40 posts tagged “james”
Taking a pair of pliers, he twists the wire together as he'd done over a decade before, fingers remembering the old dance around the rebar, under the supervision of the California sun. This time, it isn't rebar or concrete forms he's dealing with, nor is he under a full layer of fire-retardant "Nomex" coveralls in the oldest oil refinery on the West Coast. He's in his own backyard, tying not steel but bamboo together. His aim: make the most cost-effective tomato trellis for his few dollars. The sands of time have slowed down, stretching the minutes into hours. He knew the project was taking longer than it should, but the garden had become his latest obsession.
Soon, he had tied together the first few supporting members. It was taking shape! The tic-tac-toe grid would help keep the tomatoes away from the cabbages, carrots and mesculine (salad greens mix). He hears the piercing cry moments later:
"Daddy!"
A flash of copper glints in his periphery. It was Jamesyn, the fighting-Irish redhead, breaking his reverie. His heart beats a rapid tattoo in his chest. His thoughts of years spent in the trenches at Avon refinery tying steel vanish in a moment, he can't help but grin: Jamesyn is a jealous child, and will not be ignored. It's alright, though. He doesn't want to ignore the chance at garden-time with one of his kids.
"Hey, beautiful!" he beams a smile at her. She meets his stare with her steel blue eyes, purse in hand and her oversized Dora backpack, bursting with books and activities, clutches onto her back for dear life. A Spiderman stuffed doll is clutched to her chest.
"I got my baby, Daddy. This is my baby. I got my pink pursie, Daddy," she shows off her accoutrements and takes off in a beeline for Daddy's arms.
Dropping his pliers and the tie wire, the gardener lifts up his daughter, squeezing her for all she's worth.
"Oh, this is your baby? Well, you're my baby, Jamie. I love you." Her response is inaudible as she's smothered in his kisses. She gives up trying to talk and surrenders to the onslaught, kissing him back and looking at the first trellis.
"What are you doing, Daddy?"
"Building a trellis for the tomatoes."
"A t-r-e-ll-i-s?" she responds, cocking her head to one side as she turns over the word in her mind like a jewler fascinated with a new gemstone. He knew what was coming next: "What's a 'trellis'?"
He explains, best he can, but she keeps asking, "What are you doing out here?" followed by "What's a trellis?"
He knows it's a game, more than a search for information, but plays along, answering same two questions for the next ten minutes. All the while, she's picking up the various tools in the yard, digging holes in the ground and picking up bits of wire. She spots her carrying case of sidewalk chalk and bends to pick it up, dropping Spiderman in the Idaho dust.
"Oh, no! My baby, Daddy!"
"What happened? Is he dirty?" he says, dusting him off. "Jamie, you're carrying too much stuff—your books are falling out, your baby fell, and you want to carry the chalk, too?"
He's forgotten, for a moment, what it was like to be two. Of course she wants to carry all her worldly possessions and follow her daddy around! He gives up the inquisition and returns Spiderman to his daughter.
Satisfied, and carrying the chalk as well, she somehow manages to stick her "sucky" in her mouth while precariously balancing her cargo in each arm. Soon, books begin to fall out of the open backpack again, and she trips. Not one to cry, she dusts herself off and decides she's done. The sun's rays beating on her coppertop were too much. Daddy-time was over for now.
"Love you, Jamie," he calls after her, as the door closes. He shakes his head, smiling and savoring his simple joys.
Our church recently had their second church park day of ’08 (sound familiar, my Grace peeps?), which is held at a nearby elementary school. Nestled at the base of nearby foothills and a local snow-bunny magnet, the view from church is scenic to say the least. During park days, we play a game called “Ultimate Frisbee,” a game I’ve yet to try, as I’m usually busied keeping my three older kids herded together and somewhat safe (a euphemism for “leading them on a hike through a nearby copse of trees with a bubbling brook running ‘tween them”). Meanwhile, Tasha is busied with the three young’uns as she applies her skills at what she does best: making friends. If you know my precious wife, you’re probably the victim of said skills and know I mean that in the kindest way.
At this last park day, the kids had convinced me to follow suit of a young 20-something-year old brother named Tim, and lead them in a hike up nearby “Mount Simplot,” as I call it. As an aside, I’m sure the hill has a proper name of some sort, but I’ve named it so because sitting atop it is a manse with an immense flag (big enough to be seen from Mt. Everest, I’m sure), and every Sunday we drive past this landmark which sits just across the street from our church. I’m convinced one day the flag just may be ripped from the pole by some act of Providence, only to drift across our rooftop during some poignant moment during one of Brad’s sermons (our pastor). The resulting scene would, I’m sure, be interpreted by some as a sign of the apocalypse, or perhaps some cruel joke of the state government. In any event, the name “Simplot” is the name of the billionaire potato magnate that struck a deal some years past with none other than Ray Crock, founder of McDonald’s (as in: The Big Mac of fast food and franchises), to be the main supplier of Mickey D’s French fries. So, now you know a bit of Idaho and American history (can’t you just taste those dollar-menu fries now? Golden goodness, baby!), and why I call the hill next to our church “Mt. Simplot.”
Getting back on point, at our first park day of this year, Tim was seen rolling down the hill, and the Hussey mob of kids (they can be quite a convincing mob when unified in purpose, but I mean this in the dearest way) persuaded (begged) me to take them to the top during the next park day at All Saints. Well…we did exactly that! I had the company of Jor, Jules, Jake and Brandon and Shaun (nephew and brother-in-law), and along the way I also “raced” the pastor’s daughters (who were merciless, BTW—typical pastor’s kids—they didn’t even give me a head start!).
Truth be told, I made the trek twice that day (see, Jordyn is a bit gifted at persuading me to do her bidding, but don’t tell her). Was I sore? No. Definitely sweaty, though. We had the pleasure of grass-sliding our way down…and I realized, with a mischievous glint in my eye, that the next time we have a park day, we Hussey’s are beating friction with cardboard sleds! Pray we don’t wind up in the hospital or morgue, it’s pretty steep.
Anyhow, that’s it for now. It’s currently dinner time and Tasha and I are nestling in for a little Netflix with our meal. Tune in soon for pics and a homeschooling Dad’s story about auto mechanical basics and the classroom of real life!
To all our friends in the burning state of (Sodom?) California: we miss you something awful. We’re still praying you’ll all move out here in the weeks and months to come! Starting with Dave, Laura and their four wonderlings…Construction’s picking up out here, Dave, c’mon!
Whoa. With a title like that and I'll have more clicks than all the yuppie churches in America! (With an attitude like that I'll have less friends than Mr. Scrooge!)
In any event, I wanted to share a top ten list a la Dave Letterman style. Only, this one's bound to have less laughs, and I don't think it will reappear on the big or small screen any time soon.
Here goes:
Top Ten "Signs you're getting older."
10. Family and friends begin buying you gifts like the jumbo-sized Ibuprofen/Motrin, or a gender-specific "One-a-Day" vitamin.
9. You begin to view your neighbor's teenage kids as carriers of the Bubonic Plague, and begin to dislike their teenage ways (you know: the loud music, groups of friends at their homes on Friday nights, etc.).
8. You Netflix more and go to the local Edwards Cinema less (to avoid those darn-blasted teenagers and their noisy ways...arrrgh!).
7. When you've been sitting or lounging about for more than 30 minutes, and try to get to your feet, your body takes ten minutes to muster up the energy to actually get to your feet.
6. Once you've actually attained the goal of getting to your feet (continuing #7), it takes ten more minutes for your joints to protest in various cramps, or for your feet to wake up, or for your back to stop its painful whining.
5. For ten more minutes after #6 has subsided (your various cramps and pains having relented), you complain to various standers-by that "Man, I'm getting old!"
4. Your kids are talking about marriage, college, and careers...and you can remember your high school graduation like it was yesterday.
3. You make references to movies or to television shows that were on 3 decades ago, and the twenty-something-year-old you're speaking with has no idea who or what planet you're from.
2. You can hear yourself saying things like, "When I was a kid, we didn't have video games," or, "remember when we had to get up and change the channel because we didn't have remotes?" and you're treated like Neil Armstrong (wait, who's he??)
1. Your pastor, in your reformed church, is YOUNGER THAN YOU!
Crud. We're getting older!
On an unrelated thought, Jonah the Wise had this to say this week:
We had our pastor's family over this weekend (miracles never cease), and we were all conversing one with another. Jonah looks to our pastor, Brad Chaney, after being introduced by me, and asks him:
"Um, why do you yell in church?"
Let me say that again:
Jonah asked our pastor, "Why do you yell in church?
...
On another occasion, when Tasha mentioned the Lord's Prayer, and spoke of "Give us this day our daily bread,"
Jonah jumped in with, "Oh, and juice! Bread and juice!"
...
We end our worship at All Saints Presbyterian Church by receiving the benediction from the pastor. Usually, as per Presby custom, we hold out our hands as if to "catch" the blessing being poured out from on high. As we did this today, Jones high-fived all of us, as if we were celebrating the end of church! (maybe you had to be there for that one, it was cute)
In yet an entirely unrelated subject, we are so blessed and excited to have one of our coolest sista's in the faith and her wee littl'uns for two whole weeks! Yes!!!
Tha's right, Laura and the Cole Jr. kiddies are coming to town and living under our roof, and I think we may actually have the most boring time planned for them because we're running full steam ahead building a family business, but nonetheless, it's like Christmas in Summer for us! It will be like having a circus come under our roof, but much more fun and with less of a door charge.
Laura and Cole kids: Thanks for coming out! The next two weeks will be filled with some joyous memories. The Lord blesses and blesses some more, beyond our measure. Needless to say, we've been looking forward to this for quite the while.
Yahoo! (I mean, Google!)
Here's a link to Albert Mohler's blog, and a list of recent MP3 downloads from his radio program. I am so blessed to have access to the internet and to the radio where I found this fella, and absolutely love his program and stand for truth. Men like Dr. Mohler and Dr. Ravi Zacharias, Dr. R.C. Sproul and others have really taken bold stands for truth in an age of "truth decay", so to speak.
In any event, Dr. Mohler, without consulting me or my blog (believe it or not), has taken a stand against the book by Paul Young called The Shack, which I blogged about a while back. Needless to say, he took the liberty of reading the book after some friends of his asked his 2 cents on the matter. Let me be concise and summarize:
1) The book is decidedly NOT analogous to Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" (as touted by Eugene Peterson on the cover of the book). Why? Where Bunyan wrote within the confines of what is known as orthodox Christianity, in several places Young makes references (through "Papa" or God's character in the book) to being "beyond" any single definition of truth, and in fact makes claim that there are many people that God reaches in various faith traditions beyond Christianity (i.e.: Buddhism, Muslim, Hindu, etc.). Dr. Mohler pointed out on the program today that the author of The Shack made it clear that these 'believers' or saved members of the Church were not Buddhists, Muslim, Hindu, etc. in a "past tense" sense, but were actively engaged in their faith traditions. And yet: Christ went to them and saved them, according to the dialogue in the book. This is confounding, in Dr. Mohler's words. To say the least!
In short, The Shack is not an analogue of the faith, it is a revision of the faith. The theology of The Shack is heterodox, not orthodox, in its presentation of the Christian God and salvation.
2) Sin does not result in Hell in so much as sin is something that God wishes to "cure" us of. The wrath of God is eschewed in favor of a healing, therapeutic God.
3) "Undiluted heresy" is what you'd find in the "God" and theology of the book. Again: Dr. Mohler's words. The theology of The Shack is "another gospel," when compared to God's self-revelation contained in the Bible alone. What was it that Paul the Apostle said of those who come with another gospel?
Let them be "anathema," in English, "Let them be damned."
It was puzzling, in Mohler's words, to find that this book is so popular, and has had the effect it has had ("life changing," "I understand God better now than I ever have," etc.), in light of the fact that it sheds no light on the subject of the nature and character of God. It is no small thing that heresy makes for best-selling fiction. Of greater concern is the fact that Christians think that this book makes for good reading, and sacrifice truth for the sentimental experience presented in The Shack.
This is one of those "let me click on by, James is on another of his personal crusades" posts, so if you're offended at hearing yet another (*yawn*) defense from a fundamental, Bible-loving Christian thumping the old party line of promoting life and multiplying children, please continue elsewhere. Whatever you do, don't click here, which is where I found the article in the first place that got my juices on high boil.
I have at many times been in various self-induced valleys, where I'm left thinking, "I have 6 kids, but for some reason would love a dozen more," and at other sundry times I find myself lusting after 15-passenger vans or small busses, even being a little green at this family, expecting #18. Other events will leave me in a doubting rut of "how can I provide for this family, how??" such as when I recently almost got arrested. More on that some other time. It's really a funny story. At no time do I wish that I didn't have, say, children #4-6, or #'s 2 & 5, or other such nonsense. Truly, at all times, I enjoy the little voice boxes (volume settings: High or Asleep) and dusty feet (clearly they were stolen from elephants) that produce the cacophany of noise that is the Hussey family. They are all blessings, and my life would be so much more empty without any one of them. More than that: I am convinced from Scripture that Tasha and I will have more children, without our numbering of them, when God provides them.
I know: I'm mad, right? Like: worse than the Hatter of the same variety on the other end of the looking glass? Nutty like Nutella in its hazelnutty goodness? Crazier than the idea of big government solving all our problems (be it thru McCain, Obama or Billary)?
Or is it simply that truth has always had this, "you gotta be kidding, build you an ark and get all these animals aboard?!" or "Born of a virgin?? Son of God?!" type of effect?
Alright, here's the gist, the original link takes you to Lawn Gospel, a site that's new to me but defends the position, crazy as it sounds, that kids really are what God says they are: a blessing from the Lord.
As such, despite our technological "advances" (none of which, of course, are stained by the sinful effects on our minds, right?), we don't have the right to take liberty with our bodies and induce voluntary infertility, which the Bible always equates with a curse. I say this because it would seem the "technological advances" in our time have made birth control increasingly accessible. So much so, that we have begun to think of family planning as our right, and voluntary infertility has become pandemic even amongst Christians.
All this being said, I admit that it's not easy for us to follow our convictions, and I don't follow them with 100% "quiverfull" gusto (we're more of the "Natural Family Planning" varietal). I admit that I can't have as many children as I would wish because I haven't planned this family well. That is a slight against me as the head of this home, but not out of a lack of conviction on the point at hand.
I truly believe that it's God's right alone to limit our family size, and in no way am I convinced that this includes birth control. If you are among the many friends we have that don't share this conviction, I hope you don't read this as a judgment against your position. I cast no stones, and don't wish to introduce yet another legalism into Christian circles. I make no laws here, but write only because I often feel the arrows pointed at us for being this crazy about kids. I only wished to share my jubilation at being reminded that I'm not the only Mad Hatter in the land of the Queen of Hearts.
Bones and I were in the loo at the Boise zoo (just big enough for two people, BTW), just exiting the men's toilet and headed for the sink, when we both spied a man wearing a red bandana (a la Harley Davidson chic) using the urinal, to which Jonah the Wise exclaimed,
Daddy! Is that man a pirate??
I couldn't help but laugh, albeit a little nervously, because the would-be pirate was standing at an easy six feet. I couldn't answer the question in time, because just then Jones repeated a little louder,
Daddy, I said, "Is that man a pirate?!"
(Obviously he doesn't know that pirates require parrots on shoulders, missing limbs/teeth, and at least one hook for an appendage!)
I'm blessed to have been a supporter of Tabletalk Magazine and Ligonier Ministries for some years now. If you haven't had the good fortune to dig deeper into the Bible alongside the various men involved with the teaching ministry there, please check 'em out and drink deeply of timeless truths delivered faithfully.
The May issue is "The Seven Deadly Sins and Heavenly Virtues," and no: this isn't a Romanist/papist's rag, they're full-bore believers of God's Word and true justification through grace alone, faith alone, in Christ alone, and authority through the Scriptures alone (all to God's glory alone). However, the issue at hand does bring to mind the fact that there are certain sins that can bind us and enslave us far quicker and more easily than others.
I do, however, wish to point out that there are more sins than those seven deadly types, and I wish to enumerate them here, lest you, too, fall into them. What follows is a list of what I think the church at large ought to include in the list of "deadly sins" (side note: are there "deadly sins" and "life-giving sins"? Hmmmm....the title's a little misleading, ain't it?) [Reader beware! You are entering into the ranting mind of a satyrical tyrant. Read: "smell the sarcasm."]
1. Leaving the gas tank "1/16th full" (for those optimistic types). Honestly, this is a deadly sin. The fact that we always have places to go, be it church or miscellaneous errands, or to work....we're a family that's goin' places, man. Goin' hither and thither and sometimes yon demands a gas guage that happily reports: "Go get 'em, Tiger! All systems are go." Instead, between [in the interest of a happy marriage and not offending her brother, as I'm married to one guilty party and work for the other, I shall refrain from listing their names], I have had no less than three experiences in as many days wherein the vehicles have begged, "James! PLEASE! For the love of OPEC, for the conservation of dear Texas Tea and Black Gold, for the cause of There Will Be Blood the movie--please take me to the over-priced, over-taxed gas pump!" It's a crying shame.
Why is this a "deadly sin"? <begin rant:>Because: the next time I find that [she and he who will not be named] have failed to keep more than fumes in the gas tanks of the two vehicles in question, really, there will be blood.<end rant>
2. Not being captivated by my teaching and reading of the Bible during "Hussey's love to listen to their Daddy's preaching and teaching" family Bible study time.
I mean, really, don't Jamesyn and Jones see that this is the very staff of life? Does being 2 and 3 actually mean they have to "act their age"? Do I have to employ Mickey Mouse references and do a dance and song from The Wiggles to reach them? Must I carve idols from Play-Doh in order to reach the little balls of fun? Doesn't the 8-year-old cherish his limbs (I say that because Jake is a candidate for the straightjacket: he will NOT hold still. Ever see the ending scenes of Over The Hedge with Hammy the squirrel, hopped up on caffeine? Well: that's our Jake. I've imagined placing him in a device called 'The Rack'--a medeival torture device designed by parents to teach their 8-year-olds to hold still and adopt a look of utter captivation and awe at learning life-saving truth from God's Word.)? Only Julienne, Jordyn and Jessica understand that this is sacred time. (Or: they cherish their limbs...?)
Why is this a "deadly sin"? Well...for fear that Child Protection Services reads this rant blog, I can't elaborate...
3. Four-way-stop knuckleheads. I mean, it's as simple as this: when you come to a 4-way stop, if you arrive at the same time as the driver straight ahead of you, and you are turning left (across the middle of the intersection), then the dude who's goin' straight has the right of way. Or: if you arrive at the same time as the dude on your right, then dude on your right has the right of way (if dude's on your left, this means you go).
Got that?
There is no room to "be nice" or "be LDS (as we have it in Idaho, same thing as bein' nice)" at a 4-way stop. Just take your turn when it's yours! Don't SIT THERE AND PLAY THE WAITING GAME WITH ME--IF THERE'S A PAUSE, IT'S YOU! play nice/LDS and simply wait for (me) to figure it out. Why? Because, invariably, we both get tired of waiting and then go at the same time.
Why is this deadly? Well, I don't have a history of actual road rage that you may know about, but believe me, I'm saying "You Fool! Raca!" when I'm on the road. Deadly. One day, I may actually meet the Lord (a.k.a. my demise) by crashing into someone who doesn't obey the simple stop-sign-calculus. It may be a physically deadly sin.
Darn Raca drivers...
More deadly sins to be listed in the future. Stay tuned (all two of you).
At All Saint's Presby here in Boise, seeing Christ in Exodus was today's sermon. The beauty that is the infallible Word of God is jaw-dropping, especially in the hands of a preacher so concerned with such beauty as God's Truth. Simple things like the manifold ways that it's all Christ, and Christ everywhere. Things like the surpassing glory of Jesus even compared to the amazing story of Moses.
Walking away from church today, I was again reminded of this timeless truth:
Jesus is the source of all joys. Idols, however, everywhere abound, to distract our eyes from the beauty that is our Saviour.
And a great diagnostic tool:
If you were to lose or to be limited access to [insert idol here], would you be mad? Excited? Depressed? Do you find joy in someone or thing that is to be seen, touched, or apprehended in some way?
I ask this question knowing what a factory of idols, as John Calvin put it, the human heart is. My heart has manufactured more idols since I met Christ 10 short years ago than Ford has produced Mustangs (gotta love the new GT! Hold the phone...that's another idol, ain't it?!)
The idol I'm currently wrestling with: Nintendo Game Cube... Actually, the fever ain't as bad as I thought it'd be, but I'd be embarassed if either John Piper or R.C. Sproul, two of my hands-down all-time fave and influential teachers of the faith, were to come by and see me playing the thing...See what I mean? Even mentioning Piper and Sproul exposes yet two more idols: notice I didn't say I'd be embarassed if Jesus saw me playing (which He does, most every day)...
sheesh...
In all honesty, though in times past I have had an uncommonly strong love and adoration for all things Nintendo, I don't have the cash money for the machine of machines, the Nintendo Wii, and thank the Lord for that, nor do I play the machine I own as much as my twitchy fingers are wanting to do, but the fact is this: I am always in a struggle to find enjoyment more in the gifts and trinkets of God's grace than I am in finding enjoyment in God Himself.
This is the crux and curse of the matter: who do you love most, James?
My pastor hit me with that today, and the story was that age-old story of our brother, Moe. (To his friends, that is: "Moe.")
Ouch.
Here's a link to Phil Johnson's conclusion on an argument of how Paul (the apostle) presented truth in a straightforward, don't mince words or play pussy-foot with rebukes, sort of way. Good readin'.
Phil Johnson and others blog at Pyromaniacs. You may recall he was the fella behind the Intelligent Design arguments? Wait, no, this isn't that Phil! Phil Johnson is another cat altogether, actually in league with Grace to You (broadcast ministry of John MacArthur), been bloggin' since 1995.
I discovered him on Purgatorio just this morning. I love his straightforward, manly approach to truth, and wish that we weren't in an age where it's so out of step to live this out:
For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ" (2 Corinthians 10:4-5).
Yesterday I wrote about a book I shuddered at and dismissed out of hand. Though I don't think that the point of the story (i.e.: God's love, especially during our suffering) is moot (actually, those who know the Hussey's could make a case that's all we ever talk about!), I still maintain that introducing the masses to an idol and misrepresentation of God to do so is inherently wrong.
The cool part: my kids got to see their daddy spontaneously combust before their very eyes during Family Bible reading time (a.k.a. "lunch"). I think I did that while bloggin, too...
I also had the great pleasure of listening to four of my pastor's sermons on our MP3 playa yesterday at work. During one sermon on Exodus, he (Brad Chaney) preached on a bit of how, after 400 years of living in pagan Egypt, the Israelites were still distinct from Egyptian culture.
In other words: they didn't believe in syncretism. Their identity was so Jewish that Pharoah wanted to commit "ethnic cleansing" and kill them off. The Egyptian leadership was uncomfortable with their distinct Hebrew culture.
Why do I mention that? Simply: I lament the "melting pot theory" of American culture. Christians: we are not free to "melt" and "blur" so as to become indistinguishable from the culture. We have to walk the line and be Christians: deliberately different.
(I think of a dear friend of mine, and our conversations about this topic: we both struggle in this area. If I'm preaching, I preach to myself first.)
Our girl has turned fourteen (yesterday, precisely at 7:25 am...I think...).
?!!
Fourteen years ago I was 18 years old, and voting for the first time. I was also smoking, and living with my girlfriend, Tasha Buck. Actually, that's not right--we were living together after Jordyn was born. Fourteen years ago, while Tasha was pregnant with Jordyn, I contracted the chicken pox, and for a few weeks couldn't even see my wife girlfriend. Back then, Jordyn was the only child of the family...wait, what family? That's right! We weren't married yet.
Fast forward to today, where Tasha and I were dumbstruck at how much has changed. The best change is that we know and are known by Christ. We live with purpose in mind: to glorify and enjoy the Lord Jesus Christ. We have been blessed with 5 more healthy children. We have grown up and continue to grow up in Christ. We have also hiked through gloomy valleys filled with potholes and snares set by The Enemy. We have enjoyed mountain-top experiences of unbridled and simple joys, and have lost family members to the Curse and end that awaits all mankind.
In the past fourteen years, our Jordyn has seen the worst and not yet the best of her parents. Despite our shortcomings, however, our lovely daughter has grown into an example of Christianity that neither her mother nor myself would have dreamt to become at that age. (Mainly because we were dead in sin, as Paul puts it in Romans 5:8 and 6:23.) Though far from perfect, when I look at Jordyn I can see not the effect of my great parenting (don't let me fool you: I'm not a great parent), nor do I see that she is some perfect child without flaw, but I see quite clearly the marvelous hand of God at work: Almighty over all.
Almighty over the litany of foolish choices I've made as her earthly father.
Almighty over the circumstances of being uprooted...twice...in so many years from all that's familiar.
Almighty over the fact that I am such a clumsy and inconsistent example of what "Christ-like" looks like.
God is truly almighty over all, and if He wasn't, I'd have given up trying to raise Jordyn as a Christian long ago. Almost to prove this point, the Lord has been pleased to bless, and I can't type that word big enough to communicate the emphatic way I mean it:
God has BLESSED this family with Jordyn (and all her siblings, both present and yet to come), to remind us that He alone has overcome all our shortcomings and sinfulness. Looking at Jordyn in particular has reminded me of the manifold wisdom and grace and mercy and power and love of God, especially in thinking how God has been pleased to reveal how much of a difference His grace and Spirit have made in our daughter when compared to who we were at this tender age.
I would be embarassed to meet the 18-year-old James and Tasha, new and clueless parents to a beautiful baby girl. I would be embarassed and quite possibly would tell Tasha to "Run far from me!" to save herself from future difficulty (to put things mildly), but at the same time: it's marvelous! Thank God that He didn't leave me and Tash where we were: dead in sin.
Thank God that when I look at Jordyn, my wonderful daughter who is more mature now than I, my daughter who is going to raise up future sons and daughters of God (Lord willing), I can honestly say that she isn't me nor Tasha at 14! She isn't who I was. She won't make the same choices. She is a living testimony of the Spirit of God alive and at work in this world, and I am so blessed to be her Daddy.
As time gallops forward, and "now" becomes a cherished and scrap-booked memory long gone, I'll remember the hand of the One and Only True God and how He has surrounded me with living, walking blessings I get to call "my children."
I am humbled and honored to be the undeserving head of this house. When the Scripture describes children as a "blessing from the Lord," this is no exaggeration: they communicate the love of the Father loud and clear (even when they're not all speaking at once!).
I love you, Jordyn! You make me so incredibly proud to be called your "Daddy." Happy Birthday, and thank you for reminding me each day how the Lord has blessed even me.
