Pay your Dues

A disclaimer: There won't be a prize for this contest for two reasons...

1) I don't believe in superficially inflating the self-esteem of an otherwise well-adjusted person
2) We have a high-deductible insurance plan

I heard of these contests where you submit a name for the baby, but that sounds appropriate mostly if you're expecting offspring of another species. More specifically, a species in captivity. I think the zoos hold these contests to boost attendance and because it doesn't involve the horribly needless destruction of trees to make paper sheets for a coloring contest that no one wants to judge. That's why they always display them opposite the monkey cages. But what is the point of winning a name contest? Unless you name it after yourself no one will remember you anyway.

Since our most popular question received the last two weeks has been "When are you due?" (usually to Jennifer, I might add), I thought I'd turn the megaphone around and let you tell me when you think our little prodigy will arrive. For reference, the official due date is May 10. We've been 12 days late and 3 days early if that helps your rational-logical thought processes. Be as specific as you want in your guesstimate but we'll probably round off to the nearest minute with the final result and choose the closest guess either early or late. Hey, if you want to throw in a weight and length prediction just for kicks that's fine with me. May as well knock yourself out and call the Apgar score while you're at it.

I will publish you as the winner on this blog ensuring you probably about as much fame as winning the "Name Baby Flipper" contest.

Like Father, like Son

Hans really likes to imitate me. I find this to be both a sobering challenge and an opportunistic adventure of character development. I mean the development of both of us. As I ask God to continue His transforming work in my heart I strive to pour as much love and life example into Hans as I possibly can. We read books, wrestle, work on the car, put salt in the water softener, and last week we attended Hans' first pipe organ concert.




Simple things like these have built our relationship and have allowed me to see early fruit in the harvest of righteousness. To the chagrin of some modern "psychologists", faithful consistent discipline doesn't drive kids away. Rather, it beckons them home to the security of love they can trust. A few nights ago, Hans had a bad dream and I heard him calling out in the darkness "Daddy...Daddy". He clung tightly to me and I realized for as much as we tell him he's a big boy, he still feels pretty small. He calmed down as I prayed and spoke God's Word over him.

Besides the tender moments, I also treasure the funny quips that leave the mouth of my three-year old. I was home from work the past couple days with a bout of intestinal flu, during which time Hans had been asking every couple hours "Are you better?"


Finally, this morning I was gathering my things to head back to work and Hans asked, "How did you get sick?" "I'm not sure, buddy, I just got some kind of stomach bug."
Flashing one of those "been there and lived to tell about it" smiles he replied wistfully, "Oh, Daddy...I eat bugs, too!"

They call me, "Daddy"

I have several operational titles at my job. Some of them are serious and others were created just for grins. A firm believer in balance and moderation, I have adopted the acronym MOLT - Minister Of Little Things. There is, after all, more than one way to say "Assistant Church Custodian". There was the time a kid was helping his dad test the sound in the Worship Center and didn't realize he was on throughout all the main hallways. He picked up the microphone, saw me through the windows a couple hundred feet away and said, "Testing...testing...hey, Mr. Janitor Guy!"

It is always a highlight of my day to come home after work and kiss my wife. Eventually this habit resulted in me being able to come home to kiss my wife AND my kids. Two (and soon to be three) priceless little adorable tax-deductions that run across the room screaming, "Daddy, Daddy!!"

That title is one I'll cherish for the rest of my life.