My lovely wife, Brandi, has been blogging for the past few weeks. Her blog is titled Surrender, and it focuses on all aspects of surrendering to God.

She's quite the little blogger now.

This coming Wednesday, my better half and I will have been married for twenty years.

I'm so blessed. I'm blessed to have been married to my best friend for two decades, and to enjoy a love that continues to grow and deepen as time passes. I've learned as I've observed over the past twenty years that not everyone gets to enjoy this in their marriage. I'm so thankful to the Lord who brought us together; two people, different in so many ways (if you know us you'll understand that) but so well matched!

On Saturday we held an intimate vow renewal/celebration ceremony with some close friends and family. It couldn't have been any more perfect; the venue was in the beautiful home of our friends Shawn and Kevin, our pastor led the ceremony, and our friends Meredith, Shawn and Kristi provided the music, and what a beautiful job they did. Our boys escorted Jill down the aisle to the song, "Love will be our home", which was the recessional song at our wedding. I stood up front, holding hands with our daughters, to receive Jill. She was crying as she walked the aisle, just like she was at our wedding (and she swears they are tears of joy, really :-).

During the stating of the vows, the only person I could see was Jill. I know, I know, this post is getting dangerously close to shmaltz-overload, but that's how it was. I was lost in her eyes.

The vows, which this time included vows regarding parenthood, had a different "feel" than they did at our wedding. Deeper. More momentous. I think it's because we've been striving to live our wedding vows these two decades. It's one thing to sing "Household of Faith" at your wedding. It's quite another to actually work to build a household of faith over the years. We've been through two decades trying to do that, living in both great joy and, at times, deep pain. We became parents, which is the greatest experience we've ever had. A great blessing from the Lord, punctuated by moments of extreme terror!

I wouldn't trade any of it. We've learned how much we need the Lord. You've never prayed like you'll pray when your children are going through something hard. And you can never pray enough. But to be able to fight the battles of life with a partner and best friend who stands right alongside you, united in purpose with you, is golden. Gold with diamonds. Priceless.

Jill and I both are fallen humans, saved by grace. We're far from perfect. We strive but fall far short of what God means us to be. But we're so blessed by Him. You will hear people talk about what hard work marriage is. And it is, at times, but I can honestly say that being married to Jill hasn't been hard at all. Lord God, thank You, it's been awesome.

We're currently on a three day getaway, just enjoying time together.

Thanks for twenty great years, sweetie. Lord willing, there are many more ahead of us.

Missing Lost tonight: mild regret (we've recorded it)

One of the best steak Dinners I've ever had (we went to Taste of Texas): about four times more $$$ than what I normally spend on a meal

Time spent with the best men I know: my first born son Andrew, my dad, and Jill's dad, the night before Andrew graduates high school: Priceless

We talked about our lives, our memories. We each shared some of the wisdom we've gleaned as men over the years, passing on to Andrew what insight we can, as he is now a man in his own right. We each gave him a part of our past, in the form of items that hold special significance for us and that are now his. Along with these, I gave him a bound book filled with the poems I wrote for him every year on his birthday, starting before he was born. My wife worked for hours and days on the design and layout of the book. Thanks babe.

Blessings were passed on to him, along with encouragements, stories, special words, and quotes that have inspired us. We told stories of his birth, told stories about our lives. We talked about what it means to be a man.

It was an honor to be able to do this with my dad and Jill's dad, two men I respect more than I can tell.

What a great night.

Well done, Andrew. I'm proud of you.

From Blackfive, via National Review's Corner, a wonderful homecoming.



To our soldiers: Thank you so much for all you do, and we look forward to the day when you are all back home.

This is Bailey. We are dogsitting her for a friend for a few days.



Bailey is hyperactive. She is also probably on crack.

She's also all kinds of awesome.

Please pray for my family, especially for my mother. My grandmother passed away last night.
Thanks.

In which I will likely offend everyone by ranting about certain mommies . . .

Most of you know that I am a stay-at-home dad. I hardly ever talk about that on the blogs any more, and it's not for any real reason except that writing consistently on childraising and housekeeping doesn't interest me at all.

Despite the fact that my own day is made up largely of washing/folding clothes, washing/storing dishes, picking up, cleaning floors and counters, making breakfasts and lunches and dinners (yes, I make our dinners every night too), picking up, getting groceries, taking Macy to and getting Macy from school, picking up, helping with homework, reading with Gracie, playing with Gracie, convincing Gracie that jumping down the stairs could in fact kill her, and other such things (did I mention picking up?), I also don't read many of the endless stay-at-home mom blogs because, frankly, I just find these subjects boring. They're not boring to do, mind you. (Well, some of them are.) They're just boring to read about in a journal sort of fashion. ("Today I got groceries. You should really try the organic buffalo wings. There's a coupon on Coupons.com!" Yawwn.)

But occasionally I do peek into a few mommy blogs. The ones I read regularly are usually by mommies I (sort of) know, and I generally find them interesting solely because I (sort of) know them. But another reason I stay away from most others, besides finding the subject matter uninteresting, is the constant state of lament I find in them.
Mommies are a bunch of whiners.

There. I said it.

I am a dude. I'm not supposed to be good at all this nurturing crap. And despite my role, I'm not an effeminate dude. Yeah, I'm a creative type or whatever, but I'm still a dude, and I'm not wired to be as good at this thing as my wife is.
Nevertheless, I do it. And I realize it must be done. And I don't constantly complain that I have to wash dishes or put clothes away or clean bathrooms. That is life. That is what we're supposed to do.

Is it Oprah's fault? I don't know. But the sense of entitlement is bewildering. I even hear mommies with freaking nannies complain about how hard it is to take care of a kid! That's just ridiculous.
Yes, it's hard. But you're not special. You're not. I don't care what Dr. Phil tells you. Just do it and stop whining. The victim thing is annoying and it can't make you very fun to live with.

Yeah, it'd be nice if your husband helped around the house, blah blah blah. I'm sure he appreciates you letting everyone know of his inadequacy on your blog.

May I point out (again) that I am a dude? You're supposed to be better at this than I am, more natural than I am. You're supposed to find it more rewarding, more fulfilling. (Assuming you think that way, or want to.) So I'm at a genetic disadvantage, and I personally find your claims of victimization unpersuasive. Suck it up.
Not enough hours in the day? Get off the internet.
Too busy? Maybe Suzy doesn't actually need to be in Girl Scouts AND dance class AND Gymboree AND whatever else the heck you've scheduled your future stressed-out multitasking daughter for.

It is as if we are so spoiled today that we have to consider ourselves victims of ordinary life. The stuff our parents and grandparents did without complaint, with less than half the modern conveniences we have, usually in less space and with less money should shame us when we find ourselves whining.

If you cannot find ways to make your daily chores a sacrament, a submissive service dedicated as worship to God that makes you more like Jesus, than at least find ways to remind yourself that having to wash dishes and fold clothes and change diapers really isn't that big a deal.

A few days after hearing of the violent aftermath of Kenya’s disputed election, my wife and I sat with our children for our nightly devotion. We have been reading through the Psalms.

As our children sat at my feet, I read these words from Psalm 10 in my children’s NIrV Bible:

1 Lord, why are you so far away?
Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
2 An evil person is proud and hunts down those who are weak.
He catches weak people by making clever plans.
3 He brags about what his heart longs for.
He speaks well of those who always want more.
He attacks the Lord with his words.
4 Because he is proud, that evil person doesn't turn to the Lord.
There is no room for God in any of his thoughts.
5 Everything always goes well for him.
So he is proud.
He doesn't want to have anything to do with God's laws.
He makes fun of all of his enemies.
6 He says to himself, "I will always be secure.
I will always be happy. I'll never have any trouble."
7 His mouth is full of curses and lies and warnings.
With his tongue he speaks evil and makes trouble.
8 Sinful people hide and wait near the villages.
From their hiding places they murder those who aren't guilty of doing anything wrong.
They watch in secret for those they want to attack.
9 They hide and wait like a lion in the bushes.
From their hiding places they wait to catch those who are helpless.
They catch them and drag them off in their nets.
10 Those they have attacked are beaten up. They fall to the ground.
They fall because their attackers are too strong for them.
11 Sinful people say to themselves, "God doesn't pay any attention.
He covers his face. He never sees us."
12 Lord, rise up! God, show your power!
Don't forget those who are helpless.
13 Why do sinful people attack you with their words?
Why do they say to themselves,
"He won't hold us accountable"?
14 God, you see trouble and sadness.
You take note of it. You do something about it.
So those who are attacked place themselves in your care.
You help children whose fathers have died.
15 Take away the power of bad and sinful people.
Hold them accountable for the evil things they do.
Uncover all the evil they have done.
16 The Lord is King for ever and ever.
The nations will disappear from his land.
17 Lord, you hear the longings of those who are hurting.
You cheer them up and give them hope.
You listen to their cries.
18 You stand up for those whose fathers have died
and for those who have been beaten down.

I love the honesty in the psalmist's cries for justice.

I find this verse particularly applicable to Kenya:

14 God, you see trouble and sadness.
You take note of it. You do something about it.

AFP/Getty Images (via: latimes.com)

So those who are attacked place themselves in your care.

(via: telegraph.co.uk)

You help children whose fathers have died.

(Photograph: Walter Astrada/AFP/Getty via: guardian.co.uk)

You do it so that no one made of dust
may terrify others anymore.

I read today that 7,000 Kenyans are now living in refugee camps in Uganda. Hundreds have been killed.

Please Lord.

This is cool: my daughter Bethany is pictured in the latest edition of PopStar!™ magazine, hanging out with the star of Disney's "As the Bell Rings".

Check it out.

My family and I recently went to Ukraine, to visit my wife's parents, who are missionaries reaching out to the Crimean Tatars.

I've written quite a bit about our experiences there, and have posted a number of pictures as well. If you're interested, you can read my Ukraine posts here.

As voted on by a select panel of my one year old.
Read the rest of this entry . . .

... for my son's Jalapeno Cheese Bread.

So I've been out of touch for a while. I thought today that I'd let you all know what I've been doing. Well, OK, not everything, but I will tell you about something that has become an important part of my day...

My oldest son, Joel(6) is in the first grade. He goes to a Christian school and has to memorize a Bible verse every week. So every day, in the car, on our way to school (a 15 minute drive), we memorize together. A few weeks ago, he was "bored" so I started to tell him the story of "Treasure Island" from memory. He's too young for a book or movie, so I figured I'd give him the "Edited, and Embellished - Daddy Version". I rememberd the basic plot points and made up the rest. I had to go to the internet for help once to remember Ben Gunn's name,and how it ends... He loved it. Well, each time he got in the car, he's ask for a chapter. I started telling him to tell me his verse first, then he'd get the story. Now, each chapter has become motivation and reward for each day's work.

Last week, I began the Three Musketeers. And it worked beautifully. Joel hops in the car now, wherever we are going and rattles off his verse, and says, "Can I hear the next chapter?" Now, I've never actually read "The Three Musketeers", so I went online and got a plot overview. Whew, was it complicated. So I kept searching and finally found the actual script to the Disney Version that was made in 1993 starring Kiefer Sutherland(Athos), Charlie Sheen (Aramis), Oliver Platt (Porthos) and Chris O'donnell as D'artagnan.

It works beautifully. A movie script already adapted and streamlined the basic story for me. I've seen the movie. So I read the script a little each day, and then retell it to Joel in the car. So for the past three weeks, we've been doing the OT books of the Bible...and the three Musketeers every morning. You should hear him, "Ezekiel, Daniel, Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah... OK, Dad, can I hear the next chapter now?"

I retell the story with great melo-drama and sound effects. It helps to be able to editorialize along the way about who is good and bad etc... and to ask, "Do you think D'artagnan will ever get to be a Musketeer?" to build suspense.

We're having so much fun. I highly recommend it.

This was Grace's second year trick-or-treating, but she was still somewhat unclear on the concept. It was an endless frustration to her that people kept calling her Snow White.
"My name is Gracie," she'd correct. "Snow White is just my costume."

We tried explaining playing pretend to her, but she wasn't having any of it.

However you spent the day, evening, or night, remember that today is the day the Lord has made. It doesn't belong to anyone but Him. Rejoice and be glad in it!

Musician Shaun Groves posts on homeschooling. I like it. The post, I mean. I'm fairly ambivalent about homeschooling, but in general I think it's pretty cool.

Here's something, though (and I say this as a guy with a daughter in public school and another who will join her there): The idea that Christian kids should be in public school, particularly elementary aged children, to "influence the culture for Christ" is a little . . . well, weird. Do I hope my daughters will be good Jesus-following influencers, even at young ages? Sure. But they are children. They aren't weapons to be used in the Christian war on culture.

My 2 cents.

Putting on my Kevlar vest . . .

This new book popped upon my screen after I added a book to my wishlist (a historical theology book, go figure): Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's. Looks like a pretty fascinating book for anyone. Here's part of the Publisher's Weekly review:

Robison describes how from nursery school on he could not communicate effectively with others, something his brain is not wired to do, since kids with Asperger's don't recognize common social cues and body language or facial expressions. Failing in junior high, Robison was encouraged by some audiovisual teachers to fix their broken equipment, and he discovered a more comfortable world of machines and circuits, of muted colors, soft light, and mechanical perfection. This led to jobs (and many hilarious events) in worlds where strange behavior is seen as normal: developing intricate rocket-shooting guitars for the rock band Kiss and computerized toys for the Milton Bradley company. Finally, at age 40, while Robison was running a successful business repairing high-end cars, a therapist correctly diagnosed him as having Asperger's. In the end, Robison succeeds in his goal of helping those who are struggling to grow up or live with Asperger's to see how it is not a disease but a way of being that needs no cure except understanding and encouragement from others.

Abigail, my three-year-old, was crying uncontrollably yesterday. Since I already had a video camera in my paw, I pointed it at her and asked her why she was crying. I then grabbed her little arm, waved it back and forth, and did my best attempt to imitate her voice, saying, "Because I'm a Chick!"

Now all three of my kids were running around tonight saying, "Because I'm a chick! Because I'm a chick!"

Eighteen years ago at this time I was a nervous young guy waiting through the hours of labor at my young wife's side. Our lives were about to change forever.

Andrew took a long time to arrive. And he had to "blaze the trail" so to speak, which is the lot of the first-born. If he had been informed at the time that he was about to be put in the care of two completely inexperienced parents, what would he have thought?

He was too busy, though, just trying to get out into the world. Dr. Setzler eventually had to "spoon" him out with forceps. I'll never forget it - all of a sudden there he was. I had a son.

I had a son. It began to sink in. I was a dad. I had a son!

After the initial after-action work, the doctor decided it was time to take Andrew to the maternity ward nursery. Andrew was the only kid on the ward that night, and I was allowed to carry him out the door of the LDR, through the (smokey) nurse's break room and into the nursery. I held Andrew in my arms and began the short journey. And I'll never forget it - I looked down at him, and he looked up at me. Our eyes met, as I wondered at the miracle, and he sized me up.

I've never felt prouder. I felt like lifting him up and presenting him to the heavens, like Kunta Kinte! I wanted to shout. I was a dad. I had a son!

Today Andrew turns eighteen. He's a senior in high school, he's got a beard, he's taller than I am, his voice is deeper, and I believe his mind is deeper too. And I'm left marvelling at what eighteen years can do.

If you know Andrew, you know he has these traits: intelligence, introspection, whackiness, humor, and a personality like deep waters. He's a reader and a thinker, and he's becoming an excellent writer. He has an encyclopedic knowledge and appreciation of literature, music and history. And he's got great musical talent at guitar and vocals. Andrew has been blessed to be a worship leader for the past few years at our church, and he's gone beyond anything I would have imagined in that area. And, though sometimes reluctantly, Andrew constantly finds himself in positions of leadership. It's just the way he's built.

Andrew is also blessed to have good friends who really love him. As Clarence Oddbody once said, "no man is a failure who has friends", and by that measure, Andrew is a great success. Last Saturday we had twenty or so of them over to the house for a birthday party, and our house filled with laughter, shouting, music, and conversation. I went to bed happy that night.

So now we find ourselves in the home stretch of Andrew's childhood, nearing the day when our relationship to our first-born will move permanently away from parent-to-child and will become adult-to-adult. Andrew is becoming a man.

And, just like me, he still has miles to go. But I am content, and joyful, and hopeful on this day. God has always had his hand on Andrew, in ways that have been marvelous, and frightening, and awesome, and real. Being Andrew's dad is a "humbling honor", and I'm constantly driven to my knees in both deep supplication and deep praise for him, for his life, and for the privilege it is to be his dad.

Happy birthday Andrew! I love you.



Our four: Bethany, Andrew, Molly, with Blake up front

Tax-Free Weekend has arrived in Texas, the time every year when the government wipes all the sales taxes off the books for one glorious weekend.

It's nice to be able to go save a few bucks. Saving 7-8% off big ticket (for me, anyway) items like a new pair of boots is good, and saving money on kids' clothes, even better. But we don't do a big shopping binge for back to school. And with the crowds this weekend generates, we usually try to stay away.

The swarm of shoppers is horrendous this weekend. It's like adding the frenzy of the day after Thanksgiving to the last-chance desperation of Christmas Eve.

Are any of you brave enough to tangle with the back to school crowd this weekend?

My son celebrates his birthday today. and incidentally, happens to share his birthday with someone else you may know...

So Happy 6th Birthday JOEL! I'm honored to be your Dad.

Oh and Happy... (what is it? Almost 500?) Birthday to you too Johnny. Or can I call you Jean?

John Calvin - born July 10th, 1509