Father@FortyOne #8 – “The Quilt”

My wife and daughters just left for the big shower at church.  All of the ladies were very giddy this morning and I’m so happy that Dawn and our family are so loved by our church family, friends, and family.  We are also loved by our next door neighbor.

We live next to a blessed older woman whom I’ve known since I was a sophomore in high school because we used to work at a restaurant together.  I made pizzas at this local place, and she would come in once or twice a week to make some of the best and most perfect pies I’ve ever eaten in my life.  All made from scratch, each one delicious.  She’s always been a hard worker, a bit on the old-fashioned side, and now one of the best neighbors anyone could ever have.  Heck, she is even the grandmother of one of my elementary school girlfriends so I know their family very well.  I am blessed to know her.

Now I really don’t think I’m the best neighbor.  My house often looks disheveled and it’s usually pretty rare that we ever go outside.  If I were on her side of the property line, I would shake my head (and maybe my fist) and have the city on speed-dial because of the tall grass or junk sitting in my front yard for weeks.  I’m just not much of an outside person and yard work and house maintenance isn’t usually on the top of my priority list.  My neighbor’s house is a completely different story.  Her yard is usually immaculate, bushes trimmed, leaves picked up… always ship-shape.  She always waves and says high, gives me great gardening advice because she’s a former farmer’s wife, and occasionally shares treats when she has an over-abundance.  I feel that even though she has more years on us, she watches over my family more than we do over her.

A couple of weeks ago I came home and Dawn was resting in our bed, and next to her was something rolled up in a sheet of tissue paper.  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the small package.

“It’s a gift for the baby from Estella (our next-door neighbor).” said Dawn.  She looked down at the rolled-up gift like she had just eaten a large slice of gratitude pie.

“Oh yeah?” I asked as I started to unroll the tissue paper to see what was inside.  And at each turn I saw a new part of a beautiful baby quilt peek from out of its covering.  Beautiful blue panels and embroidered bunnies and teddy bears jumped out from the middle of the quilt.  “Very cute!” I told Dawn.

“Look closer, “she said.  “It’s better than cute.”

As I held the quilt closer to my face Dawn said, “It’s hand-stitched Kenny.  She didn’t use a sewing machine.”  I surveyed the quilt closely at noticed that not only the embroidery was hand-stitched, but each and every panel was hand-sewn together.  My eyes immediately began to well up with tears and I sat speechless with this beautiful quilt in my hands.  I thought, “What did we ever do to deserve this?  Why would someone ever go to that much trouble for us?”  My mind started to race about what a crappy neighbor I had been over the years and not comprehending the love that went into something like this.

“We don’t deserve this.” I said to my wife after a minute or two of silence.  I felt so bad holding this wonderful work because I couldn’t think of anything I’ve done to deserve this show of love.

Dawn came around to the end of the bed and made me look up at her.  “You know Hun… when we sit and talk with Estella on her porch about life, that’s like gold to her.  You shovel her walk sometimes.  You’ve cut her grass a couple of times.  Apparently she thinks enough of our family to put this much time into something like this.  Even though we sometimes don’t feel like we deserve another person’s love, we should accept it.  Besides, she’s really excited about this baby boy on the way!” she said, rubbing her big belly.

Tears rolled down my cheek because not only did I hold Estella’s show of love in my hands… a love I feel I didn’t deserve, but it also reminded me of the love that God showed to all of us 2,000 years ago when we didn’t deserve it.  Each panel of forgiveness from our sin, stitched with His love.  Each embroidered scene in our lives displaying His plan and purpose for us.  Soft and warm and unique to each one of us.  (I’m sure mine has Star Wars embroidered on it somewhere!)  Washed clean and spotless in the blood of His Glorious Son Jesus.  Completely not deserved, but ours for the taking.  All we need to do is pull off the tissue paper, look inside and claim it.  Even if we only occasionally acknowledge His will in our lives.  Even when we sometimes falter and fall and not properly reflect His Glory to others around us.  Even though we’ve let some weeds grow around us without taking the time to trim them.  He still loves us and our quilt is still there waiting.

Thanks Estella.  We love you very much and thank God that you live next door to us.  Sweet Baby Ray will love the quilt.  :)

Posted in Father @ Forty | Leave a comment

I Wanna Fit Into a 2X T-Shirt! #1 – (You gotta start somewhere…)

I Wanna Fit Into 2X T-Shirts!

So my wife and I are standing in line to buy t-shirts at the Steven Curtis Chapman concert.  They have all of the t-shirts displayed and the sizes.  Of course, the largest size they have is a 2X.  That’s not big enough!  I can fit into a 3X but I’m more comfortable in a 4X.  I’m a big fella, weighing in at 344 pounds.  I’ve got what doctors like to call an “eating problem”.  Anyway, I have a choice to make standing here in line… do I pass on a shirt because they don’t have my size OR do I buy a 2X hoping that one day I will fit into it?

One thing I will confess is that I’m totally frustrated with buying t-shirts and have been for several years after I got heavier.  I love to wear t-shirts!  I wouldn’t doubt at all that once I get to heaven that we’ll all be wearing white t-shirts under the white robes everyone will have on.  (And tighty whities also!  LOL!)  I just think they are more comfortable than most shirts and you can find some with clever sayings or jokes that reflect your personality.  The only problem is, if you’re heavy it’s hard to find t-shirts in your size.  Most manufacturers only go as big as a 2X, so I’ve had to miss out on many opportunities to buy some great t-shirts.  It would be easy for me to say that clothing manufacturers are discriminating against tubby folks, but instead I choose to point back at myself.  It’s my fault that I can’t have some great shirts.

For example, this past summer I went to a Journey concert with some dear friends from high school and was excited to be able to buy a Journey concert t-shirt.  When I was in high school, my family didn’t have a lot of money to allow me to go to concerts so I was thrilled to be able to go to the concert and was even more thrilled to get a t-shirt.  I was always a little envious of kids who came to school the next day with concert t-shirts and talking about the concerts they saw the night before.  Now as an adult, I was finally getting to go, but when I finally got up to the counter to buy the shirt I wanted… 2X is the largest size they have.  I bought one.  It was sad.

So here I am in line with my wife at the t-shirt table again in the same delima… should I buy a shirt I can’t fit into again?  That’s pretty stupid, right?  So as thoughts are racing through my mind, I decided to draw a virtual line in the sand.  I want cool t-shirts!  If a 2X is all I can get, then I’m going to adjust myself to fit comfortably in a 2X.  I’m not sure how much weight I need to lose to win at this, but I know by next summer (2012), I want to fit comfortably into a 2X.  Every journey starts with a first step, so this is mine.  I’m going to try and document steps along the path using photos of my fatness, cool t-shirts I’m missing out on, and any progress I make along the way.  I’ve recently read that in order for a vision to become reality you have to write out goals to work toward.  I only have one:

  • I want to comfortably fit into a 2X t-shirt by the summer (June 1st) of 2012.  Heck, I want to fit into multiple 2X t-shirts by then!

I will celebrate by wearing the Steven Curtis Chapman concert t-shirt I purchased in line (pictured in the banner picture).  I will also be wearing a smile.  :)

Current Weight: 344 lbs.

Posted in I Wanna Fit Into A 2X T-Shirt!, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Trust Buckets

I occasionally talk to my daughters about something I like to call their “trust bucket”, especially the oldest one.  The trust bucket is an imaginary container that holds the amount of trust I have in them.  Knowing them the way that I do, each one has started out with a full trust bucket.  The more full their trust bucket, the more they are trusted to have privileges of responsible, older people.  Should their trust bucket ever run low, then they won’t have as many privileges.  Neither of them have ever done anything to this point to lose any trust from their bucket.  They are good girls.  Daddy is trusting.

I’ve found that I tend to keep trust buckets for most people I know, on some internal shelf in my mind.  My mind can quickly take inventory of a person’s trust bucket each time I interact with them.  If their bucket is full, it’s easy to see and I don’t dwell on it… but if their trust bucket is not full enough where I can’t see any “trust”, then man do I examine why!  “ I sure do love that person, but I have to limit how I show it because they really blew it in the past with me, ” I’ll say in my head.  Rarely do I give them the benefit of the doubt if their trust bucket is running low.  Right or wrong, that’s the silliness that goes on in my thoughts.  But that’s with people… do I do that with God?

I have the honor and pleasure of leading a Bible study where I work.  We’ve been getting together over lunch every other Thursday for what we affectionately refer to as “Thursday School”.  (Instead of Sunday school… get it?)  It’s good to commune with fellow brothers and sisters in Christ at work, share the Word with one another, and lift each other up in prayer.  That time is very fulfilling for me personally, and I hope it is for everyone else who attends.

Over the summer months, attendance at Thursday school began to dwindle from around 12 people to sometimes less than 5.  Now you and I both know that people are busy sometimes during their lunch period running errands, continuing to do work, or are away on vacation or various business trips.  It’s actually a small miracle we get as many folks as we get in the study because every one of us have extremely busy lives, especially around the work environment.  I know this in my mind… I know better.  But one week, the devil was whispering in my ear when I sat alone in the room where we normally meet… by myself.  “I guess this is it Kenny, “  he said.  “This must finally be the week they all finally decided that you’re not that great of a leader and they’re ready to give up on you.”  I had enough time to eat my lunch and even read over the study questions again.  “Where is everyone?” I asked myself.  “What did I do wrong?”  I started to examine the last year or more of Bible studies on Thursday looking for issues that could have finally broke the camel’s back with the folks who normally came to our class time.  And then one of my sisters in Christ came into the room.

“Where is everyone Ken?” she said.  Relieved to see another soul, I told her I wasn’t sure.  We both sat for a few minutes more reading and occasionally smiling at one another.  Of course the devil was still having his field day, and I was letting him.  “Yep Ken, time to hang this one up.” the devil said.  “They all know what a terrible person you are inside as does your Heavenly Father and you’re probably being punished for it!”  After a good handful of minutes I asked my sister in Christ if we should just pray before we leave and save the lesson for another time.  She agreed, so I asked her to pray.  We bowed our heads, mine partially from defeat, and she began to pray.

I think she got two words out before another sister in Christ from our group popped her head in the door.  “There you are!” she said.  “We were wondering where you were!” 

“We?” I questioned. 

“Yeah, ” she said, “we’re not supposed to meet in this room today because someone else had booked it.”  Normally we meet in that room, but occasionally someone else books it and we have to go somewhere else.  Several months ago I relinguished the scheduling of our study times to another sister in the group because organization isn’t one of my strong suits.  I simply didn’t read her meeting request thoroughly, which would have told me we were meeting elsewhere.  “There’s a whole roomful of people downstairs wondering where you both are.”

We gathered up our things and in the elevator ride down I felt ashamed.  Even though God’s always been faithful to me, I let Satan convince me that I was worth nothing and that God was punishing me somehow.  I could only see things from my own vantage point and I forgot that God sees the whole picture and He’s constantly moving me in a certain direction for my own good because He loves me.  Because I chose to trust my eyes rather than having trust that He is working in the background to make things what I need, the devil had his way with my mind.  That old liar made me forget the past I have with God and traded it with doubt.  If I review the trust buckets of everyone I know, why didn’t I look at the devil’s?  His is an old rusty bucket with bullet holes in it.  It never has trust in it because, well… he’s the devil.  He hates me and even more… he hates the God I serve.  He’s done nothing but try to destroy me since the day I was born, and yet I took my eyes off of the One who’s trust bucket is a million times bigger than anyone else’s and is constantly spilling over and believed the devil’s lies.  Why is that?  Why would I do that?  Why did the Israelites do it in the desert after leaving the bondage of Egypt?  “We want to go back!” they told Moses.  “We’re hungry and thirsty here in this desert and we would rather go back into bondage than suffer this way!”  They didn’t trust that God would see them through, even though they had witnessed many miracles of God and had been delivered from slavery.  I have been blessed by God so many times in my life, even when I don’t deserve it, and yet I didn’t trust Him.  Why?

I think I, as well as the Israelites, stopped looking at God and started looking at ourselves and our own circumstances.  When you do that, Satan can have his way with you.  You’re distracted and he knows it and he’ll use that to his advantage.  Especially when you’re on track to do something spectacular for the Lord!  We all have to understand that God’s trust bucket should always be full, huge and overflowing.  We all have to trust that He loves us and are letting things happen to us to shape us, not to purposely hurt us.  Look back at your history.  He’s never let anything happen to you that wasn’t for your own good.  Even the really awful stuff is intended to make you something that will bring Him glory.

So when we finally made it into the right room, it was full of smiling brothers and sisters in Christ.  We even had two visitors!  We had a great bible study and discussion with one another and I feel the Holy Spirit had his way in the room.  So one moment I struggled in my own despair… the next I was blessed beyond measure.  Had I trusted that God was working in the background and would provide that blessing, I would have been fine no matter what the circumstances.  But no… I listened to the liar.  Thank the Lord He doesn’t feel the same way about me.  He often gives me trust and love when I don’t deserve them at all.  He fills up my trust bucket with His Son’s blood so that it overflows and spills out.  Even if it was empty because of my carelessness, he fills it up again anyway.  Great example, right?

So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and take everyone’s trust bucket down from the shelf in my mind and fill them up again.  Why?  Don’t they deserve the trust level they have in their bucket?  Maybe.  But God’s got so much spilling over from his right now, I got a little extra to spare.  I gotta put it somewhere, right?

Posted in My Walk With Christ | Leave a comment

Father@FortyOne #7 – “Shower Lasers”

I haven’t had this much fun in months!  “PEW!  PEW!” I was saying under my breath after each shot.  I felt like Han Solo taking down Imperial stormtroopers with my trusty blaster, ducking for cover behind each row.  “PEW! PEW!”

“Invading the Deathstar, Ken?” you may have asked.  Not unless the Emperor is cleverly disguising it as our local Target store.  You see, the rows I’m ducking behind are the shelves in the baby section of the store and my trusty blaster… a barcode scanner for registering for a baby shower.  Hey, you get your excitement the way you want to, and I’ll do the same!  The stormtroopers I’m decimating are the barcodes on packages of baby stuff needed for Sweet Baby Ray to exist comfortably once he decides his current residence isn’t quite large enough to accommodate his kicking parties held multiple times a day.  Oh sure, he’s having fun throwing some Chuck Norris-type love into his Mommy’s spleen, but eventually he won’t have room to perform round-house kicks.  He’s got about 8 weeks left before Mommy evicts his little baby buns!

Dawn and I were tasked by our Sunday school teacher’s wife to “get registered as quickly as possible!”  I think the ladies at church are planning a shower for Dawn and the “Little Liver Puncher” sometime soon.  Of course, I won’t be within 10 miles of the place because… well… I’m a guy!  I’ve never understood why they need to “shower” a new Mommy anyway.  I mean, it’s bad enough that a pregnant gal is “larger” than normal, uncomfortable no matter which way they sit, lie down, or stand, and eat some really strange things.  They definitely don’t need a room full of ladies yelling, “Get out the fire hose for this one Bernice!  She’s gonna require some extra attention with the wire brush!”  If she smells bad or something, get her some deodorant and have that friendly “talk” with her… but don’t make her shower for Pete’s sake!

I’m just kidding, of course.  My first guess would be a “shower” implies they are going to shower a family with love in the form of baby gifts, a huge cake, 2.5 hours of making fun of the father of the pending child, and games about baby names.  My only role with the other two showers that Dawn has had for the girls was to collect and transport said gifts back to our home.  Perhaps eat cake, but that’s about it.  It’s a gal thing.  I get that.

If a bunch of guys had a “shower”, we wouldn’t call it that at all.  We would probably call it “Playing Cards”, “Darts”, “Golf” or something like that.  It wouldn’t be held at a church fellowship hall, but probably someplace like a garage, basement, Bar-B-Q joint or a remote cabin.  I guarantee you there would be cake there, but it will have been skillfully baked by Little Debbie in the form of Nutty Bars and Zebra Cakes.  You would also see some variety of nacho cheese and plenty of beef jerky.  We would play games as well, but most of them would require stitches or an ER visit for at least one of the participants during the course of the gathering.  The child would receive presents like footballs, basketballs, bowling balls, 4×4 PowerWheels trucks, action figures, a junior weight set, and a racecar-shaped bed.  Few words would said, but the love would be apparent.  AND… in High Def!  I think I may be on to something here!

Oh yeah… guys would have lasers at their “showers” also.  “PEW!”  PEW!”

P.S. – Yeah, in case you haven’t figured it out by the title of this blog post, I turned 41 yesterday.  Yea for me, huh?!!  Father@FortyOne

Posted in Father @ Forty | 1 Comment

Father@Forty #6 – “The Woman Behind the Baby”

Seventeen years ago today, I stood across from the woman that had captured my heart like no other person I had ever met to say “I do.”  Seventeen years is a long time in comparison to most marriages today that crumble quickly, and I’m still glad “I did”.  So I felt this would be an appropriate time to record the story of how we met so the boy rustling around in her mid section would know just how special his mother is to his old man.

I had spent three years in Springfield, Missouri attending college at SMSU, working toward a BS in secondary education.  I wanted to be an art teacher.  I got down to the last 30 hours and moved into the student teaching phase.  As I experienced student teaching, both observing classes as well as participating in teaching exercises in front of live teenagers, I found out rather quickly that I wasn’t official teacher material.  Art students, for the most part, see an art class as a blow-off class and weren’t showing a great deal of respect.  I knew the salary of a teacher wouldn’t offset this level of disrespect, so I decided to end my college career and go home defeated.  (I honor teachers who made it through, taught their whole careers for such horrible pay, and retire knowing they helped make a difference in the lives of many children.  You folks are awesome individuals!)  Now what was I going to do with my life?

I  moved back home with my parents not sure of what would happen, but God did.  Being back in my Mother’s home somehow compelled me to get back into church and a right place with God, as I had let our relationship dwindle through my college years.  I attended a “college and career” Sunday school class led by Myrna Turner, and that summer they decided to have a class party at Lake St. Clair at the home of a family I had never met before named the Stocktons.  (I suppose they began attending our church while I was away at college.)  As I spoke with Myrna, I told her about my college debacle and a need for some sort of gainful employment and she said “Well why don’t you go ask Mike Stockton for a job?  He owns a construction outfit in town and he might be looking for someone.”  She introduced me to Mike and his foreman, Chuck Tedrow, and “helped me” inquire about a potential job with them.  Keep in mind, I had never worked a day of construction in my life so I thought the likelihood of getting hired was slim, but God saw it differently.  Mike took a chance and hired a stranger that day and it changed my life forever.

Through college and a year or so after I came home, I had dated and/or chased a handful of gals.  For whatever reason (other than divine intervention), none of those relationships materialized into anything.  So now I was a little depressed about not graduating AND not finding a gal that was of marrying potential, so I threw my hands up in the air and gave up.  I was done dating… I would just continue bending nails for a living and that was it.  I believe that in our times of surrender, God sees it as a time when we’re finally ready to listen to Him and He makes things happen.  My foreman Chuck, who after a year or so had become a great Christian friend and mentor, started telling me about this girl at his church that I needed to come and meet.  I just kept passing off his stories about this “Donna” girl, who he said “had great legs” because I didn’t believe that she would be different than any other girls I had dated to that point.  Not interested.

After about six months of Chuck’s insistent badgering about this girl, an occasion arose to finally break me.  Chuck and his wife Joanie were really into Southern Gospel music and had given me a ticket to a concert for a group named Gold City.  Well, it just so happened that a death on Joanie’s side of the family occurred and she wouldn’t be able to make the concert.  They gave this “Donna” girl Joanie’s ticket, and Chuck said it would be a great opportunity to at least meet this girl he had been telling me about.  I reluctantly agreed.  Chuck said I should go to Sunday school at my church and then drive over to Washington to go to church service with him and then we could leave town to go to the concert after church was over.  Chuck and Joanie attended a new, small, independent fundamental baptist church that met in a rented out garage area of Franklin County Glass in Washington, Missouri.  When I pulled up I honestly thought, “People go to church here?”  I walked up to the tinted door of the facility, pulled it open, and as I walked through the door it took a second or two for my eyes to adjust.  In those two seconds, time seemed to slow down as I looked down a long wall/hall and a girl turned the corner and glanced my way.  It was sort of like those scenes in movies where a guy catches a glance of a great-looking girl and her hair blows in slow motion in the wind as she smiles at him.  She was Latina, tanned, with dark hair and Chuck wasn’t kidding about her legs!  :)   I knew right then and there that this girl was going to be my wife.  Hopefully, this was “Donna”.  Chuck introduced me to her, but she told me her name was Dawn, not “Donna”.  (Chuck could get details wrong from time to time, but his heart’s always in the right place.)  Dawn Berner.

After church, the group of people going to the concert decided to go to McDonalds for lunch before we headed to the concert.  Dawn and I got to talk over cheeseburgers and I liked her.  Some of the little boys in the group already started teasing us about being boyfriend and girlfriend.  She had a great smile.  She told me that she was a new Christian and that her brother Rick and his wife Kathy had been going to this new church and invited her.  She became a Christian not too long after that.  It’s as if God was preparing her for me the whole time.  He is so wonderful.

We went to the concert.  I don’t remember a single song that had been sung.  I don’t remember anything else but patting a seat next to me, inviting Dawn to sit by me.  Through the concert she was touched by a song and cried.  She had a tender heart too.  Man, God really knows what He’s doing here!  I really enjoyed the time with her that afternoon.

The next day at work, I pretty much begged Chuck to somehow get me Dawn’s phone number.  He pulled some strings and worked through Joanie and called me that night with the number.  I was nervous when I called her, but excited.  I interrupted her watching the movie Honeymoon in Vegas but she didn’t seem to mind.  We had a great conversation and I was on cloud nine.

Well, I could go into great detail… but I’ll leave that for other posts.  Just some quick things I’ll jot down to get them out:

  • On our first date, I took her to Mark and Patty Stockton’s wedding.  A lot of people were asking us when we were going to get married.  We blushed.  For Pete’s sake, it was our first date!  I caught the garter by the way!  :)
  • We were promised to be married two weeks later.  I gave her my high school gold ring with the blue stone.  It’s really all I had that was worth anything.
  • She told me later that God had showed her that a tall, blonde guy would come into her life.  Apparently he was preparing me for her too.
  • A few months later I went to visit her Dad and asked him if I could have her hand in marriage.  He smiled the whole time and the only lecture point I remember getting was about having a job to take care of his little girl.  How’d I do Richard?  :)
  • Dawn constantly hinted about which ring she would like to have every time we went to the mall.  She would always drag me into Helzberg to see her heart-shaped diamond.  So one night we were together in the mall, I decided that I would try to get her the ring she wanted on credit.  Unfortunately being a young man and new to the credit world, they refused my purchase.  I made a big deal about it around Dawn and acted all disappointed.  Secretly, I took my Dad back the next week and he co-signed for the credit on the ring.  Thanks Pop!
  • The entire time we had been dating, I kept little mementos (ticket stubs, pictures, etc.)  I put them in a big, three ring binder, wrote little paragraphs about each one,  and on the last page I wrote “Dawn Berner, will you marry me?”  I presented that book to her at her house on October 23rd, 1993.  Dawn took her sweet time reading through the memories… so I sat at her feet with the ring in my pocket for quite some time.  Her Dad kept hovering in the next room trying to secretly snap pictures, almost blowing the surprise.  She got to the last page, I was kneeling on one knee at her feet, and pulled out the maroon ring box.  The rest was history.
  • We were married the next August in 1994.  I wrote her a song and sang it to her, with the help of my buddy Jeff Willard (playing guitar).  Man, she was pretty standing there looking into my eyes.

So here we are today.  Married 17 years.  Have two wonderful daughters.  Going to be parents again at age 41 in a few months to a baby boy we’re already in love with.  Seen and been through a lot.  More in love today then back then.  God really knows what he’s doing.

Posted in Father @ Forty | 1 Comment

Stop When You Should… Go When You Should

Recently, I gave my fourteen-year-old daughter her first driving lesson.  I had sent her to the car after church to start it up and get the air conditioner cranked because it was very hot outside.  When her sister and I eventually got to the car, while her mother was visiting with another couple from church, I opened the passenger door and got in.  She had the radio playing and had the driver’s seat leaned back.  She started to turn everything down and sat up as her sister was getting buckled in, as if she were going to make way for me to get into the driver’s seat.  I told her to stay where she was, and she shot me one of those “Ohhhh Kayyyyy!” sort of looks when your parents do something out of the ordinary.  I could tell she was a little excited though.

With a calm and serious voice, I went over getting comfortable in the driver’s seat, adjusting and using all the mirrors, the gear shifter on an automatic car, and then last but not least… the brake pedal and the gas.  I’m sure there was a touch of fear welling up inside her because this is something she had never done herself… only watched others do to this point.  Taking a leap of faith that being behind the wheel of a running car about to make it move was going to be okay, she listened closely to my calm instruction and trusted my voice.  She knew that good ol’ Dad was very experienced and has seen a lot in his day while driving, and that she could trust his instruction.

Now you and I know that verbally teaching someone how to do something, and them experiencing it on their own are completely different learning experiences.  I could tell her about the brake and gas pedals being sensitive, but I wanted her to feel it.  She would be a better driver to get this one lesson down pat.  I had her put her foot on the brake, ease the gear shift into reverse, and slowly take her foot off the brake.  No gas, just let the car move on it’s own.  Without instruction on how to use the brake, I told her to stop the car.  She of course pressed the brake too hard and we abruptly jerked to a halt, whip-lashed by the teenager.  She looked over at me, and I said “Did you feel how sensitive it is?”  She nodded.  “When you use either the brake or the gas, you have to press them gently… brake eaassyyyy!”  She smiled and we continued our lesson.  She listened to each gentle instruction I gave her and made it through the lesson just fine.  I think she also found out that she needed me and driving is a bigger responsibility that even she thought.  She needs an experienced hand to help her through this.  Make her a driver worthy of a license.

*So the following Wednesday, our pastor was teaching a lesson on us either grieving the Holy Spirit, or quenching the Holy Spirit.  He gave an example about a car dealership offering you a brand new car for $1.  Of course we all know there would have to be some sort of catch with a deal like that, so he explained that the only thing wrong with the car was that the brake and gas pedals were both messed up.  When you pressed either one, it would either:

  • jump forward too quickly
  • delay for a while before working
  • or not doing anything at all when pressed.

How dangerous would that be driving your family around in a car with such important flaws!  He went on to say that we often are like that deficient car.  Sometimes the Holy Spirit directs us to stop what we’re doing… and we just keep going or stop in our own time. (Grieving the Holy Spirit)  Sometimes the Holy Spirit tells us to go… and we take our sweet time moving forward or we refuse to move at all.  (Quenching the Holy Spirit)  Needless to say, the Holy Spirit can get just as frustrated as we would driving in a situation like that.  The Bible warns:

  • “do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption.”  – Ephesians 4:30
  • “do not quench the Spirit”  – 1 Thessalonians 5:19

Jesus gave us great examples about stopping when you should, and going when you should.  Why would He wait two days to go see Lazarus, who eventually was in a tomb dead for four days?  Lazarus was His friend Mary’s brother, and He loved Lazarus, Mary and their sister Martha dearly.  He knew He could heal him of whatever was wrong… but He waited.  He waited because he knew it was the right thing to do.  He knew that waiting, even though I’m sure He wanted to swoop in and heal His friend, would bring glory to God and glory to the Son of God.  (John 11)  There was also the time when Simon and his friends had been out fishing all night without any luck.  They were whipped and had pulled to shore defeated.  Jesus told them, “Launch out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.“  Hesitantly, Simon listened to the calm words of Jesus, let down the nets, and they caught so many fish that their nets were breaking and they needed help bringing the fish to shore.  So many fish in fact, that the boats were sinking.  (Luke 5)

I started to think about my daughter’s driving lesson, and how we should listen to the calm, wise, and loving voice of the Holy Spirit.  We should learn to trust that the Spirit knows what it’s talking about, has our best interests at heart and that the lessons we learn, even though we don’t feel we deserve to go through them, will make us a better “driver”.  We should learn that things will always go better when we learn to stop when the Holy Spirit tells us to stop, and go when the Holy Spirit tells us to go.  When that little, calm whisper speaks to us… we should surrender and do what it tells us to do.  We should remember it’s lessons and learn from them.

I’ve been driving for over 24 years and I feel each day something new could be learned.  The same holds true for our lives.  None of us have everything down pat, so listen to the more experienced Spirit, trust what it tells you to do, and do it.  And get your oil changed on a regular basis!  (Sorry, the Dad in me came out there!)

* Wednesday teaching session by Brother Roger Johnson – First Baptist Church, Villa Ridge, MO.

Posted in My Walk With Christ | Leave a comment

Father@Forty #5 – “THE Ultrasound”

As promised in the last entry of Father@Forty, our family of four (for now) gathered at Missouri Baptist hospital this afternoon for the ultrasound that could start a name war or stop it dead in it’s tracks.  Even in the waiting room, we were haggling on girl names that started with an “A”.  Autumn, August, and Amidala (as in the Queen and Senator from Star Wars fame) were suggested among sneers and shaking heads.  None of us like one another’s suggestions and no one was budging.

So after we waited a little while, the ultrasound technician came to find my wife and we all, with a few butterflies in our stomachs, filed back into the ultrasound room.  I’d like to make fun of our daughters for being so antsy about finally getting an answer about what the sex of the child is, but I can’t.  My wife and I were probably just as bad if not worse!  We have a lot at stake here at our age.  We won’t, shy of miraculous intervention, be getting pregnant again after this child comes into the world.  My wife has assured me that I will be getting snipped.  (I’m still trying to figure out why she makes the “scissors” sign with her two fingers everytime she says “snipped.”  I know what that entails and I don’t need constant visual reminders about my fate.)  If this is our last chance, there’s a lot riding on what the technician was going to say.

The lights went dim in the room, the warmed up gel was squeezed onto the pregnant belly, and the ultrasound wand began to sway back and forth.  On the larger monitor they had hanging on the wall, we could see how the child within was progressing.  No longer the “pistachio” from previous ultrasounds… now a full-fledged child with a skull, face, spine, arms and legs wiggling about.  We saw the wonders of life with every pass of the wand, including a little bitty heart beating out a healthy pace.  The baby was pretty active, spinning around in its safe place like a break dancer from the eighties.  As interesting and as beautiful as it was… Dawn and I were looking at the monitor for other “wonders”.  Don’t get me wrong… spines and skulls, healthy kidneys, beating hearts, swinging arms and kicking legs are really super cool… but we’ve seen that before with previous pregnancies.  Our eyes were so focused looking for “something else” that we nearly burned a hole through the monitor.

Then I guess the hospital’s super ultrasound technician came into the room to assist.  She started taking shots of all the normal baby parts for the doctor to look at later as we sat patiently.  She asked us the simple question, “So, did you want to know the sex of the baby?”  Well duh, lady!  Look at us all!  We’re glued to the monitor here!  She swung the ultrasound wand to show the baby’s southern hemisphere and positioned it just right so that she could announce to our whole family that the child was most definately a…

The more I grow in the skill of writing, the more I understand about keeping an audience’s attention.  Like right now, you’re probably so frustrated with me using this dramatic pause that you’re about to think up some “A” names yourself that aren’t very flattering to an up-and-coming writer.  It’s okay really.  I think it’s my job to take you on a roller coaster ride with me from time to time.  It helps us grow a relationship and you’ll begin to trust me and…

Oh, heck with it! 

IT’S A BOY!!!!!

The super technician said that even though the non-fancy ultrasounds weren’t 100% accurate, if she was a betting girl… she was 95% sure it’s a boy.  She took two separate ultrasound photos of his junk, and I’m convinced.  I told his sisters to turn their head and give the poor little guy his privacy!  :)   Stash is now Kenneth Ray Hoff III.  Ray.  Kenny.  Kenny Ray. Ray Ray.  Ken.  It’s all good.  Now to just get the little fella out into the world healthy and happy.

Just try and knock the smiles off our faces!

Posted in Father @ Forty | 2 Comments

Father@Forty #4 – “What’s in a Name?”

The evening over dinner that we told our youngest daughter Abby that she was going to be a big sister, the great debate over the name of the precious bundle of joy baking in my wife’s oven began.  We had two cell phones tearing up the internet looking over names while waiting for our meal to make it to the table.  (By-the-way, Coltons was a great place to break the news!)

Depending on the sex of the child, this could be super easy or incredibly difficult.  If it’s a boy, it’s easy… just like everything else in life where boys are the final solution to the equation.  The boy-child will be named Kenneth Ray Hoff III, most likely dubbed “Ray” by his father.  He will be a husky, strapping lad bound for the offensive line of the St. Clair high school Bulldogs and the hearts of young ladies across Franklin county.  He will eat like a horse, work hard, love Jesus, and fish with his old man.  Oh yeah… and the kid will totally be into Star Wars!  :)

Now if God decides to “bless us” with a female child, war will most likely break out.  I’m not just talking about a small, family squabble between Dawn and I… no, that would be too small of scale.  I’m talking about grandparents, siblings, church family, co-workers and friends all laying claim to a name they feel is perfect.  Things will get ugly my friends.  I’m seriously thinking about calling the police chief to see if he will step up patrols in my neighborhood until the dust settles and the child is in her early twenties.

Both of this child’s sister’s names were easy.  It was almost as if they were handed to us without any effort on our part.  Dawn got to name our oldest, Anna-Maria Nicole Hoff, (although I got to throw in the “Nicole” part of that to feel like I had a little say in it) and I had one-hundred percent say into what our second child was named… Abby Gail Hoff.  They both fit their names.  Isn’t that strange?  Have you ever wondered how a parent usually chooses a name for their child that fits them like a glove, even though most of them come out looking nearly the same (plus or minus some parts)?  How does a parent know that the beautiful baby girl they hold in their arms and name Bertha will undoubtedly end up being a 400 pound woman?  Or that a son named Earl will most likely pump gas at a dusty, old filling station in the middle of nowhere in his bib overalls?  Or that a baby named Heather will be the head cheerleader?  Or that a boy-child named Damien will end up being the anti-christ?  (Watch The Omen and get a clue people!  Don’t name your child that!)  How do you know that your son Mitch will be cool and drive a red Ferrari, or your kid named Earnie will get a brick thrown at him on the kindergarten playground?  And then there are the odd names, like a poor, little girl named Apple.  Seriously? Apple?

My wife and I have really painted ourselves into a name corner if it’s a girl.  The two older daughter’s first names start with the letter “A”.  We should try to name this child something that starts with an “A” also, right?  Sounds simple enough, but we can’t agree on a new “A” name.  I have a feeling that couples usually fall into the same disagreements over a name because their brains kick in to test the waters with a name suggestion.  Here are the test criteria for a suggested name that runs through my mind EVERY time:

  • How will the name sound when some stupid, mean little kid on the playground pokes fun at their name?  Example: “Lance with the wet spot on his pants!”  Kids on the playground will always find a way to make someone’s given name degrading, so it has to be jerk-proof.
  • Without a doubt, you have to sing the name game song (Banana-fanna-fo…) with the child’s first name.  The resulting lyrics cannot have a curse word otherwise the child and all of their friends will get sent to the principal’s office eventually.  They of course will blame it on you.
  • When your child gets into trouble and you yell their full name at the top of your lungs in your best angry tone, will you run out of breath because it’s too long?
  • Along the same line… will they end up using their entire box of crayons the first day of school just writing their name?
  • Does the suggested name remind you of an old girlfriend that dumped you?  Surely my wife just didn’t suggest the name of a girl on the school bus that regularly got sprayed with “cootie spray” as she walked down the aisle because no one wanted to sit next to her!  No way Honey!
  • If your child, on the off chance, ends up being a serial killer… does their full name sound cool on TV?

We’ll find out on June 23rd what the sex of the baby will be using one of the new, fancy, 3D ultra-sounds.  All of us are eagerly waiting for the appointment so the great name war of 2011 can begin.  The war could be won with a single stroke of grace… little Ray could end it quickly by showing us what little boys are made of.  Should the ultra-sound show something else… well, let’s not think about it for now.

Hey, wait a minute… Apple starts with “A”, doesn’t it?

Posted in Father @ Forty | Leave a comment

Father@Forty #3 – “Cravings and Crabbiness”

A long time ago, punishments had to be given.  Because God had been disobeyed, man had to toil by the sweat of his brow to grow food to eat, woman had to endure the pains of childbirth, and both had to die.  God, in his infinite wisdom, understood that one day women would figure out the whole “epidural” thing… so he decided to up the punishment for both women and men and brought a little thing called “hormonal imbalance” into play during pregnancy.  Both suffer.  Lesson learned.

My wife’s first two pregnancies were a walk in the park.  (At least from my vantage point, which really doesn’t count, does it?)  She didn’t complain a whole lot about being uncomfortable and had a generally great attitude.  I didn’t notice any wild mood swings and she had mild cravings that were controllable.  (I believe with daughter #1 she craved pancakes and with daughter #2 she always wanted egg sandwiches.  Funny, each child liked those foods exclusively as they grew up.)  If there were two more perfect pregnancies, I haven’t heard of them.

I suppose with this pregnancy, crossing the 40-year-old line in the sand REALLY ticked off my wife’s body or something.  It’s as if it was saying, “Hmmmm… let’s see… how can I torture them for letting this happen?  Oh, I know… I’ll stir her hormones like a KitchenAide mixer on high and see how it messes with them!”  At first, the cravings hit.  I couldn’t get enough bacon and scrambled eggs into her mouth.  Little Debbie Nutty Bars were purchased by the case.

Next came a heightened sense of smell.  In all the time I’ve known my wife, she hasn’t been able to smell much of anything.  When she was younger, she had surgery for a deviated septum, and it more or less destroyed her ability to experience the good and the bad that your olfactory sense has to offer.  (It’s actually one of the reasons why we’ve been married so long.  If she smelled half of the “lively” contributions I’ve brought to the table over the years, she would have left me with a clothespin firmly snapped on her nose.)  Not now.  Now, she could smell a spider belch from 3 miles away and tell you what it had for lunch.  Just a couple of examples I’ve had to deal with include:

  • For months we had planned to go out with some friends from church before going to a concert.  They suggested O’Charlies for dinner, and she freaked out about it.  I dug a little deeper after hearing about her reluctancy to go to O’Charlies multiple times and the reason she didn’t want to go is because she couldn’t stand the smell of fish.  She saw O’Charlies commercials on TV that showed them serving fish and she was repulsed to even think about being somewhere where fish was being served.  I asked her, “Have you ever been to O’Charlies?”  She said, “Well, no…”  I had to explain to her that O’Charlies is much like an Applebees, and then she was fine with it.  (By-the-way… when we ate at O’Charlies, I sat across the table from her and had the salmon.)
  • I’m no longer allowed to make Chorizo and Eggs for breakfast in my own home because she can’t stand the smell.  One of my favorite things to eat for breakfast, and I have to wait until she’s out-of-town to fix it.

Mixed in for about 2 solid weeks among everything else, (and keep in mind that we’re not even past the first tri-mester yet) she has been the most irritable and crabby Dawn I have ever experienced in17 years of marriage.  I correlate watching it happen much like pausing to watch a tornado pass by your trailer park neighborhood… you know you should be ducking for cover, but it’s just so amazing to see that you just stand there watching with your jaw dropped open.  I feel pretty bad for her because she’s explained that she just feels frustrated all of the time.  Even food is a hard thing to do, because the textures have changed on her in the past couple of weeks and the thought of most types of food repulse her.  She has aches and pains all over.  She’s tired a great majority of the time.  She has to go to the bathroom a lot through the night, which reduces her sleep time considerably.  This definitely isn’t the rosy pregnancy of days long since past.  A throng of co-workers, family and friends lay broken and confused in the destructive path of this frustration storm, with only me to comfort them by saying enlightening things like, “It’s a great time to practice the concept of unconditional love, isn’t it?”  They’ve taken it easy on her.  They know that eventually the hormone potion that Dr. Jekyll took a swig of will wear off and Mrs. Hyde will go away.  The hugs and smiles from this beautiful woman will return after she gets done riding the roller coaster.

To her credit, she has behaved very well over the past week or more.  No crying, grown children.  No crying, pregnant women.  All is quiet and peaceful.  Love has overcome.  That, and a little inch-and-a-half long, wiggling, bundle of potential kicking her tummy hard enough to be felt has made itself known.  A gentle reminder that all of this is so worth it.  Stash is worth it.

And yes, she will most likely have an epidural.  Of course I’ll have to just go back to my “field” and toil among the thorns and thistles with no relief.  No relief except the all-fall from her cravings.  I really like bacon, eggs, and Nutty Bars.  :)

Posted in Father @ Forty | Leave a comment

Father@Forty #2 – “Reservations”

Approximately a year or so after my wife and I were married, we made a baby.  For a first-time father to be, I’ll admit… I was VERY scared!  Here I was 24 years old, still a young green-bean trying to figure life out and suddenly I was going to share the responsibility of shaping a child’s life, not to mention having to provide for another family member.  Dawn and I were working within a dual-income family, although neither one of us were making a lot.  We were making it though, and we were married and not having a child out-of-wedlock so I thought that was a plus.  (That happens way too much today in my opinion, but I’ll save that for another blog post someday!)

Dawn had a few appointments with an OB/GYN, and we got an ultrasound picture of the baby growing in her belly.  I thought to myself when she showed it to me, “That little peanut-shaped thing in the black spot is a baby?”  So from that point forward, the baby had the nick-name “Peanut”.  Seeing it, although very tiny and not quite in a human shape, really made us both excited about the possibilities.

 Just as we were settling into the idea of becoming parents, the reality of life snatched it out of our hands.  3 months into the pregnancy, Dawn miscarried.  We were absolutely heart broken.  We had gone on a trip to Tantara to celebrate out first wedding anniversary (a wedding gift we held on to for a year).  It was a nice resort area and we had a nice cabin/room right on the lake.  We had some nice dinners that weekend, tried to ride some scooters around the lake (Dawn will definitely never be a Harley gal), and I fished and caught the largest fish I’d ever caught from the bank.  We even celebrated a little the way that couples usually celebrate on their anniversary.  But late the last evening Dawn began to not feel right and started “spotting”.  To this day, we don’t know if all the activity of the weekend caused her miscarriage, but for two young parents… there was no good reason.

We got back home and early that week she scheduled a doctor’s appointment.  The doctor delivered the grim news that we had lost the child.  She told us that miscarriages are very common and that a lot more women go through them that what we thought.  That didn’t help us with our situation.  As a young couple, we had never gone through this and all of the other women in the world didn’t matter to us.  We just lost OUR child.  Dawn needed to go through a procedure to “clean-out” all of the tissue remains and that devastated her.  I felt helpless that she had to go through that procedure alone.  I felt like all of this was my fault.  If we had just let her rest that weekend, maybe things would have been different.

Over the course of a few weeks, our church family really supported us and a lot of friends came out of the woodworks to let us know that they had gone through a miscarriage also and that God would see us through it.  They said that we would go on to have healthy children and that we shouldn’t be afraid to try again.  As tore down as we both were, I believe that Dawn and I had the same mindset… that as soon as she was 100% healthy enough, we were going to try again.  This time it wasn’t going to be unexpected.  This time, we were on a mission.

Mission succeeded about 11 months later when she delivered our oldest daughter.  We were so happy to hold that baby!  I remember during the delivery that the only contribution I could make in the delivery room was to feed my wife ice chips and help her count as she was pushing.  (Men are worthless in the process, except to take pictures or shoot video.  The ice chips and counting are so the nurses have something to giggle about.)  As the baby was making it’s entrance into the world, my counting out loud turned to sobbing because we finally did it!  We had a child to hold!  So beautiful (as I’m tearing up now just thinking about her) and I fell in love all over again.  A little healing took place that day.

Flash-forward to today.  That baby is now nearly 15 years old.  She has a 9 year-old sister, who was just as beautiful and fulfilling to hold as her older sister was.  They are two distinct personalities, both beautiful in their own way.  And now we’re pregnant again.  Another little life to shape.  Another little soul’s well-being charged to my wife and I.  It would be easy for us to worry, with her being 40 years old and in a high-risk category.  I think deep-down, both of us are a little.  We still think about our little “Peanut” and so both of us have reservations.  It’s like we can’t be 100% elated until we hold this new child and know that it’s alright.  But believe you me, we are praying for a healthy delivery and that this child will  bring glory to God in a mighty way.

Recently God has given me comfort.  I started reading a book called “Heaven is For Real” by Todd Burpo.  It’s an incredible book about Todd’s son Colton, who had a NDE (Near Death Experience).  Colton said he had died on an operating table and that he spent 3 minutes in Heaven with Jesus.  During that time, he met a few people and saw some wondrous sights.  Once the boy had come back into his body and recovered, he later asked his mother, “Mom, did you have a baby that died in your belly?”  His mother was astounded, because as a four year-old boy, there’s no way that he could have known that.  She asks him, “How did you find out about that?”  Colton told his Mom that he met that baby in Heaven, a sister, and that she hugged him and wouldn’t let go.  She didn’t have a name because the Burpo’s had never given her a name, but she was his sister nonetheless.  There are other incredible things that this young boy reveals to his parents about his visit to Heaven, but I won’t share them because I encourage you to read them yourself.  I will tell you though, after reading the book, that I know our little “Peanut” is there in Heaven waiting for Dawn and I and I can’t wait to hug him/her and tell them I love them.  I want to hold all of my children and see what God will make of them, including Peanut.  Including this new baby warming up in Mommy’s belly right now.

We are reserved now to avoid the full blow of pain that miscarriages bring to parents.  We are being careful.  But man, I can’t wait to hold this baby!

Posted in Father @ Forty | 2 Comments