As many of you know, my wife, after 13 years of yearning and dreaming of carrying life in her womb, had a successful embryo implantation in November and is now entering into her 2nd trimester of pregnancy.
While we have enjoyed bringing along our friends, family and even church on this amazing voyage, it has meant that the process has been pretty transparent at every level. So, in order to keep one thing a surprise, we have chose to withhold "her" (yes we know it's a girl) name until we are blessed with her presence; when we hold her for the first time and stare lovingly into her beautiful eyes.
Needless to say, this is driving our boys, well, nuts. They desperately want to know her name. So, since we aren't telling, they've decided to call her "Cindy Vortex," hence the title of this post. I guess Cindy Vortex is a character on Jimmy Neutron.
Anyway...
I wrote the following poem for her and framed it and gave it to my wife for Christmas. I hope you enjoy it. It's called, "Baby Girl."
Baby Girl
Baby girl, I saw you today for the first time, and what I beheld I can sum up in a word: Gorgeous. I don’t mean the color of your eyes or the long, flowing mane of your hair, as black and straight as a winter’s raven-colored sky. I’m not talking about the color of your auburn skin or the cute slope of your nose. You see, I saw beauty that was much more than skin deep. Beauty that is far greater than the sum of its parts. Today, I beheld a thing that, for the ancients, was impossible to imagine, let alone conceive. For today, I beheld you, baby girl, a candle pulsing in the darkness. Not flesh of my flesh nor bone of my bone. But heart of my heart and soul of my soul. And as I beheld you, your life flashed before my eyes. Today, I imagined first smiles and first steps. First words and first days of school. Today, I began rehearsing my speech for your suitors. That’s right, I said suitors, because not just anyone’s gonna date my baby girl. Today, I prayed for the heart and soul of the man who would commit his life to you – to honor, cherish, treasure, and adore you for the miracle of God you are. Today, I walked you down the aisle, struggling in vain to hold back tears that refused to be subdued, insisting that this moment be baptized in water and the Spirit. Today, I laughed with grandkids and great-grandkids who had your eyes and their Father’s heart. Children of the New Israel who will truly be the means by which all the nations of the earth shall finally receive their blessing. Today, I sang Hannah’s song to the tune of Mary’s Magnificat. Today, I laughed with the audacity of Sarah and reveled in Rachel’s redemption. Today I understood what is must have been like for Zechariah to have his words stolen from him until he could utter speech that birthed hope. Today, I hoped for a world in which a woman would no longer be judged by the flawless elasticity or color of her skin, but rather, as brother Martin said, “By the content of her character.” Today, I envisioned a world in which a woman would be president, where stereotypes and caricatures of feministic fault lines would shift on tectonic plates of truth, justice, and the way of the kingdom. Today, whew, today I beheld you as God beheld me.
And, for a moment, all was right with the world.
Peace,
E
I sit at a desk this morning, November 19th, some 950+ miles from my home. In just two short hours, my wife and I will make our way to the National Embryo Donation Center in Knoxville, Tennessee, in hopes that one of the embryos that we have adopted will take root in her womb, and allow my wife the gift of birthing a child into this world.
It seems somewhat fitting to me that this is the context out of which I write this morning for this edition of the Trumpeter. For the month of December is all about hope isn’t it?
Hope that salvation is coming.
Hope that God will truly fulfill his plan for a broken, twisted and fragmented humanity in Jesus.
Hope that what happened that cold dark evening so long ago, in the little burro of Bethlehem, just may in fact be true.
I thought about Mary and Joseph a lot over the last several days. Now, let me be clear, I am in no way comparing myself to them; my wife is not carrying in her womb the Son of God. But I did think about what they must have went through.
Although Lisa and I, like Mary and Joseph, have traveled a great distance, we did it largely in comfort and ease. To be sure the car was cramped and the two days getting here were long, but at least my wife didn’t have to travel on the back of a donkey, as I slowly lead it along.
While Mary was great with child, my wife is great with the hopes of finally knowing what it is to feel a baby kick within her, perhaps much the same way Mary felt when Jesus leapt inside her when she was greeted by her cousin Elizabeth, who’s womb bore the forerunner of Jesus: John the Baptist.
Lisa and I are in Knoxville out of our own free will; no tyrannical dictator demanded that we come to be counted. Yet there is a purpose for us, just as there was a purpose for them.
Yet much like Mary and Joseph, hope births within us this morning. Not just the hope of having a baby, although that is a powerful pull on both of us. But, rather, the hope that we as a people might realize we are part of a magnificent story. A story in which we, human beings, who are the grand antagonists, destined to have our on way and be our own gods, are pursued by a divine love that is strong enough to demonstrate itself in weakness; to allow love to seep in, instead of cramming it down our throats, demanding that we respond.
Whether Lisa and I are able to have a baby or not, we this day, sit, saturated in the presence of this amazing, strong, powerful, all-consuming love, that demonstrated itself most fully in the frailty of a child, a baby, an embryo infused with divinity and humanity.
So won’t you hope with us this Christmas too? Hope that this year, we might truly allow ourselves to be embraced by the powerful weakness of this birth of divine love in Jesus.
For God so loved the world, that he gave his one and only, flesh and bone, soul and spirit, that we might have hope. This is our peace. Amen.
Well had a great new post to break my blogging silence, but it tanked while trying to use the TypePad iPhone app.
So, in short...I'm back!
More to come soon.
Peace,
E
Ok do I've sucked at blogging lately. I have a post on deck that I will be posting tomorrow.
So, sorry, to my probably one & only reader. I'll get better!
(well I'll try anyway) ;)
Peace,
E
My friend Penny's daughter Madeline has suffered from Type 1 diabetes since 2002. She and her mom made this amazing video to raise awareness and to secure support for her upcoming walk for the cure. Give it a watch and support diabetes research where ever you live.
Now, before you read on, let me just say this: I don't have all the facts or information, just what I've managed to follow in the news. So, as you read, please keep this in mind.
Back in the early nineties I was introduced to the writings of Brennan Manning when someone gave me a copy of the Ragamuffin Gospel. Needless to say, that book transformed my life to such a degree that when my first son was born, I named him Brennan.
"Jesus said you are to love one another as I have loved you, a love that will probably lead to the bloody, anguished gift of yourself; a love that forgives seventy times seven, that keeps no score of wrongdoing. Jesus said this, this love, is the one criterion, the sole norm, the standard of discipleship in the New Israel of God. He said you're going to be identified as his disciples, not because of your church-going, Bible-toting, or song-singing. No, you'll be identified as his by one sign only: the deep and delicate respect for one another, the cordial love impregnated with reverence for the sacred dimension of the human personality of the mysterious substitution of Christ for the Christian...if we as a Christian community took seriously that the sign of our love for Jesus is our love for one another, I am convinced it would change the world. We're denying to the world the one witness Jesus asked for: Love one another as I've loved you (John 15.12)."