Thursday, September 18, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Matt`s Letter to Elias
Monday, September 15, 2008
hope (another letter to my son)
Dear Elias,
You turned two months old last Friday. Already, you’re wide-eyed and curious about the world around you. I’m convinced you notice and become wowed by things that I don’t see. Or perhaps I’ve just become too busy or jaded to find beauty and wander in simple things. But you haven’t.
For instance, I have no idea why you spend so much time gazing up at the ceiling fan. I’d love to know what you find so interesting about five brown panels whirling around in circular motion. Do you just like the way it moves? Are you frightened by it? Or do you see the power of God spinning round and round above you in our living room?
Your mother loves taking pictures of you. That’s one of the ways I know she loves you so much; nothing brings her more joy than when she’s busy capturing and documenting every one of your facial expressions. And I think you might have a million of them! Of course, I don’t recognize all of them like your mother does. Sometimes she’ll say to me, “I just love when he puts his lips together like this,” and then she’ll do her very best impression of the shape of your mouth. That usually causes us to break out into laughter, and then both of us sit and watch you, waiting, hoping, and doing our best to coax you to do that face again. (Though this time your mother is looking at you through the lens of her camera, determined to catch in picture when you make your lips look like a duckbilled platypus’s.)
Sadly, you’re not very cooperative. But you make up for your non-cooperation by doing an entirely new facial expression that is just as interesting to us. I could stare at you for hours, Elias. Sometimes I do. You and I get to spend Thursdays and Fridays together. You make it difficult to get any work done. That’s not because you’re overly demanding, but because I find so much hope when I look at you. And even more when you look at me with your big brown eyes. When your eyes follow me around the living room, I feel like superman. But my favorite is when you fall asleep on my chest. There are few things that make me happier than when your heartbeat is resting against mine. I experience so much hope in those moments.
Hope is an odd thing, Elias. It’s hard to explain most of the time. You’ll learn about this eventually. But sometimes hope is just a feeling or a thought or a moment that comes to you in a flash. It can feel like a burst of energy or a strange peace or a long comforting hug from a dear friend. It doesn’t always remedy all of the pain or questions or fear that might be grieving you in the present, but it often gives you the ability to push through the hard parts of life. That’s what you do for me. Looking at you makes me feel like I can conquer almost anything, though I’m very human and broken. Your face reminds me that God is with me. You don’t answer all of my questions or calm all of my fears or make the pain I’m feeling in a given moment go away, but you do offer me energy, peace, and hugs to help me walk through those tough moments. Thank you for that. Hopefully someday I can return the favor.
Love,
Daddy (I’m the one who uses the bottles to feed you.)
hope (another letter to my son)
Dear Elias,
You turned two months old last Friday. Already, you’re wide-eyed and curious about the world around you. I’m convinced you notice and become wowed by things that I don’t see. Or perhaps I’ve just become too busy or jaded to find beauty and wander in simple things. But you haven’t.
For instance, I have no idea why you spend so much time gazing up at the ceiling fan. I’d love to know what you find so interesting about five brown panels whirling around in circular motion. Do you just like the way it moves? Are you frightened by it? Or do you see the power of God spinning round and round above you in our living room?
Your mother loves taking pictures of you. That’s one of the ways I know she loves you so much; nothing brings her more joy than when she’s busy capturing and documenting every one of your facial expressions. And I think you might have a million of them! Of course, I don’t recognize all of them like your mother does. Sometimes she’ll say to me, “I just love when he puts his lips together like this,” and then she’ll do her very best impression of the shape of your mouth. That usually causes us to break out into laughter, and then both of us sit and watch you, waiting, hoping, and doing our best to coax you to do that face again. (Though this time your mother is looking at you through the lens of her camera, determined to catch in picture when you make your lips look like a duckbilled platypus’s.)
Sadly, you’re not very cooperative. But you make up for your non-cooperation by doing an entirely new facial expression that is just as interesting to us. I could stare at you for hours, Elias. Sometimes I do. You and I get to spend Thursdays and Fridays together. You make it difficult to get any work done. That’s not because you’re overly demanding, but because I find so much hope when I look at you. And even more when you look at me with your big brown eyes. When your eyes follow me around the living room, I feel like superman. But my favorite is when you fall asleep on my chest. There are few things that make me happier than when your heartbeat is resting against mine. I experience so much hope in those moments.
Hope is an odd thing, Elias. It’s hard to explain most of the time. You’ll learn about this eventually. But sometimes hope is just a feeling or a thought or a moment that comes to you in a flash. It can feel like a burst of energy or a strange peace or a long comforting hug from a dear friend. It doesn’t always remedy all of the pain or questions or fear that might be grieving you in the present, but it often gives you the ability to push through the hard parts of life. That’s what you do for me. Looking at you makes me feel like I can conquer almost anything, though I’m very human and broken. Your face reminds me that God is with me. You don’t answer all of my questions or calm all of my fears or make the pain I’m feeling in a given moment go away, but you do offer me energy, peace, and hugs to help me walk through those tough moments. Thank you for that. Hopefully someday I can return the favor.
Love,
Daddy (I’m the one who uses the bottles to feed you.)
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Emma and Sierra`s First Day of School
Emma and Sierra are going to our school`s two and three y/o learning center. These are the pictures taken on their first day,
LAYTON GRADUATES FROM KINDERGARTEN
Chestertown Christian Academy`s Elementary Awards Night and Graduation Night For The Kindergarten.Above, Layton sings with his classmates and receives his diploma from Mr. Baugher. He gets a hug from mom at the reception.
Which One Is Really Me
This has been an amazing summer filled with many different memories. There have been times of excitement, joy, peace, relaxation, fun, being too busy and ,as always many blessings.
As you know I love to scrapbook and journal things about life. I have not made journaling something that I have to do everyday, but I usually write something every week. My mother kept a "daily" journal for years, I am not that committed nor do I have a life that exciting, but I do like looking through mom`s journals once in a while and remember things through her writings.
Recently I found a journal of mine from the late nineties and I looked back over some entries I had made and sometimes laugh and sometimes cry. As I read, I found myself hardly able to identify with the person writing and at times even wondering if I had two personalities ( just kidding )because there seemed to be two different people writing in my journal. One was an emotional wreck wondering where God was and if He was ever going to answer her prayers. At times she felt that she had failed Him and was not good enough to be loved by a God so forgiving and merciful. She whined to Him about the same thing with every entry. The other one was confident, humbled by God`s love for her, but believing, knowing it was always there, always and forever. It seemed through the anxieties and concerns her faith was strengthened and the pages were filled with praises along with quotes of the Psalms
I remember staring at these pages for awhile wondering which one was really me. As I read entries that were more recent, I realized that the first one rarely wrote in the journal at all anymore and the second one seemed to have taken over the journal. I flipped back through the journal to see what had happened to the first writer and came to the place that I remembered well. A time when the love and mercy of a Holy God removed the shackles, set me free and allowed me to dance. Was that it, was that when the first writer began to fade into the background, it sure seemed that way.
Has the first writer disappeared, no, not completely. In fact recently, just a few days ago I saw a glimpse of her, she actually wrote in my journal, under the name of "hurt", sneaky wouldn`t you say? You see, "hurt" can get away with lots of things because hurt can be justified at times. She wrote, "I don`t understand why she (name left out ) doesn`t speak to me, I haven`t done anything to her, but that's it, I`m not going to give her the chance to hurt me again, I`ll just ignore her and not speak to her either".
I remember feeling justified writing that, as if God was cheering me on, but today I feel different and I wish I had written something spiritual in my journal, something that I could feel good about when I re-read the entry months or years from now. I almost whited it out, but I thought about it and decided that I had written what was in my heart at that particular time and journaling is a way of expressing feelings, even if wrong, besides, I could use the best white-out made and still be able to see the spot where it had been written. Today, however, I wrote, "God has forgiven me for feeling that way about another person and I need to forgive her too". I pray that I will not feel the need to write anything like this again, but just in case, I have hidden the pens from my other personality.
As you know I love to scrapbook and journal things about life. I have not made journaling something that I have to do everyday, but I usually write something every week. My mother kept a "daily" journal for years, I am not that committed nor do I have a life that exciting, but I do like looking through mom`s journals once in a while and remember things through her writings.
Recently I found a journal of mine from the late nineties and I looked back over some entries I had made and sometimes laugh and sometimes cry. As I read, I found myself hardly able to identify with the person writing and at times even wondering if I had two personalities ( just kidding )because there seemed to be two different people writing in my journal. One was an emotional wreck wondering where God was and if He was ever going to answer her prayers. At times she felt that she had failed Him and was not good enough to be loved by a God so forgiving and merciful. She whined to Him about the same thing with every entry. The other one was confident, humbled by God`s love for her, but believing, knowing it was always there, always and forever. It seemed through the anxieties and concerns her faith was strengthened and the pages were filled with praises along with quotes of the Psalms
I remember staring at these pages for awhile wondering which one was really me. As I read entries that were more recent, I realized that the first one rarely wrote in the journal at all anymore and the second one seemed to have taken over the journal. I flipped back through the journal to see what had happened to the first writer and came to the place that I remembered well. A time when the love and mercy of a Holy God removed the shackles, set me free and allowed me to dance. Was that it, was that when the first writer began to fade into the background, it sure seemed that way.
Has the first writer disappeared, no, not completely. In fact recently, just a few days ago I saw a glimpse of her, she actually wrote in my journal, under the name of "hurt", sneaky wouldn`t you say? You see, "hurt" can get away with lots of things because hurt can be justified at times. She wrote, "I don`t understand why she (name left out ) doesn`t speak to me, I haven`t done anything to her, but that's it, I`m not going to give her the chance to hurt me again, I`ll just ignore her and not speak to her either".
I remember feeling justified writing that, as if God was cheering me on, but today I feel different and I wish I had written something spiritual in my journal, something that I could feel good about when I re-read the entry months or years from now. I almost whited it out, but I thought about it and decided that I had written what was in my heart at that particular time and journaling is a way of expressing feelings, even if wrong, besides, I could use the best white-out made and still be able to see the spot where it had been written. Today, however, I wrote, "God has forgiven me for feeling that way about another person and I need to forgive her too". I pray that I will not feel the need to write anything like this again, but just in case, I have hidden the pens from my other personality.
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