Un-Annoying Things

(Just to show that I am actually capable of enjoying the little things in life...)

1. The morning sun peeking through my front window blinds.

2. A freshly mopped kitchen floor.

3. Baby toots.

4. Snuggling with my husband at the end of a long day.

5. My tv-less living room.

6. Planning do-it-yourself updates to our home.

7. Interesting conversations over tasty dinners.

8. Watching my 6-month-old twins hold hands (or arm wrestle, depending on your perspective) on the living room floor.

9. Fresh flowers on the kitchen table.

10. Singing a mix of good hymns, lullabies, and silly songs to sleepy babies.

Father's Day

This Father's Day afternoon was spent going through quite a few things that belonged to my late father. Some of that stuff has been sitting in our basement for 2 1/2 years. My husband did not force me to face all those memories before I was ready. I needed time and healing to be able to endure such a task. I was amazed that I could get rid of so much. Almost everything, in fact.

Oh sure, there are some things I won't be giving up, like the cross he wore that was made out of 5 nails to symbolize the 5 wounds of Christ on the cross; or dozens of sermon tapes that I hope to digitize and share with my family; or his library books (many of them, anyway); or the guitar he played when singing us to sleep; or his favorite pair of cowboy boots. Yes, I wanted to keep the cowboy boots. Surely anyone who knew him can understand that.

With the passage of time, the memory of my father is still vivid, and letting "things" go, I now realize, does not threaten those memories. If anything, the burden of mere "stuff" clouds the legacy of the man who is no longer here to use it, but is rather enjoying the treasures he stored up in Heaven. I miss my earthly father every day, but he is in the presence of my Heavenly Father.

And with a hope like that, I have much to be thankful for this Father's Day.

Not In Our Hands

We made it to the specialist on Monday. Overall, I'd say it went well, but certainly not as well as we'd like. My cervix is very short and beginning to open, and there are almost no options for us to do anything about it. There is a high risk for preterm labor, though not nearly as high as we'd feared (possibly in the 30% range). It's particularly scary right now since we have not reached the threshold of viability for the babies.

On the brighter side, the specialist says is is still possible that I can carry the pregnancy to term. He offered us an "experimental" hormone treatment that has shown some promise in reducing the risk of preterm birth, but is not yet approved by the FDA (...not that we think much of the federal government, anyway). There is no risk to the babies, so we decided to go ahead and try it. Beyond that, I try to rest as much as possible, and we pray constantly.

So that's where we are.

By the way...we have been calling the girls Lillian and Pearl. I think the names will probably stick. :)

Behold, the eye of the LORD is on those who fear Him,

on those who hope in His steadfast love,

that He may deliver their soul from death

and keep them alive in famine.

Our soul waits for the LORD;

He is our help and our shield.

For our heart is glad in Him,

because we trust in His holy name.

Let your steadfast love, O LORD, be upon us,

even as we hope in you.

--Ps. 33:18-22

Moms Say the Darndest Things

Me: We just got Fargo in the mail from Netflix.

Mom: Fargo...isn't that about a stagecoach?

Brody: I think it's a movie about Alaska.

Me: Really? I thought it was set in North Dakota.

Mom: Oh, North Dakota? But isn't it about a stagecoach travelling across country? Oh wait...that's called Stagecoach...

(We still don't know what the movie is about.)

On this, his birthday...

My dad would have been 56 today.

If things had turned out differently, we might have had a party. My mom might have cooked his favorite: prime rib. I might have unearthed my old (and very limited) cake decorating supplies to bake him a chocolate cake with chocolate icing to eat with chocolate ice cream topped with chocolate fudge. The family might have chipped in to buy him a special gift. I might have been sitting at my usual spot at the kitchen table next to him while we talked theology until well after midnight.

But things didn't turn out differently. Instead, I am having a glass of his favorite scotch (Balvenie) in honor of his memory. It was actually his bottle, come to think of it. Thanks, Dad.

In those turbulent high school years I saw my dad as my rock, my steady anchor and support in that raging sea of stereotypical teenage angst. I could tell him anything, ask him anything, and he would drop what he was doing to be what a father should be. Now he is gone, and try as I might, sometimes I can't help but feel alone. It doesn't make sense. I have a wonderful husband, a caring family, and supportive Christian friends. But that connection - that deep understanding I shared with my dad and no one else - that is gone.

A friend and mentor explained to me recently that the Lord sometimes takes our idols away from us. Perhaps that is what God has done here for me. Now my dad is with Jesus, and my heart and mind are more frequently drawn to Him than they ever were.

That is, I believe, what my dad would want. The cross was his life. He constantly pointed others to Christ. In his death, I am reminded that the Gospel gives life. My dad is forgiven, and so am I. When the Lord calls me home, what a happy reunion it will be.

Here's to you, Dad.

Auntie Time

Guess what I did during last week's snow days...

How could anyone not fall for this handsome little guy?

It was a good break.

Four years ago today.