity just a few hours later. Kristie was out for the evening so bath and bed were my responsibility alone. Settling down in the evening is not our strong suit, nor is actually getting in the tub at the requested time. But as I felt my self begin to bubble and possibly boil over, I fortunately remembered the choice I’d encountered an hour or so earlier in the midst of a hectic scene.

Tonight I think I was able to present a gentle spirit, or at least to be more calm than my usual demeanor under this kind of mild duress. I’m not always capable of making this choice, and I do believe there are instances where the rod of discipline, metaphorically, is not only appropriate but actually a far better option than gentleness, lest kids perceive serenity as indifference or tacit approval.

Aside from all that, I rather like the “What do you prefer?” question. Rarely are we offered the courtesy of that question — and rarely do we offer it to others, children or otherwise. Yet who among us would answer with anything other than the second of the two approaches? We know what we like, we know what works best as the giver and receiver, and yet we — or at least me — can’t always see to it to make the obvious choice.

I wish I knew why that was, other than just chalking it up to human nature. I guess replacing some of that human instinct with full deference to God’s desire for me is the more important right choice. Tomorrow is another day to get it right.

A prayer for September 23:

Lord, it is so easy to promise to love others as I love myself and yet can be so hard to put those words into action. Just as I know I should love you fully with every ounce of myself, so too do I realize the way I should be presenting myself to all I encounter, and especially those most dear to me. Help me to come to them in love. Make my spirit gentle, and let the peace I feel inside be evident outwardly in all my relationships. Lead me in this way, shape me and use me so others might see your love reflected in me. Amen.

Mean boys

1 Corinthians 2:3-4a (NIV)

I came to you in weakness with great fear and trembling. My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words…

“Adam, Ben, Chris and David, you guys go with Coach Carlos. Ernie, Fred, Griffin and Harry, you guys will work with Coach Scott.”

It was at that point the kindergarten students on the soccer team I help coach (whose real names I did not use) began laughing hysterically, apparently because Scott is not a name they hear very often. Or maybe it was on account of the lot of them being rowdier than usual, which is saying a lot for five- and six-year-old boys at soccer practice. Either way, I did not exactly enjoy being the subject of group derision.

On the upside, it ended quickly as they stopped making fun of my name to instead ignore the passing drill they were supposed to be doing. Also, I am 34 years old and beyond the point of being humiliated by children, especially those I can still lift one-handed. But I am the father of school-aged children, and the brief episode certainly made me think about my own school days and what my kids or those in their class might be going through on a regular basis. I’m also the husband of a pregnant lady, and I thought briefly about all the baby names we suggested and rejected, saying them out loud repeatedly and considering how they might be twisted on the playground.

We're not very good at giving our teammates space to maneuver.

I should not be a soccer coach. For one thing, I don’t know very much about soccer. For another, this pregnancy could get real serious any day now, and when that happens I’ll be considerably less accountable to a bunch of other people’s kids. For yet another, I am not really possessed of the personality required to successfully herd this many kids for a few hours each week. Not that anyone is, of course, but I have seen some pretty good coaches out there so far this year.

It’s not a complete sense of weakness with fear and trembling, but a few Saturdays ago when our real coach was gone (on picture day, no less), my message was neither wise nor persuasive. It was incredibly hot for early September. We had all nine kids at the game, which meant three had to sit out at any given time. We don’t have any formal rotation, and juggling substitutions is my department. Whenever kids were too hot to want to play, I didn’t complain. At one point, near the end of the first half, one of our players who was supposed to be sitting ran out to join the game, and I didn’t bother pulling one of the other boys out. No one noticed, but I was pretty happy a few seconds later when the whistle blew.

The best thing I can say about the kids — not the only thing, but the best thing — is the few minutes half of them spent giggling over my name are probably the worst behaved they’ve been all season. They can be unruly, and they’re not quick to grasp fundamentals of the game (so far as I understand them, anyway), but they are actually pretty good at being respectful of each other and don’t get too upset when games end in scoreless ties. We don’t really have problems with hyperactive parents and, for our family at least, it seems like the perfect activity for a son with boundless energy.

Maybe Max will want to do soccer again in the spring. We won’t push him, but we’ll sign him up if he asks. I can probably offer to help coach again — some Wednesdays it’s my only real chance at exercise. But as he gets older and he and his peers get easier to deal with in large numbers, I’m going to be more and more out of my element on the sidelines and at weekly practices. But hey, there’s two more boys behind him, and maybe they’ll want to play kindergarten soccer, too. We already own the shoes and shinguards from when Jack played, and now I have my very own bright blue T-shirt with “COACH” on the back in big, block letters.

“Kick it that way, kids. Don’t use your hands. And from now on, just call me Max’s dad.”

A prayer for September 19:

Lord, please help me continually seek opportunities to share with others the way your love and grace have shaped my life. Give me the strength I need to speak and write with confidence and the wisdom to use language that promotes unity and understanding. Push me out of my comfort zones and keep my mindful of times when I have been rewarded for stretching those boundaries. Be with me always, God, and let me live as someone who is never fully alone. Amen.