Monday, June 28, 2010

And Then There Were Four..

This past Saturday at 5:57PM Mr. Isaac Jolly made his way into the world. Like all healthy babies he came into the world kicking and screaming. I haven't heard of many who come in calm and collected.

My son made the comment that he may be the most "prayed for" baby ever. I'm not sure of that. We have spent enormous amounts of time praying for Eli, and Miss Phoebe and the month in NICU by Lincoln tested all of us. But I will say that there may have been a lot more prayer getting Isaac "started." But whatever the debate, there is no debate that we are thrilled to see him here and healthy.

What we haven't been able to prepare my son and D-i-L for is the constant fatigue that now becomes a part of your life. It is almost like you can't remember what "rested" felt like. I told my M-i-L some 30-odd years ago that I think we get the same amount of sleep, it just happens at your desk, a stop light, in the shower, etc. All of sudden this charade that each adult controls their own destiny comes crumbling down. Now life is dictated by a 6lb/11oz, 18" bundle of squeaks, leaks, stained clothes. And he has no sense of the clock. For a time it all revolves around him. Rest, clean clothes, gaming, reading, movies, eating out..all take a back seat.

But the boy is precious. I got to see the wonder in my son's face as he cradled this new miracle in his arms. I could almost read his thoughts, the joy, the concern, the new responsibility is never as acute as it is at that moment of realization, "This boy is mine, to mold, care for, to protect, to grow." Stunning in the awareness, overwhelming in the immediacy. But he will learn that this little bitty boy is far tougher than any of us can imagine.

So we almost can field a basketball team, although genetics are against most of them.

Godspeed, the journey is crowding up nicely.
Don

Thursday, June 24, 2010

A Tale of Two Journals

For the past 7 or 8 years I have kept a journal. When I started I asked a friend how to keep a journal. He said he had kept one for years and didn't really know. He just encouraged me and warned me that it would be difficult at times. No kidding. So I started and wrote at least every week, if not every day. It is at times a travel journal, a vent against injustice, a lament, a joy. It is full of prayers and psalms. It is at times superficial, at times deeply personal. It is hand written, which allows for "slower" thinking. It is not shared.

But this blog tricked me into thinking that I was practicing the spiritual discipline of journaling, which it isn't. This blog is merely musing about the state of affairs around me. My personal journal is one where all the truth and joy and anguish get exposed. It shines the light into the dark corners and chases away the demons. It allows me to be honest about all things "Don" Good, bad, indifferent. In a way, it is a road map of my spiritual travels, an assessment of where I am spiritually, emotionally.

If you do not keep a journal, please start one. It will help you see the recurrent themes in your spiritual walk. It will be a great reminder of triumphs and heartbreak and struggle. You can write whatever you wish, you can explore the wounds of being a husband, father, son, faith member. You can write your own prayers, set in time and space, but ageless in their poignancy. Over time you can see the fingerprints of God on your life and remember that He is there..always. You can write things that you would never say out loud, you can pray things that would never be accepted or understood within a community of faith. You do not have to be a writer, just a follower of the better things in life.

Yes, I keep two journals. One for you, one for me. What will happen to it after I am dead and gone? Shrug. I don't know. I hope my bride and kids and their kids find some value there. I am hoping it will explain the parts of my personality that they never really understood. I hope it buys me some grace here on earth while I am learning about it first hand in the ultimate kingdom.

Godspeed, write it down..live it out.
Don

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Let's Go Surfin' Now

Now that the Beach Boys are roaming around in your head, let me tell you about our trip to the beach with my eldest daughter's family. It was full of fun, good foods, meltdowns, minor crisis, laughter, and snuggling. A great time.

Tuesday afternoon the Amarillo crew connected through Dallas on Southwest. My bride and I met them at the gate and flew with them to Corpus Christi connecting through Houston. Phoebe the 3-year-old was ecstatic to traveling in such a novel and adventurous way. When she is excited she talks, a lot, loud. She was so wound up that it took all the rest of us to keep up. Eli, being 7, was more mature about the entire deal. Of course he was pretty doped up from being kicked by a horse the previous day, thigh and face, he looked like he was on the wrong end of a rumble. Brad has all the electronic gadgets, so Eli spent most of the flight watching the old Karate Kid. Phoebe talked.

We landed around 6PM and everyone was starved. We wanted something quick, but good, and Jordan wanted a salad. Hmm. The final decision was a reluctant CiCis Pizza. Actually pretty good food. We chowed down, reloaded into the van and headed to Target for "beach toys" and HEB for groceries. By the time all that was done and the minor skirmishes with kids and planners were resolved, we drove the final 20 miles or so to the condo. Very nice. My bride (known as Nena to her grandkids) and I had the middle floor with the kitchen and living room, but we had our own room with our own bath. The kids were on the bottom floor, the parents on the third floor. We settled in and crashed after a very long day.

The next few days fell into a pattern. I would get coffee going, then, when it looked like we had a majority up and moving I would fix breakfast. Clean up, then off to the beach. The beach was only a couple hundred yards away, but it would have taken a pack mule to get all the stuff there, so we took the van. Morning at the beach, head to the condo for lunch and nap, then back to the beach for a couple of hours, then back to condo for dinner. Jordan and I love to cook together, so we would bustle around the kitchen, making suggestions to each other about the way to try something, bumping into each other, generally having a good time. The food, by the way, was phenomenal.

The first morning on the beach was an experience. Eli dove right in. Phoebe, not so much. I recall her screaming, "I HATE GETTING DIRTY!!" By the end of the second day, she was wading right in and having a blast. My guess is that she built about 300 sand structures, covered her dad in sand, and sat still long enough for Nena to craft a mermaid tail around her lower body and then pose for pictures.
I taught Eli how to body surf. It took a bit for him to get the hang of it, but he had such fun trying. He was also battling the waves. He would go out as far as he could go and pound them as they broke over him. Sometimes he would adopt the "crane" maneuver, sometimes he would simply pound away with his fists, sometimes he was just take the wave on chest deep and yell, "IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!?" It occurs to me that there was a lot of noise on this trip.
It also occurred to me that facing the waves is a life struggle we all have. We are pitiful in making the wave change course, or not knock us down, but there is something noble in the willingness to fight it anyway. No hope to win, but the fight gives us some resemblance of significance. Contemplatives rarely get a vacation.

Sand and sun, kids and fun. Memories stored away.

Godspeed to those out there who get the rare chance to be invited on your kids and grandkids vacation. What a treat.
Don

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

I Tweaked My Back

Yes, sports fans, the back "went out" as in "I threw my back out" Although there was no throwing. Apparently it is a common malady for guys my age. You would think that I would be ready for it. Every morning something feels like something is going out, knees, ankles, neck, you name it something always hurts. But I have never had much trouble with my lower back. I learned early that the better lesson is not lift-with-your-legs, but never to lift at all if possible. A lesson I ignored Saturday.

Friday was a great day. Church golf tournament, with me doing some of the coordination. Got everyone signed in, money collected, usual jokes about the bad golf about to be unleashed on the golf course. We had fun playing, not even close to winning. Prizes were awarded, hamburgers consumed, prayer circle at the end.

So Saturday was yard day. My bride went to Canton for First Monday, along with my youngest. I stayed home to mow, edge, weedeat, and replant some flowers into a big washtub. Mowing went great, weedeating was uneventful, edging always makes me think of my son. I use the edger I bought the year he was born..30 years ago. Like my truck, it doesn't owe me any money.

Then the replant. We had decided to put a layer of small rocks in the bottom of the flower pot, which come in 40 lb sacks. No problem hauling it out to the flowerbed. Got everything together, turned to pick up the rock sack and felt something in my lower back "pop." It was a the pop and the lock-down, think-this-over pain that got my attention. Never had this before, but it can't be good. Finished the job and sort of crab-walked back to the house.

Took a shower wincing at each bend and turn. Then got on the couch. You would think that would be the end of the story. But a good friend called and wanted to get in a late afternoon round of golf..both wives gone, 3 hours to kill. Sure! Why not?!
Let's just say this back thing tended to make my follow-through a little abbreviated. Or to put it another way, it hurt like mischief right at the end of the swing. So as the round progressed my body began to anticipate the pain at the end and just chose not to follow all the way through. I shot a smooth running 90, not good.

That evening we went to my youngest daughters house for my son's birthday. Evening went okay except that after dinner I stretched out on the floor. BIG mistake. Couldn't get up.
Sunday night we went to see "Wicked" at the Dallas Summer Musicals, my friends thought I was not impressed with the show. But it is hard to be appreciative with back spasms. Plus the 10-year-old girl occasionally kicking the back of my seat.Cool show, though. I would like to see it when the painometer is not red-lining.

Monday I had had enough. I broke down and called my chiropractor and he could see me that morning. These guys are interesting. Touch your toes, I assume he means without screaming loud enough to bother the room full of waiting patients. Now, turn left, turn right, touch your nose..oh wait, that's something else. I gave him my first opinion that it was muscular, not nerve. I'm sure he appreciated me offering my diagnosis, why spend all that time in school when some old coot can tell you what's wrong. He felt around and announced I had displaced, slightly, one of my vertebrae. So he adjusted my back. Here's how that fun works. Stretch out on your right side, bend the top leg over the straightened lower leg, turn your shoulders a quarter turn. Then he uses all his weight to try and snap you in half. Don't worry about the loud and pronounced snap in your spine. I love the encouragement to "relax" just before he twists you into a pretzel. Then turn over and do the same from the other side...not as much relaxation this time. A quick reassuring pat that the vertebrae is now where it belongs, but I will be sore for several more days. Then the "stim" treatment, which feels like bugs crawling under the skin and a cold pack.

I crept back to the truck and vowed that the d*** plants could replant themselves in the future.

Of course I have gotten a little sympathy from my bride, although the "Will you get a glass of water" routine is already running thin.

Godspeed out there. Here is my take...more golf, less yard work.
Don