Actually, as far as newborns go in this family, Silas has been a breeze compared to our girls.  One week in, and he’s actually given us a couple of four hour stretches of peace during the night, and that’s not so shabby.

Last night was not one of those.  I don’t think any of us got more than a few winks at the time.  It wasn’t all his fault, either.  Mom didn’t feel good, and that translated over to little man, so none of us got much sleep.

If you know me, you know I don’t do well with sleep depravation.  A day or two, I’m ok, but when I’m running several nights in a row without good sleep I become Grumicus Maximus.  That day was today.

I know my boy can’t help it.  It’s just what newborns do.  I know my wife needs my support, and I’m trying my best to give her all I’ve got.  I know that this is part of this thing called marriage where I’m supposed to die to myself, and sleep is a part of that for me.

I’m trying.  But you know what?  I’m so glad God doesn’t get tired with us.

“Behold, He who keeps Israel Shall neither slumber nor sleep.”  Psalm 121:4

He never sleeps.  He never gets tired.  He never gets grump with us.

Thank You, Lord.

And if You will, please give us rest tonight.

Today was a day long anticipated, and it didn’t disappoint with surprises and turns.  It began with insanely hard contractions in the wee hours of the morning.  Silly me…I thought when you go in for a c-section, your wife gets to forgo all that.  Guess not!  They were so intense Amanda’s doctor told us to come on in as soon as possible, for fear that she’d progress too far before she got there, and put my little breech boy at risk.

A mad dash followed of getting the girls loaded into the van to drop off at a friend’s house nearby, then the trek that I dreaded all pregnancy long:  across Raleigh…at morning rush hour…in the rain.  Did I mention Amanda was in labor?  Yeah…that was a drive, let me tell you.

But we made it, and after placing my wife and son in the Lord’s hands on the way and at the hospital, I placed them into the hands of the nurses and doctor who would deliver our baby boy.  What happened next was a whirlwind of nurses, needles, and nerves as they prepped Amanda for caesarian.  There was a hope in us both that he would have flipped upside down (right side up for this type thing), but God had other plans in mind.  Maybe it was just one more lesson in the “you can trust me guys” category.

Before I knew it, they wheeled Amanda into the OR and sent me to put on scrubs.  How do the people on TV make these things look cool?  I caught a glimpse of myself in a picture glass, and lets just say Patrick Dempsey, I’m not.  As I paced around waiting for them to come get me, I knew I was going to slip on those little booties they make you put on, then hit my head and be useless to Amanda.  No worries, the nurse came, I entered a room straight out of TV (minus the scrubs coolness factor), and sat by my wife’s head and held her hand.

And then, before we knew it, I could hear the scream.  It’s a scream that is music to a parents ear.  It was beautiful (if a bit piggy-esque).  It’s the sound that gives confirmation that everything is alright.  I have to say, it was surreal hearing it from behind a sheet (and believe me, ain’t no WAY I was looking over that sheet).  In a few short minutes, I got up, went over, and said hello to my son, face to face.

Wow.  There aren’t words to express the joy, love  and thanksgiving that filled my heart at that moment.  A healthy son.  A third child, when we didn’t think we’d be able to have one.  Did I mention that he’s a boy?  Yeah…dad’s not on his own in the house anymore.  But he was here, and he was healthy.  And this time, I got to hold him and take him to see mom.  Man…does it get any better?

Yeah, things might not have gone exactly the way we planned them today.  I had hoped for a little early arrival around New Years, and both of us hoped to avoid c-section, but no matter how we envisioned it, I couldn’t have asked for it to have gone any better.  God is good, and His steadfast love endures forever.

So the House of Silas says, “His steadfast love endures forever!”

By the way, did I tell you what his name means?  Now, this is not the reason we chose it, but it’s so cool it HAS to be a God-thing.

“Of the woods.”

He’s a Lil’ Newt already, all 6 pounds 9 ounces of him!

The less common, in my life at least, are the life-changing days that you know are coming.  The ones you actually get to plan for.  And tonight, my family sits on the verge of one of those.  Tomorrow, one way or another, we go from a family of 4 to a family of 5.  Tomorrow, dad will not be the lone source of testosterone in the house any more.  Tomorrow, my son will be born.

There is a hint of concern over here, as my little man seems to like doing hand stands and flips, and at Amanda’s last appointment, he was not the direction they want him to be. This happened at 37 weeks, and he flipped back.  Our prayer is that he’ll do the same tomorrow.  If not, a c-section is the route, I guess.  If he flips, they’ll go ahead and induce labor and we wait.  Either way, Silas should arrive tomorrow.

So as we spend our last night just me and the girls, it got a little dusty around here.  Mom, of course, is an emotional wreck, as to be expected at 41 weeks of a very crazy pregnancy.  I’m recovering from a fierce (as fierce as we men fight sickness) battle with strep throat that included me acting weird enough in my fevered state that Amanda was ready to admit me, so I’m all over the place.  The girls think we’re both crazy.

But it is weird, you know?  This is a BIG change.  A new baby in the house.  A BOY in the house!  Three kids to keep an eye on and care for.  Three little lives to shape and mold, praying that you get it right, praying that you don’t waste a second.

I think as we prayed tonight, that last one is what got us.  When I picked up Caroline, my oldest, and had to carry her two armed up the steps to bed, I found myself feeling like she should be the one sleeping in a crib.  Instead, she’s closer to 6 than 5, and now is the eldest of three.  Whew.   And her sister is coming up fast and furious behind her.  She left me laughing as she talked my ear off when I put her to bed.  Should she be talking this much?  Yeah…time flies.

So tomorrow, a new page in the life of the Tree Newt begins.  I’m excited  beyond measure (and yes, Ted,  I’m thinking of the end of Shawshank too, but that’s your line).  I have been resting in the truth that God’s ways are so often not our ways, and doing my best to lay my cares at His feet.  As I’ve said so often, He has more than proven Himself faithful in our lives, so in Him I will place my trust.

(The pic is courtesy of our good friends at Urban Fields Photography)

As so many of us are want to do, I’ve moved from reflecting on the year that was to thinking about the year to come.  In addition to the usual 365, we all get one extra day this year to make up for that pesky 1/4 day that it takes to circle the sun each year.  Like many of us, I’m trying to make the most of every one of those days.

Amanda and I had a couple of chances (probably the last for the foreseeable future) to sit and chat about our hopes and goals for the year over the New Year weekend.  One of the things that we kept coming back to was probably the same thing all of us do:  the desire to not waste the time we’re given.  The word that’s been on my mind is “intentional.”  Let me explain.

For the last few years, the pace of life (and the pace of change in our lives) has often reduced us to a reactive, rather than proactive, state.  Like a punch-drunk boxer backed in a corner, I found myself simply reacting to the swings coming my way.  Peaks, valleys, sickness, health, for better, for worse, loss, pain.  Like that boxer, I blocked a few punches, and may have thought I holding your own, even landing a punch now and then, but in reality, I was getting pummeled.  True, there are always situations you have to react to, that’s just life, but when all of life is spent reacting, at the end of the day, you’re too tired to do anything.

What I’ve found is that I often have great intentions, but due to failure to plan for those intentions, they never come to pass.  Days turn into weeks, weeks to months, and before you know it, it’s Christmas.  So, as I thought about the year to come, I “resolved” (I hate that word) to be more intentional about our life.  I’ve “resolved” to make the most of what I’ve been given.

First off, it has to begin with me.  Spending time alone with the Word of God, praying, seeking God’s will for our lives.  As a husband and father, this is a non-negotiable.  I’m not an early morning person, but starting my day off by feeding on God’s Word is the only way I can start.  Yeah, I’d like to hit that snooze button a few more times (no doubt that temptation will greatly increase when Lil’ Newt gets here), so I pray each day for the strength and consistency to get up and get going in the Word.

This is the jumping off point to everything else.  If I don’t start here, I won’t start at all.  If I really want to change, to be transformed, it has to start there.  Romans 12:1-2 says it better than I ever could:

“I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.”

I mean, I feel like it was just yesterday that I was in Israel, completely blown away by the Sea of Galilee!  I feel like we were just beginning to talk about moving back closer to church, and we’ve been in our new home for 8 months now! And, oh yeah,  I feel like Amanda just told me that we were expecting baby #3, and now the boy (yes, boy!) is in the “I’m coming any day” mode!

Wow…what a year.  Then again, aren’t they all like that?  One minute, you’re celebrating the New Year, thinking forward to all that lies ahead, and the next you’re taking down Christmas decorations early (sorry babe) and figuring out what your plans are for New Year’s Eve (sleep, anyone?).  The Speed of Life, and all that.

As I think back over the year, I’m filled with gratitude for all the God has done for us.  There were certainly peaks this year, but there were also deep valleys, yet through it all, He’s been faithful to us.  True to His Word, He’s never left nor forsaken us.

I look back, as I’m sure most of us do, and think on chances missed, mistakes made, things left undone on the perpetual honey-do list.  I want to think back on the ways I could’ve done more, been a better husband, father, pastor, friend, etc.  And I ask God to help me not make the same mistakes in the year to come.

But I also think about the ways in which God changed me this year, the ways that He dealt with me with such grace and mercy, how He is continuing to mold and shape me into who He wants me to be.  I end 2011 a different man than I began it.  No, I’m not who I need to be yet.

But I’m not who I used to be, either.

What is “it?”  It’s the anticipation of what’s to come.  It’s the excruciating excitement that’s bound up in 25 days (or more) of waiting…waiting…waiting for “The Big Day” to come.  It’s so palpable right now, so very heavy in the air, it feels as if you could reach out and grab hold of it.  I wish I could bottle it up.

And it’s not just about those beautifully wrapped packages under the tree.  It’s not just about the stockings all hung by the chimney with care.  It’s not just about the joy that I know I’ll get to experience watching my kids tear through those things like Grant took Richmond.  I say “not just about” because those things are a part of it.  The build up, the hope of what’s to come, the questions each day of “is today the day?!!”  They’re a part of it because they point to THE part of it, the reason for IT, the mystery and majesty that gave us this whole celebration to begin with.

The babe laid in the straw.  The child in the feed trough.  The Promised fulfilled.

God become Man. The Word become flesh.

Jesus, come to earth to defeat death and conquer the grave.  The Savior, come to set man free from the bondage of sin and darkness.  As the old hymn goes:

“O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel” 

and

“Rejoice!  Rejoice!  Emmanuel shall come to thee O Israel!”

You see, in my kids’ ever increasing joy, I want to have that same joy in the Savior.  I want to rejoice greatly at the wonder of His first coming, and to anticipate greatly His promised return.  In their excitement, I want to point them to the reason for the excitement.  In the tearing open of gifts, I want them to know about THE Gift, God’s own Son.

In the songs, in the decorations, in the lights, in the feel that is Christmas, I want my family to take it all in and be filled up with it.  Why?  Because it’s this excitement, this joy, this feeling that we should have ALWAYS as believers, not just relegate it to a few days a year.

So I rejoice in my Savior, and I’m going to celebrate His birth greatly this year.  I pray you will, too.

Merry Christmas everybody!

(I know I’m late on this, but better late than never, right?)

Every night when we put our kids to bed, before we say our prayers and sing “Jesus Loves Me”  (two times, right Caroline?), we go around the family and say what we’re thankful for.  Hearing the hearts of your 5 and 3 year olds as they list their thankfuls (for my youngest, thankful sounds like “stankful”), well…lets just say it’s always one of the highlights of my day, because for us, each day is a Thanksgiving Day.

Each day, when I take the time to sit and think about it, I realize just how blessed I am.  Each day, if I’ll allow my heart to settle and my thoughts to clear, I’ll take a moment to “count my blessings, and name them one by one.”  And the list is huge, far too big to bore everyone by putting it all down here.  God knows my heart, and I hope I do a good job of letting all my loved ones know that I am truly thankful for them.

Then again, can you ever do a good enough job at that?

There is so much to be thankful for!  My wife (whom I still can’t believe said yes to me!) gets more beautiful every day, and has stood by my side through so much.  My two girls that bless me in so many ways.  My son, who has yet to make his debut, but is waiting in the wings.  My parents, who have always been there for us and have always show me crazy support.  My in-laws who are the best in-laws a guy could ask for, even though my father-in-law calls me “Rat” (which is crazy, considering he’s the world’s greatest pack-rat).  My brothers and sisters and brothers and sisters-in-law who I’ve worked and lived with…I love all you guys.

I have been so fortunate to make very good friends at both my church and my work (which are the same now, but it wasn’t always that way!).  Good friends are truly a blessing, because, unlike family, they don’t have to love you no matter what!  Yet, the one’s I’ve been given do just that!  From teachers to students, worship team-ers to furniture dealers and neighbors, I’ve been and am blessed.

We have a roof over our heads, food in our pantry, and heat that works.  Clothes on our backs and in our closets, and shoes that have soles on them.  My family is healthy, and as I’ve mentioned before, we have both sets of parents with us.  I get to go to “work” every day at my church and do ministry, and then, a few times a week, I get to pick up my guitar and help lead people in the worship of the Triune God.  Wow.  Truly, I am a blessed man.

We say it so much, it’s become trite, but I don’t know why God has blessed me so.  I really don’t.  I’ll be in the line in heaven that will argue with the apostle Paul for the title of the “chief of sinners”.  Yet God, in His great mercy, has truly, truly blessed me.  I know a blog like this doesn’t come into the realm of doing justice to the thanks that is due, yet it’s the best I can do.

I know full well that every good and perfect gift comes from my Father above, and I’m fully aware that the greatest gift I could ever be given was the salvation that was won for my at the cross, and that the debt I owed has been paid in full.  Oh yeah, I’m VERY thankful.

Truly, my cup runneth over.

I found out we were expecting Hannah on my very last day in the only career I had known, furniture sales.  Good Friday, 2008, Amanda told me that she had “another chickadee” on the way.  Little did she know then that “chick” would be the right word after all!  Daughter #2, and I couldn’t have been happier!

A few months after that, I changed careers completely when I left the sales world behind for the classroom, teaching 6th Grade.  In my spare time, I was remodeling the house we were going to move into, hopefully before Hannah’s arrival that fall.  It wasn’t meant to be.

On November 11, my sweet baby girl was born in the wee hours of the morning.  Man, it truly is a blur.  I remember Caroline (then just 2 1/2 herself) coming in wearing her “Big Sister” shirt and holding Hannah for the first time.  And I remember thinking “I’ll never sleep again.  Ever.”  That wasn’t far from the truth!

A month later, we moved into our newly remodeled rental, thinking we were settling in for a long winter.  Silly us!  Three days in, the hot water tap on the kitchen sink blew off (thankfully, my father-in-law was the plumber on that project, not me!), flooding our brand new “Top Choice” flooring, and bringing in airplane engine-like humidifiers and portable dryers for the holidays.  It was so loud in our house, you couldn’t hear the freight trains passing by 30 yards away.

Needless to say, my wife was a tad stressed.  A one month old, a flooded house, the holidays, and did I mention she’d just had a baby?  Oh my, how great the grace and mercy of God was in our house that Christmas!!!  Only by it did we survive!

I remember holding Hannah one night during this time trying to console her while Amanda took a shower (or maybe she was just hiding in the bathroom, either way, she needed a break).  With Caroline, I had the magic touch.  She was daddy’s girl from day one.  Not so with Hannah.  No matter what I did, she would not be consoled.  She wanted one thing:  mama.  I remember giving up and taking her, screaming and wailing, to her crib, both of us utterly exasperated with one another.  It was not a high point of my tenure as a father, that’s for sure.

Fast forward to tonight:  I carried that same sweet girl to bed after she fell asleep on my shoulder.  The girl I thought didn’t want anything to do with me now fights with her sister to have me tuck her into bed each night.  She climbed into my lap and fell asleep on her own.  There is nothing in the world sweeter than that.

My cup runneth over.

So happy birthday Hannah.  Your daddy loves you!  You’re only my youngest for a few more weeks, but you’ll always be my baby girl.

What do I mean?  Well,by definition, a blind spot is “an area where a person’s view is obstructed”.  Hmmm….it’s an area where we think we can see, but we can’t.  It’s an area that looks like it’s clear, but it’s not.  Usually, it takes someone else to point them out to us because, duh…we can’t see them on our own.  And when we finally do see them, it’s not pretty.  And like areas on a car when we’re driving, they are extremely dangerous if you’re not aware of them.

What am I talking about?  I’m talking about areas of sin in your life that you either don’t realize you’re committing, or don’t realize they’re a sin.    So it’s not the thing you know you struggle with, whatever that might be.  No, it’s probably something you think is not there.  But it is.  And if you don’t recognize it, you’re an accident waiting to happen.

God has certainly been dealing with me and my blind spots lately.  How about you?    Not sure what your’s are?  Ask your wife, husband, best friend, co-worker.  They’ll probably see them a lot clearer than you.  I thank God for the ones that have helped me see mine.

13,435.

That’s how many days I’ve been given so far.

Uhhh…Newt…why?

Glad you asked.  I was reading this morning, and Moses’ words in Psalm 90 hit me:

“So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”  (Ps. 90:12)

It got me thinking that I’ve never really thought about it for more than just a passing moment.  So I figured out the total number of days I’ve been here.  13, 435.  Now, I don’t think that’s the point, mind you.  The point is not figuring out the  number of your days, but it’s realizing just how valuable each of those days are.

It’s realizing that we each have an allotted amount of time.  Some more, some less, but everybody gets an amount.  The key is realizing that it’s precious, and then figuring out what you’re going to do with it.

13,345 days.  But for me, days are a little harder to visualize.  A lot goes on in a day.  When I take it down to hours, it really hits home a little more.  322,440 hours thus far.  When I think over what I’ve done with those hours, well…lets just say they haven’t all been useful.  I read yesterday that when the current generation of teens hits 70 years, they’ll have spent 7-10 of those years watching TV.  I doubt my generation is far removed from that.

Yet again, I can think of the time that WAS well-spent.  All those Sunday mornings and evenings in church when I was a kid when, even though I didn’t realize it at the time, the Word of God was being planted in the soil of my heart.  The hours spent getting to know my wife on the phone during our semi long-distance courtship.  The countless afternoons spent playing along to CDs in my room, learning how to understand music (though I thought i was just practicing my stick-twirling skills).

Those early morning rocking chair sessions with my two girls.  The time spent saying prayers and reading books to them at night.  The trips to the fair!   The afternoon naps (when they actually took them) with my kids laying on my chest.

The time I’ve spent in the Word of God.  The time set aside for prayer, and then those in-the-moment prayer sessions when life comes at you unannounced.

Thinking of all these things, and thinking of how our lives will change yet again when my boy arrives sometime in the next 2 months, it makes me want to be that much more intentional about how I spend that time.  It makes me want to make it count.

And I think that’s the point.