In Awe of your love

A Facebook post by my wife:

Happy 4th Birthday to the best things that ever happened to me, besides your Daddy.
We love you very much!!!
Love,
Mama


To my wife,
First I would like to say that those are the cutest babies I have ever seen! (and I say that being the most unbiased, most competent,  and most reliable source available to judge such things)  These two precious little (not so little any more) things truly have been a blessing in our lives and I've loved them every step of the way. I could not imagine my life without them, oh what a sad and unfulfilling life that would surely be.  The reason I felt the need to share this post on my blog is because I was so taken back by three little words; "besides your Daddy".  Words can not begin to express  the feelings of unworthliness, the shock, the wonder, the pure and undiluted emotion that this simple statement brought on inside of me.  To look in her eyes, at that frozen moment in time, I see the joy and the passionate affection for these two snuggly wrapped miracles.  I see a tired, yet purely content,  woman holding what she never thought she would.  A woman who had never looked more beautiful to me than she did in that moment.  A woman who some how some way God found me worth of marrying, found me worthy of fathering her children.  I could live the rest of my life and not accomplish another thing, and I would consider my life a success.  I consider it an immense honor and privilege to have this amazing woman as the mother of my children, and even more so to have her as my wife.  I am humbly greatful to be so blessed.  To Wyatt and Whitley I say, "Happy Birthday".  To my wife I simply say, "Thank you and I love you." To God I say the same, "Thank you and I love you."

-Your humble, joyous, shocked, wowed, awed, honored, greatful, and forever loving husband

Perspective

I awoke this morning and dreaded even crawling out of bed, but with a scratchy throat and stuffy nose I decided to get going after hitting the snooze button for the tenth time. Just as I expected, another cold and frosty morning. I use a little warm water to get rid of the ice on my windshield then climb on in for my normal hour long commute. As I drive down the road I can see every breath I take rolling past my slightly numb lips, just another chilly drive since my heater went out and winter set in. As I tend to do on my morning drive, I spend some time talking with God. As my cold fingers grip the even colder steering wheel, I thank him for the fact that I have transportation to get to work, I thank him that I have a job to provide for my family, and I thank him for the sweet auburn clad Snuggie that is currently wrapped around my neck like an over sized scarf.

Shortly after my talk (prayer or whatever), I merge onto I-10 West bound and as the slight fog dissipates I see an image that catches my eye. The view I have is of a full moon next to the RSA tower in downtown Mobile, but not just any moon what appears to be the biggest moon I've ever seen. As I continue on my daily journey the view before me begins to slowly change. The moon begins to change, it grows smaller and smaller with each passing mile until it is only a fraction of the size it was when I first caught sight of it. Or perhaps through some bizarre circumstance the building itself had somehow grown larger. Now I now better than to think that the moon had gotten smaller or that the building had gotten bigger. The only thing that has changed was me, the only thing that had changed was my perspective. Nothing about either one had changed, but where "I was" had changed my view of them. This same concept is so very true in all aspects of my life and my faith.

It's all about perspective. Something as simple as not having a heater on a cold winter morning allowed me to see this so clearly. I feel now that I was blessed by not having that warmth blowing from my dash, because I may have missed the very thing that God intended to blow through my thoughts and my soul this very morning. He never ceases to amaze me, through the way he chooses to change me, through the things he does to enlighten me, and how subtly he does it.  I used to have a view of God that was so very different from the view I have today. God is so much bigger, so much better, so much more than I ever thought was or could be.  God has not changed, only my perspective of him has changed. The closer I get to him the more beautiful he becomes. The closer I get to him the more I notice him in my life. The closer I get to him the more I love myself and others. The closer I get to him the closer I what to become.

Psalm 139:1-14 gives us a glimpse of the greatest perspective of all; God's perspective.

You have searched me, Lord,
and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
you, Lord, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

Carpenter of men

 



Yesterday evening I was "helping" my uncle in his barn, when I say helping I mean I was doing the work while he spent his time hunting down the next tool I would need to get the job done. The task at hand is one that we have been putting off for quite some time now; completing a wrap around work bench in the tool room section of his barn. The reason we've been putting it off is because of the wood being used for this project: 4"x7" rough cut lumber, twisted, cracked, wood that originally came from large industrial pallets the length of a rail car, to say this was probably the least suited lumber for the job would be an understatement.

As I was diligently working each board; strategically prying, wedging, cutting, hammering, drilling, and screwing; I began to think about another carpenter. I don't know if I ever thought much about the similarities of being a carpenter working with rough raw material and God working in rough and broken people. As I slowly and methodically work each crook, twist, and bow out of each board; I can not help but think of the correlation with how God, Jesus, and his Spirit that lives in me is slowly straightening me out. There is nothing that the board beneath my hand can do to straighten itself out, nothing can be done under its own will, no amount of want or work on it's part can change its twisted and flawed existence. Though this twisted and flawed board would have no reason to believe that it was worthy of being placed atop this sturdy yet humble work bench; the truth is that I have chosen it for that and I will make it worthy, I will straighten it out, I will make it able to fill the need I have for it. This board may not have known what it was made for and even now as it fulfills that role it still does not know, but it is filling that role just as it was slowly shaped to do so.

This board and I have so very much in common. I don't know what role God has in store for me, or how he plans on using me. One thing I do know is that just as I shape and change a piece of wood to fit the plan I have for it, Jesus is immensely more capable of shaping and changing me to meet the role he has for me and my life. I know how flawed I am, how crooked, how twisted, and how unable I most surely am to fill whatever role he has in store. I know that he knows all of my shortcomings more so than I ever will. I also know that he has a plan for each of us; though we may believe that we are the least suited for the role; and he will make us into what he needs us to be. He does not call the able, but enables the called. Truly a carpenter of men!







10 For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
(Ephesians 2:10)

Preg-envy

Is it just me or are there any other men out there who get a little jealous of thier pregnant wives? Now I'm not saying that I'm jealous of the discomfort of pregnancy, or the pains of childbirth, or the the toll it takes on thier body. But it's hard not to think about the fact that they get to have this eternal bond with them. I know this bond that comes from carrying the baby for nine months transcends the baby stage, because I see it daily with my twins. In the way they always want their mother. "No daddy, I want mommy to carry me to bed!" A statement I hear nightly from my precious little girl. It's the way my twins fight over who gets to lay by their mother on the couch, the loser of this nightly debate gets the secondary prize of laying by their father. Its the little things like these that cut the deepest, how could you not be jealous of a bond like that? Don't get me wrong, I have a great relationship with my kids and I know that they love me as I do them. I'm just saying that; damn it's frustrating at times because everything I do is for them, my time spent at work, my thoughts, my prayers, plans for the future. It reminds me of a verse from Pauls second letter to the church of Corinthians: ... because what I want is not your possessions but you. After all, children should not have to save up for their parents, but parents for their children. So I will very gladly spend for you everything I have and expend myself as well. If I love you more, will you love me less? (2 Corinthians 12:14-15)

Its probably just my sentimental nature and my longing for truely deep conections with my family. In all truth I probably wouldn't survive as a pregnant woman. (you know, narrow hips and all) I am so very thankful for the mother of my children, I am truely thankful that I was blessed enough to have children born from her, an amazing woman, an amazing mother. To which I would like to say; "Sorry I used your loofa(luffa,loufa,loofah....however you spell it) to wipe your sons ass when you put him in the shower with me last night" (thankyou for that, I was actually in the middle of brushing my teeth when you threw him in there....gag)

Laugh it off

Well I wish I had another really great story for you about the adventures of super dad, but thankfully for my sake no new disasters to report today. So I thought I would take this time to talk about finding joy in the craziest parts of your life, about being able to laugh at your self, being able to find the humor in your own screwed up existence. Being the most handsome, the most athletic, and the most popular kid ever; naturally I never had to deal with insults, let downs, defeat, or any kind of conflict that burdens the rest of world. RIGHT!? I wouldn't say that I had a normal childhood (only because I have no idea what that means), I would only say that it was a fairly typical one. You know the kind I'm talking about; the kind where your parents never wanted you in the house. So me and my misfit gang of cousins made our mark on the world in the great outdoors. We spent most of our childhood in make-believe land where we lived out our wildest fantasies. The only sense of reality was the ever present chance that we could die or be seriously injured at any moment by any number of our half thought out schemes.

I'm not sure where I got my sense of humor from, as morbid as it is, but I do know that I would not have survived without it. I look on as my own children run and play; my son thinks he is a ninja turtle who has the technical mastery in combat that is rivaled by none, my daughter apparently thinks she is a special education teacher and her bother, my wife, and myself are undoubtedly her students(Obviously since we lack the ability to follow her clearly defined direction); and I am some how proud and thankful of the fact that they have inherited my sick and twisted sense of reality and humor. Now I can by no means take all the credit for how these two ended up. Not only did they get the other half of their genes from their mother, but there is no way to avoid the nurture side. (personalities like theirs must be carefully nurtured with the involvement of both dysfunctional parents)

The ability to laugh away your woes and sorrows is a gift from God. The ability to laugh at others woes is....well just a health sense humor. I'm not delusional enough to think that our lives could ever be without trials and troubles, so one must simply make the most out of them and laugh it off. If you can't bring yourself to do that, at least have the common decency to tell someone so they can laugh it off for you. I found myself in this very situation over the past weekend. I found no humor in the situation whatsoever, but allowing others the chance to hear the testimony of my story allowed me to at least enjoy some humor in the reactions of others. As we all know Laughter is contagious.



A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.
(Proverbs 17:22)


A glad heart makes a cheerful face, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is crushed.
(Proverbs 15:13)

Holiday Explosion

SANTA SCARES THE S#!* OUT OF ME

Well its that time of the year, the time of year to dress your kids up in Christmas outfits that they hate and drag them kicking and screaming to have their picture taken with creepy old guy in a red suit so that we can laugh at the picture for years to come. So goes the tradition with my kids as well; but this year took a turn that, to say the least, I could have never saw coming.

It started out as normal as any day in my life could possibly be, just another Friday at work. I get off of work slightly earlier on Fridays, so on these days I tend to be the one to pick the kids up from daycare. So, I pick them up and meet my wife at her work to have the kids change into their adorably cute Christmas outfits. My little girl loves clothes almost as much as changing clothes, so for her this was no big deal...candy cane princess DONE. My son on the other hand can see nothing wrong with wearing jeans, hunting boots, and a ninja turtle shirt every hour of every day, so getting him to wear a V-neck sweater with Rudolph on it is like trying to tie a snake into a knot. Alright, we've got one candy cane princess and a verbal agreement from a soon to be 4 year old that he will wear his sweater when we get there. (sounds believable)

We arrive at the mall and to my amazement, my son actually puts on the sweater. This may go better than expected.....WRONG. Wyatt ,although he has apparently lost his ability to talk, fearlessly sits in Santa's lap. He can not see the snakes and monsters poking out of his big red coat that apparently are only visible to his sisters terror stricken eyes. The excitement of my daughter to see Santa has somehow morphed into complete and utter fear for her life. Surely if she lets go of this death grip she will somehow get sucked into a vortex back to Santa's torture chamber at the north pole. No amount of coaxing or bribing will get this shivering child into the possible pedophile's lap, so this ends the seasonal photo op and the real story begins.....

My wife decides to go to the dress store and browse for a dress for her upcoming work Christmas party while I take the kids to the book store to browse around and kill time. They, like always, make a bee line to the train table in the kids section. I attempt to look around, while not wanting to wonder too far away for fear of something getting destroyed and me stuck paying for it. We must have been in the story for all of 5 minutes before I hear the most dreaded words a father can hear from their child while out shopping....."DADDY...I POOPED IN MY PANTS". That's right my sweet little innocent 4 year old son who has been potty trained for years has pooped his pants in the F-ing book store. So time to assess the situation. I calmly escort the two of them across the store to the men's bathroom, my son waddling all the way with tears of embarrassment in his eyes. His sister repeating his statement in her quietest voice, which could be heard in the next state over much less throughout the store, all the way there. We made it, thank God we made it! Ok, now we'll just throw away his underwear, wipe his ass, then he can free ball outta here like nothing ever happened....

WRONG AGAIN!!!! I untie his boots and pull them off. Then I undo his jeans and pull them down..... HOLY S#!T!!!!.....the smell hits me along with the gravity of the situation! This disaster just went to CODE RED!!! (a.k.a. where the hell is your mother) "Hold your shirt up." Pants off. "Hold your shirt up!" Socks in the trash! "Hold your shirt up!" Underwear in the trash! Whole roll of toilet paper used....out of  toilet paper!!! "Hold your damn shirt up son!!!" "Whitley stop touching the toilet!!!" CALL ONE: no answer...... CALL TWO: no answer..... CALL THREE: NO F-ING ANWSER....CALL # WHO THE F KNOWS: ME:"Diarrhea Emergency!!!! I need underwear, socks, shorts like now!!!" My wife: "For you?" Me:"F-ing NO!!! Wyatt!!! Hurry!! For real Hurry!!! (end call) "Wyatt hold your shirt up!!! Whitley get off the F-ing floor!!!" whole roll of wet paper towels used!!! "Wyatt get your hand out of the toilet!!!" WTF!!! Not again.... "Wyatt get on the toilet!!!" "Whitley back up...just stand over there and don't touch anything!!" found more paper towels... (wonder how long that guy has been in that other stall? F-it who cares) "Wyatt stand up stop trying to look under the stall!" (It smells so bad in here, can't believe I haven't gagged yet, where the F is she at)..............................................(30 min later) Finally, thank God she's here. "Son your lucky I love you" "I love you too Diddy"

New clothes on and headed out the door. The twin's: "we  wanna play at the train table again"  "HELL NO!!!!" Done going home. Almost out the door....not again....your turn momma....they made it. Ok...now we're leaving, he's riding with me....hope we make it! At home, in the door. "Come on son we're taking a shower." "I don't need a shower I pooped in my pants!" Oh the logic of a four year old.


Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward.
(Psalm 127:3)

Maybe I was in the wrong

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where your mad at someone for the way they called you out when your in the wrong? Maybe it's just me and my somewhat sensitive nature at times. Maybe it's that I feel that your significant other should be on your side even when your wrong, at least in the moment until a better opportunity arrives to enlighten them to the fact that they are wrong. Maybe just letting the situation pass by without a confrontation when they are completely oblivious that there is a situation. Maybe I was just too awesome on the dance floor. Maybe I was just slightly overwhelmed by Auburns unbelievable win during the SEC Championship game. Maybe...just maybe...I was in the wrong...I was a little over indulged and more than just slightly intoxicated.

Maybe I'm a little touchy when I've been drinking. Maybe I act an ass without even trying. Maybe I'm quick to get defensive. Maybe I'm stubborn. Maybe I'm quick to anger. Maybe I'm prone to stupid behavior. Maybe I can be an ass. Maybe I let my feelings get in my own way sometimes. Maybe I'm slow to apologize. Maybe I'm slow to ask for forgiveness. Maybe my wife is quick to grace and forgiveness and gives it without me even asking.

To My Loving Wife: I'm Sorry....You were right and I was wrong (you know I hate saying that last part)....Maybe I love you more than my words could ever express.

Above all things, have intense love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins.(1 Peter 4:8)
Thank you for your grace and your love

Don't waste a second

Wow! I hadn't realized that it had been two weeks since I last wrote a post, that goes back to a recent post of mine about being overwhelmed by this season. So, Thanksgiving has come and gone, always a joy to eat myself into a coma. The day after my dad and I headed to the deer woods, as we typically do ever year. This year however was somewhat different, because for the first time my son came with us. Being just shy of four years old some would say he wasn't ready to go hunting, but none the less I felt he was. Just seeing how excited he was just to suit up in his hunting gear was enough to make the whole trip a success even though nothing was killed but time. Speaking of success and of time; this weekend also was an exciting weekend for my team (AUBURN) as they beat Bama with a jaw dropping last second missed field goal returned for a touchdown.

Looking back on this holiday weekend I have many things to be thankful for, but it's the little things that stick out to me the most. It's the smile of a little boy who gets to go with the big boys. It's the sound of a little girl asking when we're coming home. It's that little heartbeat that I can't yet hear. It's the woman who's still in my life that a year ago I thought I'd lost for good. Its that one second that is given to each and every one of us to do something amazing. That one second on a football field that inspired me to think about the joy in every second, the potential to do something positive in every second, the knowledge that our time here is short but we truly can do a lot with a short amount of time.

As short as a second is, don't waste it. Don't waste it thinking about the past. Don't waste it thinking about the future. Don't waste it being idle and unmoving. Before you know it that second has past.



There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
(Ecclesiastes 3:1)