Last night I dreamed that Brandi and I arrived somewhere on an airplane. After getting off the plane, we were on a runway and we saw that there was a lot of commotion. From someone's trunk people were passing out bullet proof vests. I grabbed one, put it on Brandi, and then put one on myself.

We then ran through a crowd of people, pushing our way through doors and making our way down escalators. At some point, I knew we were running toward our children. Brandi couldn't keep up, so I left her there and ran on toward a building that our children were inside of.

Once inside the building I looked around for our children, but couldn't find them. Finally, from around a corner, Nathan walked up to me. In his typical way, he began to talk over me (he has Asperger Syndrome), telling me about something he had just experienced as if he had seen me every day for the past 11 months. I got down on my knees, hugged him, put my hands on his face and said, "I have missed you so much."

At that point, while noticing that Brandi had caught up to me, I cried.

Then I woke up. And I cried.

There have been times -- many times that are too numerous to count -- when all that separates me from my children is a wall. A wall of stone. A wall of drywall. A wall of wood. I'm not speaking metaphorically here. Many times the only physical object that has kept me apart from my beautiful children has been a literal wall. In those times, my children have been ignorant to the fact that their daddy is on the other side of that wall.

As of Friday we have officially hired an attorney to petition the judge to allow the removal of another type of wall -- a wall of obstinacy. We'll probably hear some initial news here within a few days, but we might not get any real traction or change for at least a couple of weeks, maybe more.

I love my children. I love Nathan, Daniel, Abigail, and Evangeline. They are my favorite people in the world, and I hope one day they'll understand why I could not be with them during this time. I hope God uses this in their lives to make them better, more like Him.

And we still wait for the salvation of Yahweh.

Be exalted, O LORD, in your strength!
We will sing and praise your power.
-- Psalm 21:13 (ESV)

We're still waiting on something to happen. The people in BC have had the information they need in their paws for at least three business days now, so, Lord willing, we'll hear something in the earlier part of the week.

I have not gotten my hopes up at all; and I must say seeing my kids would be such an unbelievable joy that it almost seems like it's outside the realm of reality. I have no framework in which to mentally process such a possibility. No matter what the circumstances, the day I see them again will be the happiest day of my life.

I've often thought about the war motifs and metaphors in the Old Testament as a beneficial picture of spiritual warfare for present day believers, in a 2 Corinthians 10 and Ephesians 6 sort of way. As we've been going through Nehemiah on Sunday mornings at Antioch, I've been encouraged by much of the imagery of being ready for battle, with a sword on your hip, while walls are being rebuilt. And there is no fear:

"Do not be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your homes" (Nehemiah 4:14 ESV).

And later, verse 20 proclaims, "Our God will fight for us."

The battle belongs to JESUS; what a comforting thought. To that end, I would like to ask you all again to call out to the Lord on behalf of my children. As 2 Corinthians 1:11 says, "You also must help us by prayer ..."

Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. ... From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords. -- Revelation 19:11, 15 & 16 (ESV)

Pray without ceasing ... -- 1 Thessalonians 5:17

In my mind I think I've been leaning more toward Pray until you pass a polygraph, but Brandi reminded me this morning via email that now is a critical time to pray.

From her journal this morning:

Now it is easy to "relax" in prayer. But I felt reminded by the Spirit that now is just as critical. Decisions will be made based on the pass and we want God's best and for Him to be glorified.

We still don't know what the future holds. If the authorities are logical, they will allow me back in my home immediately. But I've seen that all too often rational thought means virtually nothing when people who are far removed from a situation go into "cover their tail" mode. Right now, nothing is a foregone conclusion. The contretemps that is the past nine months is still not over, and who knows what God has in store for the future?

With that said, I'm believing God to be reunited with my family by April. Please pray with me to that end. I know it will happen. But if not, I still will not serve the god of this age.

He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces ... -- Isaiah 53:3 (ESV)

In a strange way, that aspect of JESUS' life -- the rejection, the sorrow, the grief -- is what compels me the most these days.

I woke up again this morning (at 5 a.m.) with my emotions rattled from a dream I was having about seeing my children. I looked over to Abigail, she was crying, and my emotions spiked and woke me up. I wish I could have stayed there.

As I tossed and turned, ruminating on my grief, I thought of Isaiah 53:3. It didn't make the pain go away, but it made me thankful that God simply knows. He knows suffering. The Father via the Son's suffering ("He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?"), and the Son was, as Isaiah points out, "acquainted with grief."

I'm alright now. But at any time during the day I can have a "Then I remember" moment. I had one yesterday at work, just sitting at my desk. I had to fight back tears and regain composure.

In order to deal with the pain of life, I have several needles to choose from: food, TV, games, books, sleep, the Internet, et cetera. There are some I've never been tempted to try; alcohol abuse and narcotics come to mind. There are some, by God's grace, I'll never go back to. Through it all, though, His pain -- His blood -- is the salve my wounds ache for. And by His grace I am hopefully "always carrying about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life of Jesus also may be manifested ..." (2 Cor. 4:10).

The Son of God suffered unto the death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like His.
-- George MacDonald (via C.S. Lewis)

I am so thankful for these little guys and gals. I love knowing that I'm their father, and no one can ever change that. This shot was taken by Brandi around Christmas time.

Two nights ago I had a dream that I came face-to-face with my children and didn't have anywhere to hide. So I spent a few minutes hugging them, telling them I love them, and that I'll be home soon. Normally, in those types of dreams, my emotions get so ramped that I end up waking up. Not so in this case, at least not initially.

After a few minutes of happiness, I noticed Daniel seemed like he was holding back tears. I said, "Are you alright, Daniel?" He nodded his head and his lips started to quiver. I hugged him again and said, "Don't be sad, Daniel." At that point I started to cry and, of course, that jarred me awake. I woke up crying.

That's the rhythm of my dreams these days. I was thankful this time that I actually spent a few minutes with them. It was nice.

If you think about it, please pray for them today. Please pray for Brandi.

I talked to someone last night who has grown up in a Christian context (though not evangelical), but seems to have no biblical knowledge whatsoever and no understanding of the gospel. By exterior appearances this person could be considered deeply religious, yet still lacking even a rudimentary understanding of the basic tenets of the Christian faith.

The encounter reminded me of my time in the BC jail, where everyone is a "Christian" but most don't have a minimal grasp of what that actually means. Most inmates kept a Bible by their bunk as a sort of talisman to ward off evil spirits, give their court cases a favorable outcome, and to sidestep an eternity in hell -- but if you asked them to look up John 3:16, they'd probably have trouble finding it.

The fact is the scales do not fall from anyone's eyes unless God makes them fall. The reason we choose Him is because He chooses us (Ephesians 1:4). During this season of life especially, that gives me great comfort. My heart is warmed by the fact that not even insignificant little birds fall to the ground apart from His will (Matthew 10:29).

So I'm left with a thankful heart. I'm thankful that it pleased God to separate me from my mother's womb and to call me by His grace (Galatians 1:15). And I'm thankful that, as the old hymn goes, "Jesus sought me while a stranger, wandering from the fold of God." As the psalmist says, our God is in heaven, and He does whatever He pleases.

So when I see blank stares from people whose minds are apparently "blinded, who do not believe, lest the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine on them" (2 Cor. 4:4), I'm often times filled with hope and awe, knowing that even someone's stubborn will -- or obstinacy -- is no match for the will of Yahweh. As Romans 8:28 says, "All things work together for good to those who love God, for those who are called according to His purpose."

My children are without their father right now -- He knows that, and He's using it for His glory. It's working out for good. I believe that with all my heart, because the light of the gospel shines brighter in dark places.

Nathan, Daniel, Abigail, and Evangeline, I love you all so much. I think about all of you, literally, every hour of every day. JESUS is with you, my babies.

I ate dinner with Brandi tonight. I was a bit melancholy but she helped cheer me right up. She's good that way.

I just miss my kids so much. Nothing in life is the same without them. In many ways I've achieved a kind of normalcy in this season of life and I'm making appropriate adjustments, but I still feel like a wanderer. And I still sometimes feel a deep sense of loneliness. The burden of separation is a difficult thing to think about.

So I don't think sometimes. I work. I watch football. I read. I blog. I sleep. Because when I think, I feel pain. On the other hand, I know that the reality of this present pain will make the joy of reunion all the more memorable. But when is that going to happen? Blocked love is tantamount to excruciating pain.

I love my children. In Romans 9 Paul says, "For I could wish that I myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my countrymen according to the flesh." Yesterday I had a thought, Could I say that about my kids? That I could wish that I myself were accursed from Christ for their sake? Absolutely. It's comforting to know, though, that it's not up to me, but it's up to God. He'll perfect the work in them, and He'll guide us through this valley of deep darkness. Joy comes in the morning.

Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling,
And to present you faultless
Before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy,
To God our Savior,
Who alone is is wise,
Be glory and majesty,
Dominion and power,
Both now and forever.
Amen.
-- Jude 24 & 25

Thursday was a good day.

I had a routine meeting with my therapist and at the meeting I asked him if I could send letters to my kids. He picked up his phone, called my probation officer in McLennan County, and left a message to this effect, "Hi, [insert name here]. This is Dr. [insert name here]. I've got Eric here in my office and what I'm wanting to do is move him toward family reunification. The first step in that is allowing him to be able to send letters to his kids. What do we need to do to make that happen on your end?" So we await her response.

Now, if for some reason, BC comes back and says, "No, you can't write letters," then we'll have a valid argument with which to approach the judge: "Look, judge, my therapist -- the guy appointed by the state -- is saying I need to have some sort of contact with my kids and that I need to be moving toward family reunification. May we do that?" Of course, the judge could still say no, but with the professional therapist on our side, our chances are much better.

After my meeting with the therapist, I got the call from the mysterious stranger wanting to give me his truck. Not a bad day. The truck is the nicest vehicle I've ever owned. It's been well cared for and looks absolutely beautiful. I'm amazed.

On Wednesday (obviously, the day before Thursday), my former truck (which, in reality, is a small wheelbarrow with a 4-cylinder engine attached to it) had gotten a flat tire. When I was getting the tire fixed, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness. I thought, Thank you, God, for this little beat up farm truck. Thank you that it runs right now, and even if it breaks down on the way to work, I'm still so thankful for it and for everything you've done in my life. The sense of thankfulness was so overwhelming, I had to text a few people right then to tell them how I was feeling. It was great!

God is faithful. And even if I had never gotten the call about that truck, He'd still be faithful.

If you're reading this and you have children, go hug them and tell them you love them.

I have a deeper understanding of the impermanence of life these days. I never would have thought -- ever -- that I would lose my children. Yes, I knew my sins were great, and that I would have to suffer consequences for them, but in my naivete I had never dreamed that I would be taken away from my children in such a way. The thought simply never crossed my mind. After my repentance in January 2008, I thought the hard part of life was over.

Last Sunday Brandi and I went to Dayton Black's funeral -- he was only 32. Dayton is the son of Richard and Cathy Black; those two have been exceptionally good and close friends to Brandi and me for more than 10 years.

On July 23, Richard and Cathy had me over to their home for a meal. It was refreshing to eat a home-cooked meal on a real plate with non-plastic utensils. After the meal Richard and I sat in his living room while I tried to express the pain and anguish I was presently going through. Richard's warm encouragement left me with a sense of well-being that night, and I walked away from his place a slightly better person. I was sharpened.

Only two months later, Brandi and I found ourselves at Dayton's funeral. How does that happen? How does someone go from life to death in such a short space of time? Dayton even joined Richard and I for a bit of conversation on that July night. I remember thinking back then, Man, this guy is huge! He could kill me if he wanted to. And it was true. He was a semi-pro football player, full of life and health -- the exact opposite of physical death. Now he's gone.

My problems seem so small in comparison to literal, physical death. How do you look a friend in the eye, a friend who just lost his only son, and say anything that makes any sense? "I understand your pain." No, I don't. "I'm feeling similar feelings, Richard." No, I'm not. "I know what it's like to lose touch with a child." No, I don't -- not in that way. My sons are still breathing. His is dead. Big difference.

Life truly is a vapor, and nothing is permanent. Only JESUS.

"He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?" (Romans 8:32)

One thing about my children is they love people. I wasn't like that when I was their age, and in many ways, I'm not like that today. When I was a kid I would literally run and hide when people came to our door. My kids, on the other hand, run to see who's arrived at our home and openly embrace anyone who crosses our threshold. In fact, someone showing up at our home actually makes their day. It's like a ray of sunshine to them. They love everyone.

So, if you're reading this, and you know my kids, just know that they love you and that seeing you actually makes their life a little bit more joyful -- a little bit better.

I've got a basic, ubiquitous level of pain that never goes away -- ever. I could be having a great day, be full of the joy of the Lord, and really loving life ... but the pain would still be there.

For the most part, on a daily basis, life is alright. I spend time with JESUS, I'm constantly encouraged by the word of God, I listen to solid biblical teaching, and I pray for my family. But below the surface of what I've come to call "normal life," there's a Leviathan of pain and anguish that I don't think will ever be assuaged this side of being able to see my children again.

I am, however, constantly amazed by the grace of God. His grace truly is sufficient for everything.

Victor Hugo is some kind of genius. His brilliant insights into faith, human nature, politics, culture, and life in general, really shine through in Les Miserables. Here's a scene from the book that really struck a chord with me, and, considering the circumstances, it's apropos. In the scene Marius Pontmercy -- who never knew his father -- was attending mass, sitting quietly in an out of the way spot, when an old man approached him, wanting his seat:

"I don't want you to have a bad impression of me. You see I think a great deal of that place. The mass seems better to me there. Why? I'll tell you why. For ten years, regularly, every two or three months, I would see a poor, brave father come to that spot; he had no other opportunity and no other way of seeing his child, as he was prevented through some family agreement. He came at the hour when he knew his son was brought to mass. The little one never suspected that his father was here. Perhaps he did not even know that he had a father, the innocent child! The father would stay behind a pillar, so that nobody would see him. He looked at his child, and he wept. This poor man worshiped the little boy. I could see that. . . . He is dead, I believe . . . his name is something like Pontmarie, Montpercy. . . ."

"Pontmercy," said Marius, turning pale.

"Exactly; Pontmercy. Did you know him?"

"Monsieur," said Marius, "he was my father."

The old churchwarden clasped his hands, and exclaimed, "Ah! You are the child! Yes, that is it; he ought to be a man by now. Well! Poor child, you can say you had a father who loved you dearly." (Pg. 629)

Now flip over a couple of pages, and Marius is deep in reverie:

He was filled with regret and remorse, and he reflected with despair that he could not divulge all his inmost thoughts except to a tomb. Oh! If only his father were living, if he still had him, if God in his mercy and goodness had allowed his father to be still alive, how he would have run, how he would have hurtled, how he would have cried out to his father, "Father! I'm here! My beliefs are the same as yours! I am your son!" How he would have embraced his white head, wet his hair with tears, gazed at his scar, taken him by the hand, admired his clothing, kissed his feet! Oh! Why had this father died so soon, so young, before justice was rendered, before the love of his son! Marius felt a continual pang in his heart. . . ." (pg. 631)

We had a difficult time last night. Brandi called me after 10 p.m. and told me the kids had a hard "we miss daddy" time.

They had watched an episode of Little House on the Prairie where Charles (their father) had to leave his family for a long time to go find work. The family struggled without him there, but by the end of the episode they were all reunited and happy. Brandi said when the episode was over, she thought everyone was alright but then Daniel started weeping, and all the other kids joined in. The whole incident lasted about half an hour.

Here's the thing, in light of what my therapist (see the blog post below) requested from us, we feel like we're in a holding pattern as far as telling the kids what the situation is. What makes things worse is they still think they can talk to me on the phone -- that breaks my heart. Nathan even said, "I'll call daddy tomorrow. That will make me feel better."

We need wisdom from the Lord. Despite the therapist's suggestion, we're both leaning toward Brandi letting the kids know some of the situation, and explaining to them why I can't talk to them on the phone for now.

I feel like I'm tied down, immobile, and my children are being tortured before my eyes while I'm powerless to do anything about it.

From Psalm 143:

For the enemy has persecuted my soul;
He has crushed my life to the ground;
He has made me dwell in darkness,
Like those who have long been dead.
Therefore my spirit is overwhelmed within me;
My heart within me is distressed. . . .

Deliver me, O Yahweh, from my enemies;
In You I take shelter.

I know God is actively delivering us through this fiery trial. I know that for His refining fire to take effect, we must go through times like this. This fire feels like hell, though.

Still, He whispers, My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.

By God's grace, two and a half years ago I stopped using pornography. I had always heard nightmare stories of lapses, relapses, and the pain associated with breaking the bonds of such a sin, and shortly after giving it up I was fully prepared (at least mentally) for an onslaught of temptation. It never came. I haven't had a "drop" of pornography since January 2008. Thank you, JESUS.

While I believe that most people who walk away from that particular sin go through a process that eventually leads to complete freedom, God decided to set me free instantly. BAM! It was done. (Paradoxically, I may be a fool, but I'm certainly not a fool. I know that I'm capable of any sin under the sun, and I know that without JESUS I'd run straight to the bondage of the temporal pleasures of passing sin.)

With that said, I can't get over my family. Dropping pornography was easy; dropping my family is impossible. The Force of Love is stronger than the force of sin, and I feel that force, that power, drawing my thoughts toward my family all of the time. I can't stop thinking about them. I can't stop wondering what they're doing. I can't stop grieving over what feels like a living death. Yet, despite the grief, I rejoice in the truth, knowing this trial can not last forever, and that the pain I feel today will recede when the joy of a reunited tomorrow is finally fulfilled.

I want to long for Heaven the way I long for my family. I want to long for JESUS that way. I want to feel homesick while present in this body, knowing that to be absent from it is far better. To live is Christ, and to die is gain.

Like John I want to lean against our Rabbi's chest and feel His heartbeat. Like Peter I want to hear Him dismiss my stray thoughts and say, "What is that to you? You follow me." Like Paul, I want to hear Him say, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness."

I want JESUS.

This is a rerun of a post I did a month or so ago on my personal blog. I thought it would be appropriate to post it again here.

Nathan -- As I write this you're 10 years old. I'll never forget when your mommy and I found out she was pregnant and that we were going to have a baby boy -- we were so happy. And the day you were born was one of the happiest days we've ever had. Since that day in 1999, you've brought us so much joy. I never knew how much I could love another human being until you came into my life. Nathan, I love you so much it hurts. I love you, my son. I love you, and I'm so proud of you. I'm proud of the man that you are becoming and I'm proud of everything you do. Please know that nothing can ever separate you from Jesus' love, and all I want for you is to live for Him. Follow Him all of your days. I love you, Nathan.

Daniel -- When your mommy and I found out we were having another boy, we rejoiced! We knew you and Nathan would be lifelong friends, and we knew you would always be there for each other. As you grew older, your sweet personality captivated us and to this day we love your sensitive nature and the fact that you seem to love hugs more than any of your siblings. Daniel, you make me so happy. I love you. You're a handsome young man and I know God has special things in store for your life. Please always know that your daddy loves you, and that Jesus loves you too. No matter what, Jesus is always with you.

Abigail -- You're a beautiful princess, because you belong to the King of Kings. Oh Abigail, you remind me of your mommy so much. You're sweet like her, your hair is curly like her hair, and you're every bit as beautiful as your mommy. I love you so much, Abigail. I'll always keep you in my heart, and I'll always love and pray for you -- as long as you live! You can live all of your life, Abigail, knowing that your daddy loves you. I love you, my little princess. I love you! Remember, Jesus loves you more than anyone, and He always will.

Evangeline -- My little angel, Eve. You came into our lives a little over a year ago, and you came as a gift from God, like a shower of grace just when we needed it. I'll always believe that on that warm June day in 2009, when you came into the world and your mommy and I held you, we realized that we needed you just as much as you needed us. Your name, Evangeline Grace, echoes the Gospel of Grace, and your life is a tangible reflection of Abba's grace in our lives. We didn't deserve you, but God gave you to us anyway. I'll always love you no matter what. You can never lose my love, ever.

I just got back from my aunt's funeral in Houston. It was good to celebrate her life and to know that she died in the Faith, and that now she's standing before the Lord.

During the eulogy my mind started to drift, and I began thinking about being at that funeral with Brandi and the kids (they were back in Waco), and how happy I would be to have the "responsibility" of watching my four little children during the funeral service. I imagined Daniel leaning his little head against my shoulder, whispering in my ear to ask me when the service would end. It was a good daydream.

Just to reiterate, as of right now, I'm not supposed to have have any communication whatsoever with my children. The past few days have been difficult, being separated from them completely as if they don't exist. But they do exist, and the force of the love I feel for them is truly stronger, I think, than anything I've ever felt in my life. It feels weighty, like intense pressure on my heart.

Don't misunderstand me, I love my wife more than anyone on earth, but the force of that love has never had to endure complete separation. When I repented of my sins two-and-a-half years ago (what a happy day), Brandi and I began a process of reconciliation that eventually built a love-wall, if you will, brick by brick, around our relationship. We still work on that wall. We still add bricks and fix patches, but it's a strong edifice now compared to what it was back then.

With my children, I loved them from the moment I saw them. And even when I lived a life of duplicity, I loved them -- despite the depths of my depravity. Still, back then, pre-January 2008, my love for them was still in many ways a shallow love. When I finally breathed the free air of repentance, my relationship with my children began to blossom. Abigail, who was previously indifferent to me, began to fall in love with me, and I with her. (Now I think she's the sweetest, most beautiful little girl I've ever seen. No, I know that. And the interesting contradiction here is I also know that's true about Evangeline as well.)

So I'll say it again, the force of my love for my children is strong: Too strong to forget about them; too strong to not pray for them; and too strong to not long for the day when I will see them again, and hold them again. I've often thought that that day will be the happiest day of my life, and with no exaggeration, I can say that is true. It's almost overwhelming to think about.

Nathan. Daniel. Abigail. Evangeline. I love them more than anyone or anything in creation.