Babies First Christmas!

Christmas is more fun if you are pro-life.

Joy is Here!

Photo Courtesy of gorp.away.com: the ADK High Peaks
I spent several summers working and living with Joy, another Tapawingo soul-sister. Please check out her blog.

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As John Cheever says, "when you are on vacation, you are already living in the past"--in so many words.

Glimmerings

Was going to upload more, but it's off to the beach...

Auntie Huck

My oldest friend dropped in for a few days to teach me some neighborhood evangelism tricks; namely the art of intentional cookie-giving. But Heidi was certainly happy to see her too!

I wonder about the effect of all this: the amazing people who come to hold my baby and give of themselves in these her earliest days. I found an old picture on my dad's laptop of someone from far away, an uncle, who held me when I was tiny. (see below)

It's gratifying to know that people came from far away to hold me and see me and pray for me. I hope someday Heidi feels the same way.


Of course, being together again brought out the familiar playfulness that comes with remembering when we were young. I'll spare ya'll the video footage of our personal Martha Stewart rendition in the kitchen. And the Michael W. Smith lip-sync. He's a great writer, people.


Thanks, Auntie Huck, for coming to make us both smile!

Morning Routines

I've been getting up really early to try to obtain a little extra measure of productivity these days.

Summer was surprised at my early morning energy.

Here is a video of my pre-work dance routine.

How she's changed...

Mr J. here -

Thought I'd get some more videos on the old blog. I was looking back over some of the videos we have of Heidi and share them. These first bonding moments were amazing:



What really just gets me is how tiny she was as a newborn! And 4 months later she's not so small. Instead she's become a dynamo of activity...
Here she is trying to get out of a sticky rolling predicament:



Heidi even has her own morning leg-stretching routine:

Joy to the World, People!

She reminds me every day!

Jaxon's Three Words!

Jaxon is going public! To see him on Good Morning America go here! Or here!

Christmastime is Heeeeeeeeeere

Well, I'm glad to announce that our Christmas decorations are finally coming together. Now that we're parents we have to play it up a little more:

I'm happy to announce that our ice skating rink is up and running. It took a LONG time and a LOT of water and some serious technology to keep the ice from melting in the 70 degree sunshine we're having every day. But at last, the rink is ready to go.

And the giant life size Hershey's kisses I ordered just arrived this morning. I got this idea from visiting Jim and Tammy Baker's Heritage resort in the 80s when I was seven. Heidi will love it!

The polar bear is here as well. I was a little nervous he wouldn't get along with Una, but so far so good.

And of course we needed a life size gingerbread house.

Plus we decided to borrow the White house Christmas tree.

P.S. actually we have done nothing and probably won't this year since we'll be be travelling so much. If you want to see some cool Christmas stuff going on, check out MM, Kandid Kiwi, and C3. They inspired my post.

16 Weeks (again) More Rollies

So it's starting. I hear Heidi, but I can't see Heidi. She is nowhere near the large quilt I plopped her in the middle of 2 minutes ago. She usually gravitates toward a large piece of furniture and then, sadly, tries cutting her teeth on it. I'm quick, though. I can usually catch her.

Christmas Rolls: Thank you Gramps!

An important transorm-into-parents gift from my parents was some sweet digital movie gear expressly for the purpose of sharing pix of our baby and future babies. I have been taking way too long in figuring out how to use this stuff and am finally getting the hang of it. So enjoy my first home-movie of Heidi practicing some Christmas rolls for upcoming family get-togethers.

I do my own special rendition of "Christmastime is here" which Ricky loves, but I'm saving all my repetitions of that for when we all get together in a few weeks. Seriously, we can't wait to see you all!

Sisters, sisters

Garland House is a blog by Miss Kim who has taught many, many young women what it looks like to live a truly Biblical, Christ-centered life through her example.


Unite My Heart is a blog by another old island friend I've shared many precious memories with.

These women are my other sisters. I don't want to embarrass them by going on and on about how much the Lord used them in my life, but they are an important part of my testimony and I'm so thankful that I can visit them regularly now in the blogosphere!

P.S. Other Tap girls should start a blog now!

What we Did with It

So I'm in with the band. Last night I got an email granting permission to share their song with our little slide show Plus a promise to perform in ABQ if they ever stop here.

We spent last night and this morning putting together some pretty photos we've taken over the years to go with this beautiful song. It ended up being a reflection of Thanksgiving. It's amazing all the places and experiences God has allowed us as individuals and as a little family.

We're thankful.

16 Weeks

Responding to Pinks' Tag: Oh the Deep Deep Love of Jesus

O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free;
Rolling as a mighty ocean
In its fullness over me.
Underneath me, all around me,
Is the current of thy love;
Leading onward, leading homeward,
To thy glorious rest above.

O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
Spread his praise from shore to shore;
How he loveth, ever loveth,
Changeth never, nevermore;
How he watches o'er his loved ones,
Died to call them all his own;
How for them he intercedeth,
Watcheth o'er them from the throne.

O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
Love of ev'ry love the best:
'Tis an ocean vast of blessing,
'Tis a haven sweet of rest.
O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
'Tis a heav'n of heav'ns to me;
And it lifts me up to glory,
For it lifts me up to thee.

--Samuel Trevor Francis

I have always loved this hymn, both for its lyrics and its welsh melody. I listen to it at least once a week, and when things are tough, several times a day. My favorite version of it is by Third Lobby and I'm hoping they'll give me permission to share it here one of these days.

One summer at camp we were playing our nightly game with the campers and the challenge was for each team to construct a boat out of duct tape and cardboard. Then each counselor was supposed to get in the boat and compete in a race of duct-tape/cardboard boats.

The event was as hilarious as it sounds. We all looked so sorry in our funny little contraptions trying to stay afloat. Within minutes nearly every boat had given way to the depths of the lake and the race was over.

So that's what I think of whenever I hear this hymn: we like to play it safe with Christ's love, to stay in control of it, to only engage it as far as it's comfortable for us. We build our sorry little paper boats of "what we think is best" and just try to skim the surface of His Deep Deep Love.

But thankfully, mercifully, His love pulls us down into its depths, beyond safety and comfort, to a place that passes all understanding, boundless, free.

Tagging: MM, Kendall, Boo, and Mary

The Posture of Reconciliation: Thoughts on Sunday School

Painting by Tamara Paetkau

We know Esau was the bad one. But he did one thing right in running out to meet his brother.

The Prodigal's father ran out to meet him. He didn't wait to hear what the terms were. He didn't wait to hear his son apologize.

Joseph didn't just give his brothers the food they needed, though he easily could have refused it, and justly so. He didn't wait for an apology.

He didn't just say, "it's me, look at me now," or say, "it's cool, see you later, good luck with that grain issue."

He actively, persistently pursued reconciliation between his brothers and himself. He didn't worry about whether they ever wanted to see him again or what their spiritual state was, or whether they had repented. He longed for their fellowship again.

I heard about a church who lost a member to adultery. She wanted to to live with her boyfriend and knew she had to leave the church to do so. The church laid down the discipline. She was not a member in good standing.

But the elders of the church visited her regularly; they stood at her door and knocked. They called her, they reminded her that they loved her; they begged her to come back, not just to their church, but to come back to Christ.

And one day, she came back. No one stood in corners and whispered. No one hesitated. They ran out to meet her. They shouted out praises to Heaven. They loved her. They welcomed her back.

Behold, Christ stands at the door and knocks.

Almost ten years ago I wrote a letter to my parents. I said I was sorry for everything. I was living 700 miles away at the time. They got in the car that night and drove to where I was. They ran out to greet me. I was Home.

More Thankful

Tomorrow night our little church will sit in a circle balancing plates of pie on our knees and we will share what we're thankful for this year. The circle will be smaller than it was last Thanksgiving, but also louder.

I think we're all still spinning from everything that has happened corporately and individually in our little body as of now, 2007. If you read this blog and are no longer with us, please consider coming back, if only one week at a time. If we have sinned against you (individually) please let us know. If we can make it right, please tell us how. And if you miss us as much as we miss you, please come and have some pie. Heidi wants to meet you.

I went Into the Wild one time

Since oh, about 1999 I've had the rough outline of an Into the Wild screenplay on my Ibook. I read the book at least 5 times during college, thought about it, dreamt about it, and listened to the Harrod & Funk Song about it. The first time I heard the story was at a Harrod and Funk concert. The two singers told it slowly, each finishing each other's sentences and then sang the song they had written about Chris. I think it was one of the first works of art to come out of his misadventure. At the time those two folksingers were singing on the streets of Boston and I imagined them telling the story in the subways to busy passers-by. It would have made a great movie beginning.

Most people are familiar with the story by now: Chris McCandless burns up his $24,000 trust fund, abandons his yellow Datsun in a national park, and spends 2 1/2 years traipsing the continent under the pseudonym Alexander Supertramp.

And plenty of people in my generation have had the same dream: to leave it all behind (except for your Tolstoy and your Thoreau and your Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance), and hit the highway. That was my dream anyway. I have the journal entries to prove it. I spent my college summers working on beaches and in forests, living on the sand and on the trail, wondering if I had it "in me" to really be like Christ McCandless and live out on my own like he did.

In the autumn of my junior year at Wheaton I found out. It was fall break and I wanted to really go on a trip, do something exciting on my break instead of going home this year. I wanted to come back all breathless and excited and high on my independence. I had read Bryson's A Walk in the Woods and had dreams of the Appalachian Trail. It seemed like something Chris McCandless would have done.

But I didn't just want to hike the AT, I wanted to hike it in North Carolina. I had a friend from high school who had just moved there. We made plans for me to drive the 20 hours there, hike for 2 days, and drive 20 hours back to Wheaton, IL. This actually made sense to me at the time. Somehow I bewitched my friend Sara to go with me. Her husband still teases her about it.

Chris McCandless was into taking uneccessary risks, like not bringing a map, or only bringing enough rice for so many days and travelling for so many more, etc. We took some risks too. My 1988 Audi was a risk on wheels. We left at 5 p.m. on a Friday night. We drove through the Appalachians around 3 in the morning skirting semis and cliffs. We stopped at gas stations and popped the hood, staring into the engine in the worst hours of the night. "One in jeans, one in corduroys!" I remember a hairy Appalachian man saying as he watched us pour water into my leaking radiator from a teapot.

We arrived at a friend of a friend's of my friend around 1 p.m. the next day. Arn greeted us. His name was actually Aaron, but the accent made it Arn. "Ya'll interested in smokin some herb?" he asked. "No thanks," we said. Arn went to the stove and started cooking up some onions and tofu. Sara and I crashed on the floor in our sleeping bags with Erica, who was totally excited to see us.



A few hours later we were napped, packed, and ready to hit the trail. We were going to follow Erica's little white porsch. Another friend of one of her friends had given her a map to some great trail in this fabulous gorge somewhere. Three hours later we stopped at a general store for more gas. "We're really close, you guys!" said Erica. Two hours later found us driving through a backwoods neighborhood with Unabomber shacks lining the shock-defying trail every 2 miles or so. I started remembering the article I had read in Backpacker magazine about the two girls who had been axed to death on the Appalachian trail.

Another hour later we were at the trail head. We had two quarts of water and the sun was setting. From the map it looked like a 5 mile descent into the gorge where the river was. Best get moving. Chris McCandless would have done it.

Ten minutes into our hike the sun had sent and the foliage was so heavy we were hiking in blackness. We turned on our flashlights and persisted. But the trail was fading in the darkness, and it didn't seem worth losing it. We were next to a giant face of rock which I was fairly sure I had identified on the map so at least we knew where we were for the night. We decided to call it quits and go to sleep where we were, wake up early in the morning, and have an amazing breakfast at the bottom of the gorge.

Oh, btw, in true Chris McCandless style we hadn't brought a tent. Or tarps. We threw down our sleeping bags and crawled in them. My two friends fell asleep immediately. For me, the adventure had just begun.

I'll never know what my deal exactly was. Given, since we had gone to sleep right after sun down, it was probably only around 6 p.m., so it makes sense that I couldn't sleep. But the fear factor is what blows my mind. I had spent the entire previous summer sleeping in forests all over the upper Midwest, so this shouldn't have been unusual. I think it was the drive into the woods with all those scary houses that set me off.

But trying to sleep in those woods (for me) was like trying to sleep in Jurassic Park. It was that loud. Trees were splintering, twigs were snapping, all the indications of another presence were around us. Maybe Southern raccoons are really big, but that was the scariest night of my life. I didn't even want to wake the others to ask them if they were hearing the noises--I didn't want whatever it was to hear us. Any moment, I thought--any moment this thing is either going to eat us, or turn on the flashlight in our faces and commit a Backpacker Magazine worthy crime.

I crouched in my sleeping bag and repented of all my sins. I thought about my parents house (like the prodigal)--how everyone was safe there. I thought about my Nanny and Pawpaw's house in Kentucky and vowed that if we survived the night we were going there first thing in the morning.

The noises never stopped. But whatever it was, it never found us.

The next morning we woke up to find three young shaggy men staring at us curiously. My heart dropped again. Then I noticed their climbing ropes.

"Good morning," they said, and walked about five steps past us and began setting up their route.

I looked around and realized we were sleeping exactly in the middle of a trail. And under a 400 foot rock face. And in the way of a lot of climbers.

"We are leaving," I announced. Erica was cool about it. So was Sara. We hiked the 10 minutes out of the wild, back into our cars, and I drove to Kentucky as fast I could. My Nanny greeted us at the door. She made us chicken salad and brownies and tucked us into bed.

That definitely wasn't my last backpacking trip. But it was my last "I don't need any maps or help from anyone else into-the-wild-esque attempt." I'm glad.

I used to tell this story to my students. The myth of man's independence is a myth. None of us are really self-reliant (sorry Emerson). Chris wanted to much to embody the ideals of the Primordial Beast...but they are not true. Nothing is subjective. You have to have a map to survive. You need community to thrive. And the false pride that comes of thinking otherwise can lead only to disaster if not death in one sense or another.

P.S. I still haven't seen the Sean Penn movie yet. That's really what brought on this lil post.

14 Weeks

To see pictures of Heidi's 14th week, go here. As you can see, we've been busy and having fun! Heidi's Nanny-Great came on Monday and just left this morning. Pictures soon.

On another note, please keep us in your prayers--we lost a dear friend last week whom both husband and I knew well in college and I knew from working at camp in high school. We are praying about attending services and hope it will be feasible.

It's getting to where every time the phone rings I wonder if we've lost another loved one. Please be in prayer for the families of the recent departed.

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

More of 13 Weeks: Baptism