The Day Before the Night Before, Four

Tomorrow will be the fourth time I have marched down a similar road with my wife. Tomorrow morning Jennifer will give birth and we will become a family of six (that is a “V” followed with an “I”) and it doesn’t matter how I type it, it is still the same. That is eight little feet running around, eighty fingers and toes needing socks and sanitizer. This now means further explanation at the bank window as to why I need four suckers (all the same color, please) - additionally, cleaning out the family van will become increasingly frustrating. Eventually, that is four kids meals on the days we decide to brave a restaurant together and the “one token games” for any future Chuck-E-Cheese’s trips are greatly appreciated.

The stockings being hung by the chimney with care are becoming a pleasantly crowded collection of eclectic individualism at the Christmas season. Our Christmas tree has already become significantly decorated with “baby’s first Christmas” ornaments followed by “baby’s first year” and every Sunday school ornament project since. Our house is filled with laughter, tears, bikes, trikes, balls, dolls and plenty of little helping hands when we make cookies or take out the trash. I have always joked about the reason for having children is to have someone cut the yard and tote wood - we are closer and closer to that reality. I have dog feeders, flower waterers, fish catchers and leaf rakers. I have tree climbers, star gazers, dirt diggers and bug liberators. I have three children who are, strangely enough, all opposite of each other [how is that even possible in a trio?] who discover the world as they know it in their own way and wrapped in their own imaginations and conclusions. I have boys who protect their sister and a li’l girl who is as much a little girl as any little girl can be and is anxiously looking forward to mimicking mommy at every turn in the preparation and care of her new baby brother.

My children love Mommy & Daddy and although I do my best to trick them into saying I am their favorite parent, they are too wise [or loyal to Mommy] for my paternal trickery. One of them doesn’t want to hurt my feelings and will respond with “Daddy, you know I love you both the same” while another simply says “Mommy!” as if it was a stupid question to begin with, and then the third will answer in the way that is most beneficial in the moment; in the end, I know Mommy is truly the favorite regardless of the answer.

I do think of myself as a veteran in this area of a new baby with previous experience under my belt for this process, yet, there is always the moment for which I long that is after the admissions process, after the instructions from assistants, doctors, nurses in the O-R prep room for surgery, when all has been done to usher us in and take that baby from Jennifer’s womb. It is the moment when I hear the first whimper of a cry and see for myself that little fellow being measured and weighed, and then will I breathe a sigh of relief, snap a few pictures with one camera while dizzily videoing the room with another. In that moment of solace my world will seem to stop briefly as I witness the introduction of mother and child in a world that is both no longer divided and yet severed at the same time. I can’t wait for the sweet moment of tears and joy as a new life emerges with body and soul. I long to hold that baby boy and see his little eyes and ears and nose. I long to grasp his little fingers ever so gently and think about how tiny his little fingers are, to look into his little eyes and see the blank slate of learning before me. I look forward to seeing the relief on Jennifer’s face after nine months of preparation and the beginning of a new relationship occurs. I look forward to holding him high in the air and being thankful to have been found a worthy parent to be given the responsibility of molding and shaping yet one more child.

Yes, today is the day before the night before four, and I feel like I kid on Christmas Eve waiting to see what tomorrow brings.

The Blah, blah, blah blog

After deciding to write a blog, I asked my wife if she wanted to read my blog.

Me: So do you want to hear my blog?

Jennifer: No, I do not want to hear your blog.

Me: Do you want to read my blog?

Jennifer: No, I don’t want to read your blog.

Me: Oh… ok then.

Jennifer: (breaking the uncomfortable silence) Do you know what “blog” sounds like? Blah! Blah, blah, blah, blah.

In fact, if you say it ten times in a row fast enough, it just sounds like the rumblings of an idle engine. And so it goes with so many blogs, but instead, they are often but not always idle ramblings. People blog about everything from politics to education or someone’s trip to the other side of the world. Some people blog about their college days, while others blog about their grandchildren. Blog topics are as available as there are people with stories and as interesting as there are people of interest.

In a way, the bible is like a blog. As a blog with a purpose it is filled with events all conveying different experiences from different perspectives. It is loaded with narratives, biographical stories, poetry, instructional literature and futurism… everything but fictional writing. In the case of scripture, the “blog of God” is the truth in its rawest form and anything but random. Everything is laced together with divine precision and deliberate revelation of God’s purpose for His creation. Just like a blog, it’s availability to the reader is readily accessible [at least in our great land]. In the same way, we choose to read it or not. We can flip through the history of stories and occurrences and relate to the authors emotions behind the writing. In a similar way, we can comment upon what we read and choose to agree or disagree with the perspectives in the words, sentences and commands that come from the very mind of God himself. Likewise, we can choose to say that it is really not worth our time and decide not to subscribe to the divine precepts but instead choose our own.

Regarding human blogs, my wife makes a good point and whether she chooses to read my words or not [which is inconsequential because she will generally hear them anyway] remains her prerogative. But in fact, I agree with her, much of what people say to each other does amount to blah, blahs and idle chatter.

So, will my blog have a purpose? What can an Arkansas delta preacher with a wife and four kids bring to the blogging world? For me, I simply feel compelled to jot down random thoughts, observations, and experiences as they come my way - come what may. Whether my blog amounts to a blah of idle words or not remains to be seen, but nevertheless, I choose to rumble.

Why I Really Don’t Want to Blog

So, I have decided to give the blog thing a whirl. I really hate starting a blog for the following reasons:

1. Step 2 in the process is to “Name Your Blog”. The title of the step seems to be written with such excitement and happiness and I am experiencing neither. The name is everything, right? The pressure to think of the right name is awful. I have had the same screen of this step up for a while now and still can’t pull the trigger… Trigger. There’s a name. No, that’s too much like Tigger, and I can’t stand Winnie the Pooh.

2. I am generally insecure with myself and loath the idea of placing my thoughts on a page on the off chance that there are some who might choose or want to read them.

3. I am nervous about not having a proofreader to correct my potential errors in grammar and punctuation. [In a world long gone now, I would be equally concerned about my spelling but I am indeed thankful for the red underlines provided by my computer.]

4. It seems a little narcissistic. I mean it’s not like I am some radio or TV personality continuing on in cyberspace ranting thoughts on a blog by public demand. The very act of starting a blog for someone like me is self initiated with the assumption there is some interested reader out there with nothing better to do than stare at a screen of random thoughts from my head.

1. Granted, I do have a mother who will be interested in reading every word out of personal obligation if not just simple maternal interest.

2. If my grandmother could work her computer she might not only read them, but print them off and hang them on the refrigerator for her friends to read. She is very proud of me, of course. I could write about the color green and she’d love it.

5. I don’t have time. Even now I feel like I should be doing something else. Being able to sleep right now would be nice.

6. I might not stick with it. What if I end up being that person who has one or two entries that just sit for an extended period of time demanding that the following entry explains apologetically why I haven’t blogged in a while? It seems like that could be a little embarrassing. Even now I am thinking of years past when I had some nicely bound blank book with snowcapped mountains on the front in which I wrote the words “Well, It has been a while since I've written…” I mean, really?

7. I probably won’t be completely honest. I’m sure I will feel compelled to restrain some thoughts out of sensitivity to others who know me, or worse don’t know me well enough.

1. What if something happens that I find incredibly funny that reflects someone’s stupidity or lack of judgment? If I write about it, even with a fog of ambiguity, they might read it and be upset.

2. Writing about me personally will also be clouded. Who really wants to be completely and publicly vulnerable?

3. What if I want to cuss? Just kidding, I don’t cuss. It just doesn’t occur to me to do so.

8. I will certainly be made fun of, but hey, that comes with just about everything I do. I don’t want to care that it happens but I do. I won’t let it show and I’m sure I’ll blow it off and walk away. But, in the quiet, still, darkness of night I’ll be in the fetal position rocking back and forth out of intense pain and misery. Not really... I'm just as likely to be that way in broad daylight as well.