Pumping Up The Tires

2011-11-21T08:37:00.001-07:00

2011-11-16T09:03:00.001-07:00

Financial or spiritual burden?

2011-07-24T19:57:00.007-06:00

Guess which one keeps mom up at night and which one keeps mom on her feet all day? She is a gifted nurturer, making the home a place for young eyes and ears to see and hear God's goodness. At the risk of Christa's pride I will say it-- she is a beautifully gifted mother. And if you read this babe, and you need a humbling reminder, your dependence for wisdom and strength from the Lord is everything you need. You will always be lacking and only he provides abundant wisdom, food, life.
Christa is like a fruitful vine, and this man is blessed (Psalm 128).
These are good boys. These are beautiful boys. The best thing they need is for their dad to love their mom well. For any prospective parents, the concern is often a financial debate, a question of whether the children will have sufficient food, clothing, shelter, health care, education, safety. I cannot emphasize enough, the true concern is whether a Christian husband and father leads his family to spiritual nourishment. This is much more than a physical effort, it is spiritual battle. Physical food is in abundance but it is the spiritual food that is scarce. Every Christian dad is prone to modeling physical overindulgence and spiritual malnourishment. If I am starving spiritually, my young boys could starve too. Physically, I can feed these boys all my life but only God can feed them in this life and the next, a food that satisfies into eternity.

It's a boy!

2011-06-07T17:27:00.004-06:00

May 26, 2011, Elliot is seen kissing his mommy's tummy and baby brother or sister.

May 31, 2011, Christa is seen resting, minutes after delivery with our second-born son. His name is Clement.

June 7, 2011, Elliot and Clement are seen at home as boys, siblings, brothers.

On Tuesday morning on May 31, 2011 and after 10 hours of labor, a couple doses of penicillin for mom's strep B, an epidural and three doses of pitocin, a determined mother pushed a 6 lb, 15 oz baby boy from her womb at 11:44am in Denver, CO in the presence of a blessed dad, two excited young grandmas, four amazed (even light-headed) aunts and two encouraging nurses.

It doesn't get old. Childbirth has taken place billions of times and in this one birth, I see God's hand and a sliver of his kingdom and he grows my faith. And even in the pain of childbirth, a beautiful command of God's to be fruitful and multiply is fulfilled and we are humbled and blessed to steward these two lives until God takes us to his kingdom.

Elliot's become big brother.

A Cursed Christ

2011-05-25T00:58:00.010-06:00

Christa has specified more than once that I not drink coffee after 11am. I had one cup at 11:18am today and it allowed for a very productive evening tonight... including some carry over into this morning. I am still up at 1am. She is right, and she normally is. I will finish my cup by 9am from now on, babe.
She is sleeping one room over from me while Elliot sleeps in his new room in the basement, just below where I now sit. He is such a big boy, sleeping in the scary basement. Christa, you are a wise, 9-month pregnant wife and I love you.

Christa and I talked at length tonight about the pains of childbirth (Genesis 3:16). Her labor is around the corner and she is anxious and afraid, understandably so. I wanted to encourage her but I had no wisdom so we opened scripture and read a couple Psalms together.
While her contractions are slowly getting stronger, I pray she sees the Lord in her pain and believes. I pray she believes that she can't labor in fear and apart from God's strength. She is weak but he is strong. Childbirth is a terrible thing. The Fall described in Genesis 3 is the first great tragedy of humanity. Man was driven out of Eden and in Genesis 6, God greived for what man had done. Satan's deception and the first couple's fall was horrific, and as sons of Adam we are affected today. Cursed we are, but God, is rich in mercy. We will be praying and singing and pleading for mercy in a hospital room very soon.

I watched 127 Hours tonight and was extremely moved by James Franco's character, Aron Ralston, and the certain death he faced in a lonely Utah canyon. I wish I could have seen the movie without knowing the end and how he would eventually free himself. But this desperate, dying young man saved himself, nearly at his last breath and it was powerful.

Aron Ralston broke his own bones to safe himself. Christ broke his own body to save every one but himself. This is Jesus' answer to the Father's grief become wrath for our sins; we were cursed but Jesus' work allows God to show us mercy. Jesus became a curse and redeemed us to God (Galatians 3:13). God pour out your mercy on mothers and blessed be your name.

One Thousand Years

2011-05-11T00:21:00.007-06:00

Christa and I have questions to answer. As parents, some will need to be answered soon, and some later. Some will never be as important as we thought they would be and others, they just won't ever be answered. And most all questions will not matter in a thousand years.
In this finite life, my wife and I will soon be faced with the all-important childbirth question of epidural or no epidural?
Do we name our second-born after a Bible character, someone in our lineage, or after a poet?
How can we be most consistent toward a marriage-centered home and not child-centered?
Is Elliot colorblind or do red and green still not come easily for him?
Does home school, public school, or private school best suit our family and children?
Will children bury parents or will these parents bury their children?
How great is God's affection for us and will we be afraid to convey to our children our awe of Him?
Shouldn't our conversations with our kids be about God, all day long?
Can we and will we lose this life for the best life, an eternal inheritance and a heavenly dwelling? (2 Corinthians 5)
Do we really believe? Or am I satisfied to never share God's glory with my neighbor and accept the likelihood of his eternity separated from God?
Lord-willing, I will see my neighbor in the morning.
And I will wake up for only so many more mornings.

Elliot has begun speaking and his words are communicating so much about what he sees, thinks and loves. It really is beautiful to see the wonder, enthusiasm and innocence in his person. He has yet to ask us any specific questions. He has not stumped us yet with, "How can God see me in the dark?" and "Daddy, why didn't you ask mommy for forgiveness?" He will be asking questions soon and everything will change. My hope is that we will be praying together as dad and son to be men of strong bones and soft hearts. Strong bones, steeled with truth; soft hearts, melted by grace (thank you Sammy Rhodes).

In a thousand years, circumcision, parking tickets, 3G, hospital bills, IRA, photographs, dirty dishes, backyard weeds, dust, facebook, worry, taxes and inflation will have no bearing on eternity. Just as Osama bin Laden's corpse will cease to be probably this month, my material self will cease to be, and very soon. Grandpa Dean is 83, he says he remembers being 16 years old like it was yesterday. It was. Life is a vapor. (James 4:14)

Elliot's parents will have many unanswered questions but will we answer for him clearly, consistently and humbly Who we belong to? (Deuteronomy 11:18-20)

We have another baby coming any day.
According to a mentor, if we have a boy, he will often ask himself as he grows up, "Do I have what it takes" and if we have a girl she will ask, "Am I beautiful and worth being pursued?"
And I must affirm both. Wholeheartedly.
Jesus was affirmed by his Father. God said," This is my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased." A son must be affirmed.

Uncle Ben, praying for your transition, your safety and that you see God's glory, downrange. I thank God he is with you.

2011-02-26T15:50:00.000-07:00

I am reading "Radical: Taking Back Your Faith From The American Dream", by David Platt.
Read this book.
But pages 35-38 are not to be read just before bed.

2011-02-25T15:45:00.000-07:00

2011-02-21T11:53:00.001-07:00

21-month old Elliot drove past a liquor store near our house this morning with his mom and pointing to it he said, "beer."

tidbit

2011-02-13T01:06:00.003-07:00

At only 21 months of age, Elliot notices and appreciates small imperfections on both his parents' faces: he points to our moles and stares at them. When questioned, he claims the moles indeed are from God and that he would like moles on his face as well.

Elliot learned this week his mom also goes by "Miss... Christa". Unfortunately, he also thinks his dad goes by "Miss... Chris".

And I don't think I have yet declared this officially but Elliot's Uncle Matt is unarguably his favorite person in the world.

Tweet at Elliot

2011-02-02T22:44:00.002-07:00

Elliot told me before bed tonight he had set up a twitter account earlier today. I had asked him to wait until this summer but he went behind my back and did it anyway.

I haven't decided yet if I am going to deactivate his account or just see if any of his tweets are worthwhile. Honestly, he'll probably forget his password tomorrow so I shouldn't be too worried about it.

If you want to follow him then you'll need to set up an account (this is free) and search "epiercepayne". Click on "follow" and let's see if he's got anything to offer.

www.twitter.com/epiercepayne

Night Sounds

2011-01-31T22:14:00.007-07:00

There was an owl in the park last night. As our 21-month-old was falling asleep in his crib, the tree across the street had in it a silent-winged carnivore looking to devour any drousy rodents below. At the moment, I can't explain to my kid the crisis in Egypt or the gentrification going on in our neighborhood or what Obamacare is. At bedtime, he wants to be read to, to be held and to be sung to before he's placed in his warm bed.
But at bedtime last night, I tried to explain to him, an owl was outside his window looking for dinner. No, the owl was looking for breakfast. It was morning outside in the park for a massive, silent and hungry owl. Listen, Elliot, you have much to learn! But he wasn't interested. Of course, he knows what an owl looks like and that it says, "hoo, hoo". But Elliot preferred and prefers his parents' singing voices. He just wanted us to sing, "holy, holy" and to put him in his crib with Elmo.
He doesn't know anything about our country's deficit, Denver's failing school system, homeless people sleeping on the streets in sub-zero temperatures. He doesn't spend time on Twitter, Craigslist, ESPN, Drudgereport or Amazon like his dad does but he will tell you "God" made his toes and "God" will heal the bump on his head. He even can say "Jesus" now. He knows plenty for a 21-month-old.
He didn't know about the 105th National Western Stock Show going on down the street earlier this month. His mom took a field trip with him last week so we might increase his awareness. She even biked to the complex so he could observe his surroundings a bit better en route. We'd rather not just take our kids to a petting zoo. Elliot was introduced to some beasts of the field last week. The bigger the animals, the better.
El saw pictures of his uncle snorkeling in the ocean with whale sharks today and thought snow was on the whale's back. Those are spots, El. God put spots on some of His whales. There is snow outside in the park where the owl is looking for breakfast though.

The more often we sing, the better. We know we won't always get to sing this crumb-cruncher to sleep.

big brother

2011-01-21T22:46:00.005-07:00

He stuttered and stammered but he said it this week for the first time: Big Brother.
Elliot's become big brother.

dying dads part 2

2011-01-01T22:42:00.000-07:00

I am not mad at God for allowing Ron to perish in the sea. I rarely get mad at God. I wonder, what if God had allowed Ron-the-dad to raise his son Denny and what if God allowed Ron-the-grandpa to love and enjoy his twelve grand kids. Think of what it would have meant for dad and all his boys if they could have spent hundreds of hours together with Grandpa. How great would it have been for us to wrestle, play football, cut down a Christmas tree each December and take ski trips over spring break. Three generations, eight men and we would have fully occupied two quad chair lifts at Steamboat. And we could have taken such good care of Grandma, Mom and our three sisters on Valentine's day.

Ronald Payne, I wish we boys could have seen you hug our dad.

We want to hear you tell us about our dad when he was a boy.

We wish you could have hugged our mom.

We missed you, big time.

I realized at Dad's birthday dinner last month, a tragic gift. In a couple months Dad will have been a grandfather longer than Ron was a father.
When Dad was Elliot's age, his dad was already gone.

There must be a thousand things Denny would like to have said to Ron. There must be a million things Ron would like to have told his son. There was so much potential. So much for Ron to give to his son; character to build, discipline to raise up, wisdom to pass on, expectations to define, inspiration to create, relationships to share and open arms to love.

I consider my relationship with my son; what will I share with him? Will it be of lasting or eternal value? Elliot Payne will need to know how to shake a man's hand, when to speak/listen, and who he is responsible for when the pressure is on. Elliot, the boy, will someday become a man, but what kind of man will he become?

My dad has outlived his own dad by two lifetimes.
I have outlived his dad only by God's hand.
Elliot has had a dad longer than my dad had his. This may seem mundane and redundant but wait. Dying dads is all we are. Dying dads are earning paychecks, kissing their wives; mowing the lawn, watching TV; going to church, complaining about the economy; hating his neighbor, and giving to charity. We're living and we're dying. What are we dads being for our sons that make them better off than if we were dead?

What is more tragic, my dad having no memory of his dead dad or Elliot having a living dad who is not teaching, equipping, disciplining, leading and loving him?

God, cover my head in your grace so I can exemplify to my son where the permanent and best inheritance is found. Enable me to train him to care for his mother, to speak truthfully, to love discipline, to treat people right, and to see your goodness. You forsook your son and he was separated from his Father at the cross. Thank you for the cross.

I heard Elliot's heart racing this week. The strong (and temporary) "lub dub" I felt in his chest was a reminder to be quick and steadfast as I aim to prove to him the only place abundant life is found is from his heavenly and everlasting Father.

God, sustain Elliot and may you afford him to also be a dying dad someday and show his own son your unfailing love, unrelenting holiness, unending forgiveness and unstoppable redemption, for those who believe. God, remind me every day of the privilege it is to be a dying dad.

I didn't think it would have hurt this much to write about Ron today. Last time I was overcome with this grief/joy, I was hugging Dad in the hospital hallway when Elliot was born, wishing so much for my dad to have had his Pop to hug when Ben Ron was born.

Christmas in Europe and Africa

2010-12-23T22:53:00.006-07:00

Last night, I was with a newer friend from the neighborhood and with a brand new friend from Belarus. We were at a neighborhood pub and they got me all inspired. I sat across from two young men in their mid-twenties who are devoting themselves to youth, for Christ. Josh works with "inner-city" kids in Denver for Young Life, and Phoenix the Belarusian is a multilingual young man devoting his work toward young lives in Eastern Europe. By the way, is "inner-city" derogatory to inner city kids and their families? Is my kid an "inner-city" kid?

So Phoenix, a bright and talkative dude with a very European accent had a lot of great comments and questions. He asked me why I hadn't yet been to Europe and why wouldn't I visit Belarus, learn Russian for a year and teach English camps in the capital city Minsk to reach their "inner-city" kids. I didn't really have an answer to any of his questions. But it was Phoenix's comment on Christmas in America that caught me most by surprise. He said Christmas in the States is a much bigger deal than it is back home. I thought, is that because we market Christmas in our homes, stores and media so well? And because we have so many churches in the US? And because tomorrow night's Christmas Eve services across the country will honor Jesus' birth as we sing Silent Night? (Silent Night is a weird song. Phoenix didn't say so but I think so. I don't think the night was silent when Jesus was born. The baby, the new parents and all the bewildered animals could not have made for a silent night. How could it have been a silent night, all calm and bright? It wasn't silent or calm when our baby Elliot was born. There was yelling and crying from all of us and I cannot image a baby, tender and mild and sleeping in heavenly peace on the first night, as the song implies. It took our boy months to find sleep in heavenly peace. I believe Jesus was crying most of the night in that stable and there was not a silent night for months. The song and the season have been marketed very, very well.)

I imagine African Christmas, similar to East Europe, has not been hit by the marketing people just yet. My friend Lauren bothered to mess with my Christmas this week by referring me to a blog of a girl named Katie from Brentwood, Tennessee. Katie left Brentwood a few years back to visit Uganda. She now has a few kids, she is not married and she is still in Uganda. See her blog at http://www.kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/. She is now a young mother to her fourteen kids (not a typo). You should take a couple hours and read through her writings, her blog is infinitely better than mine. She has given up just about everything in her former life to love the unloved in her new life in Africa. The Bible encourages believers to look after the fatherless so Katie is actually taking the Bible literally. Correction, the Bible commands us to care for the orphan and the widow. She must be crazy. And she really truly believes God and his Word. What am I supposed to do with crazy Katie's story? And what will her African Christmas be like this year? Is she teaching all 14 of those kids the story of God coming to earth to take on flesh, crying like a baby on that first, not-so-silent, night and is she telling them about his ministry as Jesus, about his criminal death on a cross and his resurrection? She probably is. Can't she just bombard her kids with gifts, tell them about Santa and have good old family time sharing a few gallons of egg nog with everyone?
Now when I consider what Christmas looks like in Africa, what does Christmas look like in Denver, in my home and in my heart?

For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.
Matthew 16:25

dying dads part 1

2010-12-21T22:00:00.000-07:00

Dad's dad died in the ocean in 1958. My dad had not reached his first birthday.
Grandpa Ron perished and he never saw his young wife or two kids again.
I spent very little of my youth pondering the impact of young Ron's death and his absence from his family. Ron is gone and I have been very accustomed to it. I do not and my dad never will know anything different.
Dad never had a dad.
For much of my life this was a very unemotional concept for me. I was born without a paternal Grandpa and I rarely questioned the layers and layers of consequences of this fact. This sounds insane, but I did not consider other outcomes and what it would have meant for our family if Grandpa Ron had landed his plane on the aircraft carrier successfully that night in 1958.
Likewise, I regularly do not consider what it would have meant for mankind if God had not dwelled on earth in a man named Jesus. I have spent very little of my life pondering the scenario, "what if Jesus-God had not come to earth to die for mankind?"
When I was born in 1983, Jesus had already died for my sins and I have been very accustomed to it. I do not know anything different.
Jesus lived perfectly, claimed deity and he died violently.
God dwelt in a perfect man and he died for those who believe. Often today, this is still a very unemotional concept for me. I was born with direct access to God through the Holy Spirit by Jesus Christ's death and resurrection though I rarely question the layers and layers of consequences of this fact. And what about how much God gave up to dwell in a man? God took the form of an embryo, a fetus and then a crying, helpless baby.
2 Corinthians 8:9 says, He became poor so we by his poverty might be rich. Christ took on poverty that we might inherit the kingdom of heaven.
This is insane.
Consider how it would change the story had Jesus not come and what it would have meant for you and for mankind if God decided he would not send to earth his son to be crucified. The consequence would be far greater than half the world not celebrating Christmas this week. The depth of our hypothetical despair is unfathomable.
As a young father myself I have begun processing these consequences from my new perspective. I will expand on this new perspective next time.

Dad's dad died in the ocean in 1958. That means a lot to my family.
God's son died on the cross to save me from my wickedness and enabled God to restore relationship with his fallen creation. This means a lot to humanity. Belief in Jesus' deity, his death and his resurrection changes everything for the believer.
It didn't have to be that way. But it is. And it is good news. It is the gospel.

A friend stated last week the Lord has many lovers of his crown but few lovers of his cross.
The everlasting Father has a crown we ought bow to and a cross we ought carry.

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Isaiah 9:6

Amen

joy boy

2010-12-15T20:18:00.008-07:00

Yesterday it was Summer

2010-12-15T19:27:00.002-07:00

unlike the caterpillar

2010-08-14T14:14:00.005-06:00

He doesn't need us as much today as he did last summer.
Little boys don't stay that way.
He exited the cocoon a lifetime ago, only as a caterpillar. It is now outside the cocoon we're seeing him working on his wings. Delicate and beautiful is this process.

2010-08-12T09:22:00.001-06:00

the (serious) God of scabs (and glans)

2010-07-25T12:00:00.003-06:00

Lightning struck our valley the other night.
In our tent, Mom had just kissed her sleeping one-year-old son goodnight as the moon was suddenly erased by a hovering dark cloud. The same moon had been pointed out for the first time ever by this little one's observant finger just sixty minutes earlier. The valley was calm then and we had it to ourselves.
It could be the closest Elliot will ever again be to another bolt of lightning. The bolt, traveling at 60,000 miles a second and burning three times hotter than the surface of the sun, had all of his mom and dad's attention. It was close and frightening. And how the thunder roared through our valley and among the mountains. Power and God was in our midst. Twilight was ushered away while pouring rain and, as Dr. Seuss says, a convincing "Boom Boom Boom!" undoubtedly proved we were not alone in the valley anymore.
Yet the boy slept peacefully between his mom and dad. He did not notice the serious explosion outside our tent. Not this time.
Elliot will soon ask for an explanation for lightning and thunder. He will want to know who made the lightning. He will want to know who put eight fingers and two thumbs on his hands. He will want to know whose idea it was to store milk in cow udders. He will want to know who designed his bleeding elbow to hurt, clot, scab and heal.
And next May, Mom will be smiling while tears roll down her cheek after her two-year-old boy tells her for the very first time he loves her.
"Don't tears mean you're sad mommy?" He will have serious questions.
We must not diminish a child's curiosity or hastily give them a quick reply. Nope, if we don't answer these questions in the wonder our children asks them in, we are forgetting the splendor of our existence. His pondering is profound. If we would strive to tell them everything we know and everything we don't know, we will guide them to a growing gratefulness for existence. Life is precious; precious is serious. The answers are easier if we teach our children the God of lightning, fingers, udders and scabs is serious. He is serious about us, about love and He is serious about having all of our attention. He is serious about worship, redemption, truth, goodness, joy and everlasting life. God is serious because He went all out. He seriously made everything work together for good. Shouldn't we be continually grateful for respiratory systems, endorphins, gardens, hands, glands and the glans? Amidst the storm in the valley the other night, our tent, dry inside, was full of serious excitement. Ought we not have serious excitement for everything given to us? Should we not have the mind of a child?
Who made the spectrum of colors? Who allowed us an appetite so we might enjoy food? Who selected the variety of trees, ordered the seasons, built a weather system and implemented the science and production of never-to-be duplicated snowflakes?
Only a seriously excited God rips the Rockies with His electricity in an otherwise sleeping forest.
Will we teach our kids to see their scabs and worship their God in heaven?

Elliot meets Aslan

2010-07-23T23:05:00.004-06:00

When E was at the zoo last week, he was looking at the lions. He was standing in the front row with his mom closeby, and when he had studied the beasts long enough (he calls them "dogs"), he turned around and studied the people. And then he started waving to all the people who were actually looking at the lions behind him but he thought all the people were looking at him.
So he waved and smiled at the people.
Elliot turned his back on the lions and waved at people instead. Smart boy, zoo lions can't get you and zoo lions can't wave back, but zoo people can.

When your kid loves your wife

2010-05-15T08:07:00.005-06:00

When your kid loves things you love, you begin to believe he sees what you see.

He sees in your wife, his lovely mother, and you can believe your kid knows he has everything he needs.

He can see every morning he is waking up in a very good place.

When your kid loves your wife, the family you love is a very good place.

It is well

2010-05-13T22:14:00.004-06:00

he walks with me and talks with me

2010-04-28T00:45:00.012-06:00

Parents are often amazed by their children. By their expressions, their behavior, their progress.
We had been most amazed by our boy's communication. He can talk and his syllables are varied and complex. He uses his words, his hands, his eyes, his body language. And we parents want to know what he needs.
We want to know his thoughts.
Take amazing thing number one off the top of the list and move it down to two. The dude can walk.

This very amazing development happened all of a sudden. I watched a 7 lb. baby exit his mother's birth canal head first last spring and today a 20-something-lb. man is exiting rooms in the upright position.

He walks like he's been walking all along.
The irony is he flunked algebra but has begun to ace calculus.
The irony is he flunked crawling but has begun to sign up for 5k run/walks.

Elliot is biped. And proud of it. We did not teach him this. He is an innovator, practicing his walk and adding muscle and finding balance with each movement. While his parents think he is napping, he is training in his cage called a crib. He is teaching us. Parents do not and cannot give to their child all he needs. Instead, the child must choose his steps. Only he can. He must learn, act, grow and be who he is created to be. And only he can choose where he should go. His feet are moving today and he has a will to be. To be in mom's neck or dad's grip; to be separating leaves from the grass or to be free to uncover all that is hidden. And there us much to uncover.
Elliot has all he needs. To be all of His.
God show yourself to this child that he may choose to be with you.

As your dad, I must walk and run in the way I know best, for you will likely follow to see where I am going. I must run and finish the race and keep the faith. The best way is the only way.
Elliot, you are wonderfully made. You have purpose. I hope you run. I hope you finish. We will run together.

Life happens all of a sudden. Do walk and talk through life with your mom and dad, Elliot.
And do teach us more.

More than food

2010-02-28T21:53:00.008-07:00

"Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds!"
Luke 12:24

Elliot is being fed. His food is from his mother's hand. His food is from God's hand. His hand has, is and will sustain us. And God gives far greater than physical food. God calls us to live and work for more than food and clothes. "For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing." Luke 12:23

His hand provides spiritual strength to weak people. As a father and husband of weak faith, I am sustained by only His nourishment. How good it is to be in and under His hand. God's child is valuable, much more valuable than birds and beasts. Our child is valuable because God determined it so. How good it is to see a mother feed her son. How blessed it is to believe a Father feeds His children. "Do not labor for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you. For on him God the Father has set his seal." John 6:27

Lord, help me show your child where to find food. May he believe you are all he needs, you are all he can have. Help my son to see me eat your food and drink your drink and may we be sustained together as men one day, forever. "I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh." John 6:51

He knows his name

2010-02-21T15:31:00.007-07:00

Elliot is now 41 weeks outside his Maker's knitting womb. He's been out more than in.

We can't explain to him:
why his parents keep looking at him;
what good a car seat is;
the benefit of keeping his hands under his blanket thus warm hands all night;
gravity's effect if we had let him dive off the couch;
and how to blow his nose.

He knows the goodness of:
a hot bath and the delightfulness of splashing in the tub;
his mother's sweet voice;
three little teeth crushing a cheerio;
watching and pointing at life out the window;
and Mom and Dad singing out of tune is just fine.

He got a quick sip of dad's coffee when mom wasn't looking. He seemed to want more.

Elliot's first Christmas

2009-12-27T11:19:00.002-07:00

Grandpa Denny and me

Pictures of you

2009-12-22T21:54:00.006-07:00

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you that I almost believe that they're real.

-"Pictures of you" by The Cure

Papa and Grandma

2009-10-26T16:58:00.002-06:00

Happiness is seeing Elliot Pierce with his grandparents.

Progress

2009-10-26T10:18:00.008-06:00

A new kind of baby boy lives at our house.
He is new and improving.
He has realized he has fingers and they can grab stuff. He leans and reaches and grips his mom's hair, dad's coffee, the camera that's in his face on a daily basis. His developing coordination is very exciting to this dad who, for the first five months, observed his former fetus and son to be very un-athletic. This was unacceptable.
No tricks? No maneuvering? No balance? This is not okay buddy.

But Eli is exhibiting new-found athleticism. He, who some identified as an embryo just one year ago, can turn the pages in his books. He can lean back on his great-grandpa's rocker. He can stand up straight on dad's palm. He can grab the leaves mom raked in the front yard. He can handle summersaults. He laughs as he is chucked up in the air again and again. He can't say how deeply he enjoys family bike rides. And last week he found that his toes can reach his gummy mouth. Speaking of toes-- we recently discovered toe jam between his little piggies! It was so good to see and smell our little boy's toe-jammy and stinky feet. He is an active 24-week old drooler.
And he can yell! He incorporated his fine motor skills and his vocal chords both in the past 14 days.
Elliot is evolving from an ex-embryo to an el nino expert.

No crawling yet. No teeth or words either. Not a problem buddy. God is equipping you quickly enough for these blessed parents.

I just wish you could understand why I wave goodbye to you and mom every morning. Miss you dude.

2009-09-24T09:02:00.002-06:00

Eli may not like yellow mums.

Big baby.

mom and her boy

2009-09-24T08:48:00.004-06:00

They're having a great time.

treasure

2009-09-04T21:14:00.003-06:00

What can a mother say when she looks up at the sky and sees God's gift before her? She told me tonight, "God is gracious to allow me to experience the joy of being Elliot's mom."
Our little gift is a speck of God's creation. He loves his little speck, Eli. Pipsqueak Payne is from God. He was put together by God, for God and we are in awe of our good Lord.
God is using Elliot to bring us closer to the King of the Universe.

he has no words and at times, we don't either

2009-09-04T14:50:00.006-06:00

Elliot Payne is enjoying himself. His parents are too.
He is keeping us busy.
He made a trip to the driving range last weekend. He took a dip in Grandpa's lake two weeks ago. He loves showers, baths and rain. He saw a beautiful full moon last night. He had his first MOPS meeting with his cute mom this morning. He will go on his first bike ride today. His first train ride is coming up. The fall colors and the movement of a steam engine down the tracks should engage all of us.
He gets to sleep in his own room starting this weekend too. He is four months old next tuesday.

He's the best.

bebé bueno

2009-07-10T00:02:00.006-06:00

He wasn't awake for fireworks this past weekend but Elliot learned to read maps, way-find through scenic back roads, listen to the river and now appreciates camping in secluded national forest. He panicked at pitching a tent and didn't desire to help with the fire but he had no problem sleeping under the stars and snuggling next to his dad all night. We treasured our first weekend away from the heavy heat and city sounds.

Morning in the Mountains

His mom is the best.

It looks as if he just told her a joke. And they share a laugh. Amazing.

Eleven pounds of toughness

He wouldn't say whether he liked the Gore Range (pictured) as much as he did the San Juan's.

2009-06-30T08:09:00.002-06:00

Moms and God

2009-06-21T10:33:00.007-06:00

Christa championed childbirth two days before mother's day and we celebrated her then. We thanked God for the delivery and now we celebrate her again on father's day. I have done almost nothing impressive thus far, as a father. I have filled in the very small gaps. AND I have lost my patience. I have been bored at times with how un-interactive Eli is. I have become frustrated with sharing my wife with such a little man. I have been selfish, wanting my wife to myself, to romance, adventure, sleep and eat. Christa is patient with me too. She is amazing at her God-given role as a mom while I have the easy job of leaving the house Monday through Friday. Moms do amazing things on very little sleep for very little people who have very little thanks. And Christa is open 24 hours to care for our 8-pounder. Though I try avoid cliches... thank you, well done and I love you, to my beautiful wife and to my son's lifeline, his tender and full-loving mama.
And Elliot, you been camping before? I'm taking your mom away next month. You're going to like the mountains and trees and rivers and clean and quiet.

At her 6-week check-up on Friday, the doctor found a bit of placenta still in her uterus. This is not good. On Tuesday, they will sedate her, dilate her and scrape out the inch-long piece. We risk bleeding, infertility, infection and other complications in this procedure. Would you join us in prayer? Would you encourage Christa with a line on either the blog or email her at clynnpayne@gmail.com.

Pray she trusts in the Lord. Pray she leans on Him in this difficult time. Pray she rejoices in all circumstances. Pray she fully trusts God's faithfulness. Please pray I lead and love her in a godly and helpful way. Pray that we do not fear this circumstance or any but that we are commited to fearing the Lord. Pray we have joy as a family and that we are a light to others in the hospital and on our street. Bless the Lord!

Elliot does not know God

2009-06-21T09:06:00.007-06:00

He is unemployed. Toothless. Lacks social security number, birth certificate, and ID. No contact info. Nearly immobile. Probably legally blind. Has no words and doesn't know his name. Defenseless. Unchristian. Very unappreciative. Quite uncoordinated. And pathetic hygiene. Often seems to be under the influence following meals.
He is Elliot.
Lovin life. He can smile. He has a little giggle. He is beginning to like to cuddle. He can see up to 18 inches away. He can hold his head up. He can turn over from his tummy to his back. He makes some hilarious sounds. He enjoys the warm shower. He sleeps best next to dad with his arms straight up. He is the most interesting human in the house.
Photos taken at 38 days of little life. He has now been outside the warm womb for 45.

laughs and cries

2009-06-04T20:27:00.005-06:00

Every time I laugh today, Elliot stops crying. And he listens. So I keep making myself laugh and for now, he doesn't cry. Thank you Lord. God knows we parents are worn down by this crying creature. When our son cries and we do everything we can to stop it and he still cries-- we are humbled.
Does he need food? Does he need to burp? Does he need a new diaper? Does he need warmth? Does he need movement, a walk? Does this baby need anything that we can give him? And sometimes we're not sufficient. God's grace is.
Our laughter is sound Elliot loves. His crying is noise Christa cringes to when she can't help him. Crying is his only communication to us for now. Well, not crying is his best way of communicating. And laughter is God's gift to us tired parents today. Happy parents. God is good to give us this life.
I will laugh as much as I can.

more work outside the womb

2009-05-23T19:36:00.017-06:00

Our gallon of milk has been in the fridge longer than Elliot Payne has been breathing in this house.

Of course the milk has soured a bit and our Elliot is only getting sweeter.
I think.
He is a mountain of joy by day and a monster by night. He is positively nocturnal and has no awareness of his parents' desire to sleep when the western sun sets. We didn't believe those veteran parents who told us to expect this massive sleep deprivation.

Elliot lost his belly button cord today. I can't believe the miracle of sustenance his mama provided him via the umbilical cord during the fun in the womb. Now there is more work outside the womb to keep him nourished, warm, clean and secure since he took the ride down the birth canal on May 8. Life was so easy 16 days ago. And after 16 months of marriage sans offspring, our household will never be the same. Elliot is on loan to us and we want to wisely steward his life till death. Ours or his. We ought not become obsessed and worried about or possessive toward our son. We want a Christ-centered home and not an Elliot-centered or anxiety-centered home.
So hard to do.
I frequently trust God as much as Elliot trusts us, his parents. Very little. Elliot does not trust his parents to be there to feed him, care for and comfort him and to never leave him. I can see myself in Elliot. As he is toward me, so I am toward God the Father. I want to trust Him with all my heart. I want Elliot to trust us. But he panics, he screams, he clenches his little fists and his entire head and body turn red as bricks. He can be so angry and scared even with his parents attentively and compassionately at his side. I am like Elliot. And as our good friend Jen says, he is a manipulator and he is a sinner. Elliot is like his dad.
We love him.
So marriage has new challenges and new opportunities. May child-rearing be as sanctifying as child-birthing was.
Thank you Lord for my wife. I live with an excellent wife. I live with a tremendously great mother.
Thank you Lord for being our Father. A good, perfect-loving, trustworthy, forgiving and strong father.
Apart from Him, I can do nothing.

home sweet home

2009-05-14T15:42:00.006-06:00

Meet Elliot. He's friendly. He's got more friends than he knows. And he is happy to stare right back at you.

He is home! Dancing with his happy mommy.

there's a new kid in town

2009-05-14T15:00:00.038-06:00

Mama's and baby's heartbeat are monitored during labor. Baby Elliot can hear Christa's heartbeat. I love this picture. This is a couple hours before his delivery.

I am in awe of the effort Christa put in to get our son out of her womb. He was placed on her chest immediately.

Beautiful mother. Beautiful little boy.

60 seconds after the delivery.

She finally rests.
And a cry fill his lungs with air for the first time ever.

It took a team effort to welcome a new generation.

7 lbs, 5 ounces of naked new life.

Thank you Lord, maker and creator of life. You have blessed your children.

untitled

2009-05-08T14:47:00.008-06:00

Childbirth is a horrible thing. It hurts. It is long. It is pain I could only imagine. I looked into my wife's eyes yesterday during her labor and I saw her pain. I learned last night how strong of a woman I married. Thank you Lord for Christa Lynn Payne. She gave birth to a son early this morning at 1:44am. Christa endured through it and I saw and heard her hurt. I would have taken the epidural last night had they offered it to me. It is a horrible thing to watch your bride suffer. It is a beautiful thing to watch your bride seek strength, determination, mercy and energy from the Lord and to push a 7 lb 5 oz baby out of her body. She did amazing things. God be glorified. We prayed to be one in Christ last night and He answered us, He delivered us.
Pipsqueak is Elliot Pierce.
We prayed and sang and cried and yelled and ate popsicles through yesterday afternoon, evening and into Friday morning. Praise God for His faithfulness, encouragement and deliverance, for sinners, to children He loves. His steadfast love endures forever. Last night, we pleaded for Him to be present in our room and He was beside my laboring wife and me. He will never leave us or forsake us.
I grabbed my dad at 2:30 this morning in the hospital hall and weeped. I realized more than ever, through God's delivery of Christa's delivery of our little one, my cup is overflowing from the love of my two Fathers. God the Father, who delights in His children and my dad, who has given his life to family. I am overwhelmed by Dad's love for Mom and us kids as I realized last night, my rich love for my beautiful bride, and son.
I love my pops.

Baby Eli is good. Mom is great. Dad is simply overloaded with good things in this life. We are abundantly blessed.

the best and the worst thing

2009-05-03T16:16:00.016-06:00

Christa strolled through the Denver Art Museum on our due date yesterday. She is letting gravity work as the baby begins to inch lower toward the effacing and dilating cervix. She no longer simply walks but is finally waddling around the house. And she is adorable. Its been a beautiful progression to watch her body grow to accommodate the little one. In her preparation for the labor and delivery, she has picked out comfortable clothes, a camera, midget baby clothes, snacks and music. She selected some classical, folk and worship music. Accompanied by prayers, talk, tears and laughter, the room will have music to soothe mama as she lets her body work its magic. The setting should be just like mama wants it. I will do my best to make sure she is comfortable, encouraged, hydrated, soothed, prayed over and determined-- to work together to push Pipsqueak out. This will be the hardest thing we've ever been through.
The best thing. And we won't ever forget it.

The setting reminds me of a time in college.
200 feet west of Colorado State University’s campus sits a small medical office. On a cold Tuesday morning, I am buzzed into the facility. Safe from the outside wintry chill is a cozy operating room. I am the quiet male observer alongside a doctor, a nurse, the pregnant mother.
And the music. It is soothing music. Sounds of nature, peaceful melodies and calming tones.
The music is still with me now.
The music is used to distract the mother, to relax the mother. She lays before us, quiet and looking to the ceiling. Despite the music, it is absolutely evident the mother is not distracted from what she is doing and not relaxed; it is clear to me she is not soothed and not at peace. She is about to be changed and she won't be the same person when she's done.
She is in desperate agony.
To her, this could be worse than dying. She is being encouraged, however. The doctor tries to convince the mother that she is doing fine, it will be over soon, her life will go on, she will forget about it all. I am not so sure.
I touch her shoulder. I look into her tearful, scared eyes. I pity her. I did not expect this compassion within me.
It looks like the mother hesitates, almost trying to get off her back. And away from the hands of this calm doctor. To escape this surgery. But the doctor is on a schedule. It is mid-morning and there are many more pregnant ladies to attend to. If the expecting mother was further along, the vacuum would have been engaged. The vacuum is big as a walk-in closet and due to the frightening sounds, the vacuum unit was installed in a separate room across the hall. It had to be. The music is soothing in our small room and should not be drowned out.
Since she has not quite progressed to the second trimester, instead of the powerful vacuum, a 12-inch syringe is inserted into the mother’s vagina. The doctor whispers encouraging-nothings and the mother hold's tight to the hand of the nurse. I am standing next to her and touch her left shoulder. She is quietly sobbing. The music is not soothing. And I die inside.

As the doctor begins to initiate suction and pull on the living, growing 12-week fetus from the uterine wall, he informs the patient of the importance that he remove all parts of the fetus. This should prevent infection, additional bleeding and other complications.
Minutes later, I follow the nurse into the sink room as she identifies the mangled and detached parts. The sink room smells of alcohol, bleach and formaldehyde. The parts are disposed of and the instruments are cleaned. I observe the nurse's hand touch the dismembered human parts for inspection. Seconds earlier, the mother was gripping for life that same hand.

In the operating room, the music is still playing. The barren, bleeding and broken mother slowly makes her way to her feet. Down the hall she makes her payment, schedules a follow-up appointment for next week and is given additional instructions, medication and a slight smile from the receptionist. An awkward, sad smile that almost says, “try to forget today and don’t tell your friends of the day's torture to your soul.”
The music is still playing as I am debriefed in the office.
It plays as I walk home that afternoon in my scrubs.
I have death inside me. And there is death inside that mother.
Those sights and sounds, the mother's sorrow, his syringe, her sad smile, this story make it difficult to not think of this dark thing inside me.
The worst thing. And we won’t ever forget it.

Under His stars

2009-04-30T18:37:00.019-06:00

Rewind to August 2, 2008. 08/02/08.
It is a beautiful gift.
Our own aspen meadow up the Poudre Canyon, west of Fort Collins.
What is family? What is love? How does God view us? Christa and I are about to find out more about Him. He has created, knitted and woven the object of His love and He started this work, His work, in the forest. God is good.

She is two days short of full term.
The seven pound baby is in there, with her.
And full of life.
We are about to have a little Payne.
After a little pain.
Praise the Lord.
Thanks for praying with us.
Christa's bag is packed.
This is good.

the uterus brings us closer

2009-04-26T16:31:00.005-06:00

I know all about contractions. I see them every day and I don't have a problem with them. I have been familiar and have used them since elementary school. Mom even taught me the difference between there, their and they're. Though the use makes for ease of penmanship and quicker speech, I have learned of a better contraction than "won't", "would've" and "we'll".

I was not aware of the uterus' use of contractions. I was not aware of the beauty of these contractions. And these contractions are strange. Christa's got 'em and her uterus knows how to use them. The strongest muscle in mom's body does a beautiful thing. I understand their purpose is to get that baby out and in to the beautiful, busy, toxic and tired world. For a few seconds, perhaps she will be the youngest human on the planet-- until crybaby down the hall exits his mom's canal to fulfill another miracle.

She is about to vacate the premises. Christa is having contractions and it is good (the pregnancy has been so good. I can't believe how wonderful she looks. And she is feeling great. She was throwing a frisbee with me on Friday!). Our little zygote-turned-embryo-turned-fetus, a tiny and absolute-human all along, will benefit from the "other" contractions later in life but these contractions are the best for her current predicament.
She needs to get out.

The design and function of mom's strongest muscle is a miracle. The pituitary secretes oxytocin which activates the uterus when the time is just right and the adventure begins.

Very soon, Pipsqueak may not be welcome in the womb but she is welcome at the front porch of the birthing table, or chair, or tub or whatever works for Christa during delivery. She is welcome home. I expect my own tears of joy when God lends her to us.
The wonder of it all has graciously brought this young, blessed couple closer to Him. Every perfect gift comes from Him. Children are a gift from the Lord.

Contract away, uterus.
You've got a treasure inside you.

21 days is only 500 hours!

2009-04-10T22:33:00.008-06:00

Christa's and my contribution to multiplying the earth is nearing fruition. Our due date of May 2 is 3 weeks away. Christa's report from the doc today indicated she is 1.5 cm dilated and 50% effaced-- so little time and so much to do. We don't have much time to file our taxes, set up the baby's room and realize how blessed it is to be fruitful. We've got 500 hours, give or take, to finalize this little one's name, decide on circumcision (or not) and pack mom's bag for a couple nights at the hospital.

How good it is to be fruitful and multiply. Any less than nine months of preparation and contemplation would be too short for us and any longer than nine months of anticipatory joy (and, at times, disbelief) would be quite too long for us to stand it.

500 hours to go.

"we" is wonderful

2009-03-24T17:24:00.009-06:00

I don't plan on blabbing on this blog only about our firstborn but our product of conception is kind of a big deal. Its a common occurrence among humans to reproduce but as common as it is, it is so unusual for Christa and me. It is strange and beautiful to be involved first-hand and, as we are one, to be responsible for all 26 chromosomes. Pregnancy is typical yet so foreign. Its the newest and coolest thing we've experienced since... well, since we've been doing what married people do. Which is also awesome. The act is even better because we didn't invent the act. God is a God of pleasure. I believe God delights in our pleasure. And one of the pleasures is to be blessed with such a common, curious addition to our family. This five pound baby is a big deal.

Its our last, first pregnancy. If its our only pregnancy, it will be our best. The growing human in Christa's uterus is unbelievable to me. The past few weeks, Christa has told me on the phone, "we'll be home soon", or "we are at the store", or we've been taking a nap."

"We" is wonderful.

Wherever she goes, Christa has been accompanied since August by someone we haven't officially met. Mama's had a well-behaved and friendly tag-a-long for the past 34 weeks.

And I love when she says "we".

Recently, our conceived product was pretty heavily involved in our first Christmas letter:

Hi.
I want to tell you a bit about 2008 from my perspective. I have experienced unspeakable joy, miraculous growth, new challenges and divine blessings this year. I was always warm. I never doubted my safety. I was given no responsibilities. I ate and slept at will. I didn’t worry. I did not pay taxes. I did not even think to care about this year’s election. I had wide open availability all year to do as I pleased. I have thoroughly impressed myself all year. I have been fully alive and enjoyed each minute.

My creator is good to give me such a great year. He must be really smart.
Recently, I have begun eavesdropping on everyone around me. I heard my mom and dad have been married since December 30th of 2007 and I can tell they really like each other. I overheard, following their promise of life-long commitment to each other, they had an amazing time along the Caribbean in the jungle of Costa Rica and in the jagged San Juan Mountains of Telluride. I hope they take me along next time.

I look forward to getting to know them. I expect to join Mom and Dad for bike rides, camping trips, morning coffee, reading nights and cooking lessons soon. I can tell my dad is romancing my mom despite his regular blunders. He is learning how to better lead and love my mom and I think they will learn even more once I arrive. I know he is lucky to have my mom. I think we’re going to have a very fun time together though I don’t know why they didn’t invite me into their lives until just August of this year.

At first they talked about moving out of the city and into the suburbs but I think their experience living in Denver has opened their eyes and hearts to the needs of an urban community and to the command to love their neighbors. I observe they have been blessed with an incredible church in the downtown area. In between my naps, I have been impressed with the challenging sermons, friendly and accepting people and lives that are being changed.

Life is a gift. That’s what I can hear my parents say about me. And the joy, growth, challenges and blessings I mentioned earlier are also present in my parents’ lives. I hope you and yours consider Christ’s life as the best and most important gift this year. Christmas is a time to make much of Christ’s birth. How good it is when we make less of ourselves and more of Him. I get the feeling our purpose on earth is greater than pleasing ourselves and no less than glorifying God. While difficult for my little developing brain to sort out, my 155 beats-per-minute heart is convinced in this.

Despite my parents’ effort to anticipate my arrival, they can’t fully understand the new challenges and abundant joy they are about to experience as parents until I am in their arms. They undoubtedly will continue to thank my Creator for the gift of my life but more importantly, for the gift and sacrifice of Jesus Christ. May we all celebrate and contemplate this reality, truth and hope more than ever.

Before I go to ingest more amniotic fluid, I need to ask that somebody please talk some sense into my dad prior to mid-May. After my mom’s water breaks, he intends to ride bikes to the hospital and then he wants to deliver me personally. If that wasn’t crazy enough, he has plans for a family cross country bike trip for 2012. My training wheels will surely put me at a severe disadvantage.

Merry Christmas!

Love,
“Pipsqueak” Payne

the supreme adventure

2009-03-19T17:30:00.008-06:00

We have considered naming our offspring after GK Chesterton. Chesterton was a godly man. A wise man. An excellent and unique writer. Chesterton is dead. But three of his books sit on our shelf and often in our laps, at home. He is an author that demands the reader to read each paragraph at least three times to decipher what he is saying. Christa and I enjoy his writings quite a bit and we actually have about a dozen Chesterton sentences and paragraphs posted throughout our little house. He wrote from a common sense perspective but his truthful humor, his wisdom, his convicting commentary is seemingly uncommon. He was provoking and his material is relevant as ever: family, war, politics, sex, marriage, economics, art, love, crime. I recommend you purchase and diligently study his contributions.

As for naming our first-born after this Brit, this is another conversation.

No part of Gilbert-Keith-Chesterton resembles the 21st century. Not that we are only looking for a post-modern name to keep up with the trends of society. But no part of GKC's name sounds great with "Payne". We take our role as the name-giver very seriously. Adam got to name each and every member of animalia and we get to name one mammal. We're working on it. It's been fun. It's still a secret. Of course we're not the first couple to determine what an appropriate, meaningful, and strong/beautiful name should be. This naming-your-kid-thing has been done 100 billion times in human history. We do though, want our kid to like his/her name. TBD in late April/early May.

Naming aside, I want to share an excellent paragraph from our dead friend. When I compiled our wedding reception slide show, I included a few Chesterton quotes that seemed to compliment our mood and our perspective. Here is one of them...

"The supreme adventure is being born. There we do walk suddenly into a splendid and startling trap. There we do see something of which we have not dreamed before. Our father and mother do lie in wait for us and leap out on us, like brigands from a bush. Our uncle is a surprise. Our aunt is, in the beautiful common expression, a bolt from the blue. When we step into the family, by the act of being born, we do step into a world which is incalculable, into a world which has its own strange laws, into a world which could do without us, into a world that we have not made. In other words, when we step into the family we step into a fairy-tale." Heretics, page 143.

I can't believe we are where we are. We're family. We're healthy. We are richly blessed. We're eager to love our little man/woman to death because that's all we know. It's what parents do. First they name their kid and then they love their kid with all they've got. Chesterton, you're right. It is a supreme adventure. And it is splendid. A trap? But a good trap. With lots of aunts and uncles. We're waiting in that bush, ready to leap. The fairy tale is about to encounter an addition to the story.

a house

2009-03-16T13:04:00.003-06:00

Our little one, the five-pounder attached to the placenta and drinking amniotic fluid, is pushing out on the inside of his house a lot lately. Its not cliche to me anymore; that beautiful scene of a young mother and father stopping everything they're doing to lay on the floor of the house to feel a new human being push on mom's tummy from the inside. I read we get our fingerprints from pushing on the inside of the womb. Our baby's "house" feeds, warms, protects and is also the fingerprint machine.
How in the heck does that work?
I can't pretend that doesn't shock me. I spend all day acting like nothing in this world is surprising or moving or abnormal, that everything around us is like it is because it is. But this fingerprinting process disables my auto-pilot. This is incredible. We got our unique and permanent fingerprints, which are good for identification and ball-gripping purposes, by moving our fingers across our mother's womb as little human beings. I love thinking about the wonderful waving and winding lines our 33 week old offspring is developing as he runs his fingertips across his mama.

what if you're not god

2007-04-10T23:03:00.005-06:00

The earth we all live on is moving around the sun at 67,000 mph.
Not one snowflake is a duplicate.
No fingerprints are alike. And if you make a root beer float, no one can say "that root beer float made itself".
Things created must have a Creator.

And accidents do happen. Consider the universe, planet Earth, trees, water, people, spiders, color and light; they could all be [beautiful] accidents. It makes a little sense to me that they may not be accidents but that they have a reason, a story, a creator. It makes less sense to me that human life and all else in existence has no purpose. Shouldn't you try to figure you out?

Life is a vapor.

Get thinking.

Get reading.

And get writing.

And drink your root beer float. It tastes good as you travel through space at 67k MPH.

It feels good to nix a divine plan and instead suppose we have no external or eternal purpose, responsibility or future. It feels good. For now.