One Week Old Today!

Just a quick blog to catch everyone up on our week. Caleb is one week old today and doing great. He's a VERY good baby. Eats, sleeps, wets, pees for distance, eats, sleeps, wets, asks us politely to change the bedsheets again, eats, sleeps, wets... Occassionally we get to see his eyes for a little while - dark blue, of course, for newborns. He doesn't cry much, mostly to announce that he's soaked again (as are most of his surroundings). We're learning some valuable tips on boys and diapers and what works and what doesn't. Suggestions welcome! We're sleep deprived, but happy otherwise. Kara is LOVING being a big sister and simultaneously testing all of the boundaries to see if the rules are still in place with Mama and Daddy barely awake.

On a more serious note, my grandma in Indiana had a heart attack on Tuesday and my mom had to travel to Indiana to be with her. She is doing well. They put in five stints and she is out of ICU, alert and doing better. I believe she will be going home at the beginning of the week. My mom will be coming back here on Friday and staying for another week. My Dad decided to stay and help us with Kara instead of going with Mom to Indiana. We're all very relieved that Omi is doing so well and that Mom was able to be with her this week.

Keep watching here for daily picture updates particularly through this week as Grandma needs her "Caleb fix" even in Indiana and it cheers Omi up to see new pictures of her new great-grandson!

Here's Caleb this morning - July 30th - one week old. He's our little froggy boy - until he wets through it anyway! 

This picture is for Joanna. Remember finding this orange outfit at Children's Orchard and you actually liked it, despite not liking orange! And for everyone else who's been asking, yes, he has blondish-red highlights, but no it's not really red hair. We'll see how it turns out! 

Grandma snapped this one at just the right second. Have to admit he doesn't really look like this all that much, but it's still pretty funny! 

Sweet sleepy little guy! 

Playing with Caleb first thing in the morning on Mama and Daddy's bed. 

What a good big sister Kara is! She loves Caleb so much and just wants to be near him and sing to him as much as she can! 

Caleb in the outfit he wore to the baby shower yesterday evening - July 27th -  

Lynn-nore and Kara looking him over 

Kara's first look at her baby brother 

A rare peek with both eyes 

Caleb is here!

It is hard to describe the extraordinary and domestic range of the emotions of the last 24 hours. Suffice to say that last night we took the Grandparents out to the beach. The tide was out, and Gramma and Kara couldn't help but find dozens of sand dollars everywhere they looked. On the way back, we made plans to have a game night the following evening -- and then it started. "Um...honey," said Lynn-nore as we pulled away from the beach, "I think we might be going to the hospital tonight." The contractions came very quickly, and by the time we got home, we had already summoned her parents back to the house, had talked to the midwife (Pat was on duty, the same person who delivered Kara) and everyone was clean. I could feel the adrenaline kicking in, my brain fussing to remember benign, domestic details while also grappling with the real impact of the situation. This is it. Wow, is this going to be hard. I hope it isn't too much for Lynn-nore. Are we ready for this? We can't wait to see him. Both of us were scared to death and full of joy against the coming future. I hope I can be of some help to Lynn-nore. I pray, God, don't let labor be too painful for her. Have mercy upon us, O Lord, and upon our son. "..that he gave his one and only son..." Kara was more calm than any of us. When Lynn-nore's Mom and Dad arrived back at the apartment, she was clean and in her jammies, ready with books for Gramma. "Bye honey," said Lynn-nore, bending to kiss her. "Next time you see us, you might be seeing your baby brother!" Kara was more interested in Gramma getting started on Jungle Book.

The raw details of the rest I will leave out. War stories are best left to those who fought the battle. I can say that we arrived at the hospital at 8pm, and that it was over at 12:47am. I can say that Lynn-nore did great and was very brave; that God did have mercy and didn't make her go into the wee hours of the morning; that she was already up and walking around a few hours later. I can also say that I was more helpful overall this time, but that is where it ends. Let me just say, there are moments where - being a guy - you feel like an alien. For example. Lynn-nore and Pat, both hands clasped, staring straight at each other, deeply involved in breathing - Pat walking Lynn-nore through a contraction that curls her toes and makes her knees shiver. They are their own universe, nothing else exists. Behind them, a nurse stands straight and quiet, ready to respond to any request. Three women, and I, the only man in the room, can do nothing and can add nothing. Now this really isn't the point, understand. It is stupid to whine about being useless, so don't hear me that way. I am not whining. I am proud to be useless for an hour or more if I can be useful (onesimus) to my wife for 2 minutes. This is the guy experience, though. We do not intuit the pain or the breathing, the pressure and the release, the drop of a baby nor the courage that goes into labor. We may approach ridiculously enthusiastic fandom, but we are always fans. Men look at women looking at labor the way women look at men looking at the work of their hands with the absolute attention of blood, DNA, soul.

Caleb came very quickly. Lynn-nore was induced at 12:10 or so, and he crowned so fast that he actually bruised his own forehead, nor did his head come out stretched and obling from the experience. Further, unlike his sister, Caleb did not cry or flail around. He coos and smacks, but he seems interested in letting the world talk to him about itself first. He was able to eat, and the relief and elation coming from Lynn-nore's face as she held him was like scales falling from the eyes. The room smelled sour and antiseptic, nurses came and did things, we just put our faces next to his and didn't care. Our breaths all mingled together. God made a knot.

I made it home, Lynn-nore and baby finally being tucked into their places, at 3am. The Grandparents left for their lodgings, and I went upstairs. Same stairs. Everything orangish yellow in the light squinting. Same everything, like a tomb opened up, same clothes and toys and stuff. I went in and kissed Kara, then went to sleep.

She woke up at 7:30am. We made it back to the hospital around noon, and I took 10 minutes of the sweetest video. Kara asked to hold Caleb, and Mommy obliged. She did so well with him. She is so interested in him - even to buzzing around him annoyingly when he cries, or when Lynn-nore is trying to change him. She touches his face, his ears, his fingers. "Hello baby Caleb," she says. "I love you," she says. The rest of today is meaningless, aside from the Tucker family visiting us. So wonderful to see them. All the girls were feeling a little sick, so Mike wound up holding him the whole time. How often does that happen? I'm fading now. Final stats: 7lbs 10oz; 21" long.

Everyone's Here, Except Caleb

Kara's running around in a new Snow White costume from Grandma and Papa. QE and Sir Walter are back from Poland. VBS is almost over for Kara. Still no sign of the little guy's arrival.

My parents arrived safely yesterday after two days on the road and we're all excited to be spending a few weeks with them. Kara keeps hearing about their new pool and is a little bummed that she won't actually get to see it or use it until next Summer. She asked last night "When are we going to Grandma and Papa's new house??" Kara is spending her mornings this week enjoying VBS and asking me regularly "When is Baby Caleb going to be born?"
"On his birthday, honey." is all I can tell her and that only God knows when that will be.

I have an appointment with one of the midwives this afternoon, so we'll see how that goes.

Thom's neck is out of wack badly enough to make him actually consider calling the doctor today, so please be praying for him. Presently his neck is semi-permanently focused downward. He's a poor thing! He's grateful that if I go into labor at least I'm shorter than he is and probably I'll be lying down. You know that great scene from The LionKing with them holding up the new baby lion high up in the air - they'll be none of that for Caleb until Daddy's neck feels better! Even Kara is beginning to wonder why Daddy can't look up quite right. Pray that God heals this quickly!

We'll keep you all posted!

Reporting that there's still nothing to Report

Just a quick note to update the blog. Nothing to report. Kara is spending her mornings at VBS this week. She seems to be enjoying it. Thom is doing drop-off and I'm doing pick-up. I'm enjoying the quiet around the house each morning, wondering every day - will this be the day. Tomorrow my parents will be arriving. They flew from Nashville to Norfolk to pick up one of their vehicles and they're driving up today and tomorrow. Guess Caleb is waiting for Grandma and Papa to be here before he arrives! Today I'm actually wondering if this whole pregnancy hasn't just been a figment of our collective imaginations and really I'm just fat and sometimes my belly moves all on it's own. I can't actually fathom that he's EVER going to be here in our arms!!

Let's see... over the weekend we did get to have some nice time with QE and Sir Walter. They came over Friday and Saturday evening. Kara was so tickled to see them that she crawled up in their laps with the blanket that lives on our couch and just wanted to snuggle up. Living so far away from family it's a blessing to have friends that fill that gap. We all appreciate it, but it's especially sweet to see how it meets that need for Kara and it's also sweet to see her so unabashadly (I think that's a word!) demonstrative about it! Anyway, after Kara went to bed we are able to hear some details of their trip to Poland, though even after many hours of discussion it still seems we only heard the tip of iceberg in terms of what God is doing in their lives and the lives of the people there. Mission trips often take time to process and it's always interesting to see what is fresh in someone's mind a day or two later versus what seems most significant six-months out. Certainly that conversation is not over yet!

Well, today is about getting my hair cut and buying some groceries, hopefully before picking Kara up, though we'll see. With the 90 degree weather, maybe Kara and I hit the grocery store after for the sake of perishables! Some of you have asked and it bears noting, we DO HAVE A/C - one in our bedroom and one in the living room. Thanks for asking - I'm surviving the heat as best as possible.

Keep checking in and we'll let you know if there's anything to report!

That space-time feeling

So I've set a date to take the GRE: October. And in this vein, I was just spreading out the various "study for the GRE 2006" books on the pinewood children's table in front of me at the local Barnes N' Noble, when the cell phone rang. It was Lynn-nore. QE and SWR, turns out, were stranded at the airport, tired and jet-lagged from their flight from Poland. It was my job to go get them. Lucky for me, I had Hendrix with me, and it was a warm night.

You know, I don't often really drive anywhere at night any longer. I forget what a rush it is to be out with the traffic and the neon and everyone moving and braking and shuffling around in position. Jimi was just breaking into the to-die-for opening montage of "Voodoo Child" when I crested the highway and could see Boston. Wow, I love the city. It has been quite awhile since I've seen it at night, and it looked great. Lynn-nore and I rarely actually go in; few people do. Boston is like most other big cities, you enjoy it if you live inside. If you are on the outisde, you like the idea of it. You occasionally remember that it exists. What does happen in there is usually too expensive to attend anyway. But, hey, it does look nice on a Summer evening, like a gaudy Christmas tree ornament dangling from the strong limb of the American Leviathan. The phone rings again just when I'm sliding into the blood stream (Lynn-nore and my term for the frenetic circulatory-system of Logan Airport.) Turns out, their ride was only late and I'm there for nothing.

Swerving into an exit, and putting the city behind me, I couldn't help but think of other times in my life when it has just felt good to drive. Crossing the Mississippi river at 11pm listening to early 70's metal and the Doors; driving through Knoxville at dusk at 85mph on any summer evening; Cruising around Myrtle Beach talking to Wes and listening to U2, INXS, the Church, the Cure, Bon Scott-era AC/DC on my Alpine - really just about anytime Wes and I just took off for nowhere counts as worthwhile and worth doing again. I remember riding around after midnight with Adam the weekend before we both went to college. He was going one way, I was going another, and neither of us had any idea what the heck we were doing or who we were. We drove around just to escape and to talk about the need to escape. That long drive from Texas City, up through Louisiana and the American South in 1988. Driving is synonymous at times with being alive, or with stepping out and looking back at things. Here's how Marshall Berman puts it in All That is Solid Melts Into Air: The Experience of Modernity (Penguine 1982):

"As with many of the creations born out of the spirit of this age [Modernity's] meaning and beauty cannot be grasped from a single point of observation. It can be revealed only by movement, by going along in a steady flow, as the rules of traffic prescribe. The space-time feeling of our period can seldom be felt so keenly as when driving." (p. 302)

Killing Time in Non-Projects Waiting for the Big One

Well, let's see... in my day, I got up today and made a things to do list... or at least a list of some things I can put my hand to while I'm not in the hospital giving birth!

The ordinary - I'll wash some towels and sheets, I'll clean up the kitchen, Kara and I can return some books to the libary, I'll work on a little project for my mom and dad who are coming up next week, I'll dust the bedroom and maybe, just maybe, today will be the day.

I've begun to believe I'm going to be pregnant for the rest of my life! So, in the meantime, may as well accomplish a few things, right? I'm almost totally caught up in my scrapbooking! That has been an ongoing project for a few months to try to catch up in preparation for doing baby pictures and a baby album (as if this will actually be happening soon). I'm presently working on pages from as recently as last month. When Dad and Karen were here I bought some supplies to try my hand at oil painting, but I haven't quite made the time yet for that yet either. Our good friends QE and Sir Walter are returning from a mission trip to Poland today, so we'll be spending some time with them this weekend, which should be nice since we haven't seen them in three weeks and we're looking forward to hearing about their trip. I also have a few catalog shows to keep up with in my Pampered Chef business - if you happen to be one of the people doing one of these catalog shows, know that I haven't forgotten about you!

While all of these things are lovely and nice, none of them seem to be the fulfillment of my days. I am round as a watermelon and big as house with feet each the size of a nice ham and the consistency of those squishy carpel-tunnel-resisting-hand-exercise balls. You can actually poke my feet and leave a dent. Dear Thom was sweet enough to actually make me a foot-soak last night and then put lotion on my feet. Considering I can't really reach them, this was quite a blessing.

I went ahead and made another doctor's appointment for next Thursday, because the way I see it I'm going to be pregnant until the end of time, may as well keep on making those appointments! Hey, and I'm not even past my due date yet!

So, must continue with the mundane. It appears to be the lunch hour and presumably the out-of-the-womb-offspring would actually like lunch!

eskimo

Not much going on - clustered like an anchorite in my cluttered cell with its blue cubicle walls, listening to N.T. Wright and Jimi Hendrix. Air conditioning and flourescent lighting finally sent me searching for the sun during afternoon break. An empty meeting room with a westward window served as a chapel. I dragged up a chair and tried to catch up on a little Moltmann. Highligher and pencil slowly mark one's mental footsteps through a christology as challenging in its boldness as it is racy in its heterodoxy. 5...10...15 minutes. Time wanders aimlessly, slushing through the soupy moments of the workday. How many hours of Wheel of Fortune did Jody's Papaw take into the afterlife? Even for the church, this is ordinary time. There's that boredom that comes with yardwork - you've begun the pattern and now there is just the long, grassy sweat until its ending. Put a bubble around today I'd do two things with it. First, I'd get that bike fixed and ride it for awhile. Second, I'd work out a few songs on the Martin, not as much for the songs as the feel of my fingers working together, doing something in unison, effortlessly effecting that marvelous tone like poured coffee in a cup. I actually had someone ask me the other day what guitarists influenced me. Whoa! it has been many years since I even thought about music like that, or about my own guitar playing like that. I don't as much use the guitar to play music as I do to do music. I am as happy working out new progressions for some on-the-spot melody as I am actually playing anything. It was a strange question: like I had to figure out what the person was asking me. But here's the thing: the implied question has to do with a personal project. Who is informing your project? That's just it - I don't have a project. I have backed myself in a wall here? How much non-project am I taking into the afterlife? How much better is non-project than wheel of fortune, buying letters without actually writing anything.

Naming the spirit: Spiritual Abuse

Spiritual Abuse. I came upon this term just recently and am fast realizing how important it is. See, for one reason or another, my relationship with the church resembles more the response of someone who has been abused, someone now trying to overcome that past and live for present relationships, than anything else. My personal struggles to return to the church, to worship with a church, and to participate in a church are constantly enacted against a hyper-sensitive flight-instinct that can only be the product of abuse.

Now, before the eye rolling begins. Before you expect to see me on Oprah. Let me say that I am not alone. Indeed, I can think of many people I know who are similarly effected. Some of you reading this are exactly whom I mean, and you know it. Or maybe you haven’t quite put your finger on it yet, but there it is: Spiritual Abuse. I am actually writing this in the hope that you will begin learning about this, just as I am starting to learn about it.

So what is spiritual abuse? Spiritual abuse arises from the same place that every other abuse arises: from a defecit of love where love should have been expected. No, worse than this: from a situation in which one’s expectation of love was misused and thus one was manipulated or assaulted instead. But when I talk about spiritual abuse, I am talking about abuse that has preyed on one’s religious hopes and fears. And, really, when you get down to it, I’m talking about pastors. But, what about other voices? Here is at least one.

Ron Henzel is the founder of a ministry to victims of spiritual abuse called Rest Ministries. Henzel defines spiritual abuse as follows. He says, "Spiritual Abuse" occurs when those practices and behaviors that are normally associated with cults and their leaders manifest themselves within groups that profess to adhere to evangelical Christianity.” Indeed, he makes no difference when it comes to manipulative practices between cults and churches, saying, it is not necessary to shy away from referring to some groups as "cults" simply because they affirm traditional Christian doctrine… no specific theological point-of-view is attached to the word "cult" in the English language.” The central issue is the nature of leadership. “All that is needed for abuse is a pastor accountable to no one and therefore beyond confrontation.” (Churches That Abuse, 189)

Henzel goes on to list the specific problem areas that identify a church or group that is abusive. These are: Manipulation; authoritarianism; elitism; denunciation of outsiders; spiritual intimidation; legalism; false unity; excessive discipline; coercive confession and a painful exit process. His website is definitely worth a look, as well as the fantastic blog-report at Wittenberg Gate. Let me close this post with a bullet list from another website I came across as it lists eleven marks of perverted authority. They are:

1. The claim of direct authority from God, rather than testing things by the Word. Many today have set "personal" revelation and experience above the final authority of God's Word. When this occurs there is no longer any basis for ascertaining the will of God, as one would not be able to discern truth from error because the standard is "personal" rather than the Word of God.
   
2. The command is to "submit to me," rather than "I will serve you."
   
3. The method of leadership is to "order" people around, rather than to appeal for them to do the right things.
   
4. There is a dominating, "pushy" drive instead of a dependence on God to direct.
   
5. There is a sense of control, rather than a sense of support.
   
6. A gift is exploited so that others are made to feel dependent on it.
   
7. There is inflexibility - "don't question me" - "don't touch the Lord's anointed."
   
8. There is unapproachability and intimidation - the "aura" around the leader keeps the followers in "awe."
   
9. There emerges an organization built around a man and his peculiar emphases instead of around Christ and His Word.
   
10. There will be cyclical challenges to the authority figure (which are immediately and forcefully purged).
    
11. There is more concern for maintaining the authoritarian structure than there is for caring about the people in it.
    

From Kara to Byzantine Theology in 200 words

Monday and hot in Massachusetts. This morning, Kara joined a ragamuffin assemblage of kids from church making pilgrimage to the beach. Lynn-nore slathered her with UV30 sunscreen, put a water bottle in her hand and off she went happy as a clam. The news later in the day was that Kara and peers played in water up to her chest and that all observed three different kinds of jellyfish and another, interesting looking spiny fish. (Lynn-nore and I appreciate the latter part, but are driven to knots of parental anxiousness at the former.) No action on the Caleb front. Electricity has started going off for lengthy periods of time during the day. Oh yes, yesterday we came home from church to find the power off. First thing we did after assessing the situation was send me to the local food mart. When I arrived, people were streaming through the permanently-open electric doors like so many ants. Sans electricity, everything is so quiet. The staff were hollering back and forth trying to cover the frozen section in some kind of tarp, and brown-skinned men and women waited in infinitely long lines to buy candy, magazines and soda. That was the strange part. Outside of a 40ish man who came in behind me, I was the only one piling on the ice. 10 bags went tightly pressed together into the freezer, and a few minutes later, the power came back on. I’ve finally begun reading a book assigned for review: Adam Cooper. The Body in St. Maximus the Confessor (Oxford 2005). Maximus is amazingly contemporary once you get past that Byzantine Greek and his dependence upon Gregory of Nazianzus and Pseudo-Dionysius. Here’s a good quote:

In apprehending the Word, a person receives, or better, is received by the complete holy Trinity. It is not finally the vision of the glory of the Son to which the worthy attain, but the vision of the glory of the Father – in the Son – through the Spirit….Scripture’s true purpose is to lead us in the Spirit from the multiple ‘words’ to the singular ‘Word’ in whom we come finally to the Father.

Work but no Labor

Everyone has been through it in the last 36 hours. Lynn-nore had a Dr's appointment on Thursday, which led to increasingly painful contractions which led to us dropping Kara off at Lydia's and heading to the hospital. All seemed well until about 10:50pm, at which point her body seemed to be saying "I'm tired" and labor ceased altogether. They gave Lynn-nore a sleeping pill and sent us home. This morning, it was 1pm by the time we had picked Kara up and made further arrangements. The signs suggested that labor was starting up again, and so Lynn-nore and I headed to the hospital. The result, however, was anything but labor. We were bored. We walked the hallways and endured telling our story to 3 different nurses and watching daytime TV and waiting. We made it home again at 6pm, but everyone was tired. Lynn-nore was tired from the on-again-off-again; and Kara from not sleeping a wink at Lydia's house. All in all, lots of work but no labor. The wait resumes....

Being held tight under the Iron Boot

Waiting and religious suffering are not that far apart. The book of Revelation is steeped in and originates within this attitude - How long, O Lord? Waiting is the present martyrdom of the past. Waiting is like a military invasion or the arrival of a police state, the buildings and familiar landmarks of daily life are changed but unchanged. In your mind they buck and roll with the shock of some new situation; but in reality they are the same. And that is just it: the same coming up in contact with the radically new, this is absolutely unpleasant and this is what waiting is all about. Waiting comes in uninvited and eats all the sweets! Waiting is the fever lingering on the third day of your illness. Waiting is uncomfortable shoes at the beginning of the workday. Waiting is a devil's holiday; angels not invited. Waiting is for lesser people. Waiting is das Nicht from which modernity runs. Waiting is a mosquito loose in your bedroom at night. Waiting is a toll bridge; airplane air at 20,000 feet; humidity; chafing during a walking tour of Paris; the spider you can't find; and everything to do with medicine. Waiting is a buildup to hospice; getting your breath knocked out too early in a fight; chewing your nails too close and the fear of motion sickness on public transportation. Waiting is the highlight to every form of suffering and expiration, and no one likes to do it. Yet, this is the way it is around the house waiting until Caleb is born. Poor Lynn-nore is worried every minute to death with waiting's incessant harassments. And I suppose I don't have to mention my own experience with waiting.

"Hello, yes, is this the mothership? Oh good. I was wondering if you could send someone down to collect my daughter. She's interested in going to the moon for the afternoon if that's okay. Dancing? Sure she likes to dance, and she would also like to explore some caverns and ride on a few of the moonacoasters. You'll be here in 45 minutes? Great!"

That is the way the conversation went this morning - this morning when I had to give Kara something to do today while I am at work and Mommy is exhausted! The one needs about six hours of peace alone to catch up on sleep, and the other needs a rowdy day of play - and I'm no help because work is "that toad that squats on your life" (e.e.cummings) As it was, perhaps Kara would catch hold of this idea of going to the moon for the day and that would stimulate some playtime, some drawing and other creative expression. She asked this morning if she could email me at work, and emailed to say she would miss me "while [she is] on the moon."