Everly was born on August 26th, 2011 at about 9:30am. That was the first of several times over the following months things started to be "fishy." Although your first guess, poop, would also be correct I'm talking about something else entirely. In this quick little series, I want to tell you why where we are now is so dramatically different from this time a year ago.
In July, I wrote about the transition I was experiencing at New Life; I was licensed as a Pastor while simultaneously stepping back from directing the New Life School of Worship. The 10th year of the program began with a bang, Everly was weeks old, and life was suddenly different. Parenthood is a wonderful, glorious, ego-killing slap in the face. I'm not sure I was an adult beforehand.
Past readers know of my cycling adventures and enthusiasm. Fall was thickening, and the hours of daylight after work were waning. At the end of September I had purchased a head and taillight for my Bianchi road bike and embarked on my 2nd ever dusk/dark ride. Strobes ablaze I rode 16 miles, and 2 blocks from home was hit by a car.
You must understand, as shocking that sentence would be to someone who read it for the first time, I've been talking about it now for over 8 months.
A driver made a left-hand turn in of me - though I had the right of way - and I was rocketed over his car at roughly 25mph. I'm guessing as to the speed, but it was fast, my light was green, I was going downhill and was almost home. I remember thinking in the final .86 seconds that allowed normal thought, "I hope I'm OK for my family," and "I've had close calls, but this won't be one of them."
But then I was off the bike, hit the road... and I'll spare the blow by blow details. I'm alive. In short, it was all a miracle. No concussion or internal bleeding, and though I can't say I 'walked away' - from the ambulance or the hospital for that matter - I can tell you something changed in both Jo and I that night. If having a baby took away some of our ignorance about life, this took the rest.
I'm still recovering to a degree; I won't be the person I was before ever again. I regret that it happened - but now that it has I am thankful for the new awareness it brought. These were the "tickles" that began to propel us forward... toward what - we still had no idea.
The journey continues in Part 2...
June 06, 2012
February 12, 2012
Change
Blogging became a tradition for me in 2011. But - I started, and I stopped, all in less than one calendar year. Not a new resolution; I nonetheless start at roughly the same time in 2012 with fresh hopes.
If you look back, I once wrote a post about journaling that I think applies here. It wasn't that I didn't want to blog, not that the urge to write was absent. I simply didn't, and haven't had the time. There has been a lot to contribute to that - a LOT. Primarily I'd say, becoming a father and needing to be intentional with my time for family in a fresh way. But also, it's this thing called change that tends to slightly interfere with our old habits, our old rhythms. When something new is introduced, it needs space previously devoted to other things.
Strangely enough, I think I just may be entering a new season that will allow for a little more flexibility. It also happens to be a season filled with more travel, meetings, work and dinner dates than ever before; not to mention changing diapers and bedsheets at 3am some nights!
But I'd like to remove the pressure to perform or become something in particular as I write here. That's the true culprit in my opinion. I believe it will still have some standard. To whatever degree possible, I hope this continues to be a platform to make Jesus famous in everyday ways - celebrating the joys, quirks and mysteries of life.
In our newest season, I hope that you'll continue to turn here for updates, photos and ideas to dialogue.
Soli Deo Gloria -
Wes, Jo and Everly
If you look back, I once wrote a post about journaling that I think applies here. It wasn't that I didn't want to blog, not that the urge to write was absent. I simply didn't, and haven't had the time. There has been a lot to contribute to that - a LOT. Primarily I'd say, becoming a father and needing to be intentional with my time for family in a fresh way. But also, it's this thing called change that tends to slightly interfere with our old habits, our old rhythms. When something new is introduced, it needs space previously devoted to other things.
Strangely enough, I think I just may be entering a new season that will allow for a little more flexibility. It also happens to be a season filled with more travel, meetings, work and dinner dates than ever before; not to mention changing diapers and bedsheets at 3am some nights!
But I'd like to remove the pressure to perform or become something in particular as I write here. That's the true culprit in my opinion. I believe it will still have some standard. To whatever degree possible, I hope this continues to be a platform to make Jesus famous in everyday ways - celebrating the joys, quirks and mysteries of life.
In our newest season, I hope that you'll continue to turn here for updates, photos and ideas to dialogue.
Soli Deo Gloria -
Wes, Jo and Everly
September 02, 2011
Fatherhood
On August 26th, at about 9 in the morning, I became a Dad for the first time.
Joanna's water broke unexpectedly on Thursday night, and we labored through it together (in a sense) all night long. She pulled it off naturally, with some light drugs in her IV drip to take the edge off. Still, I've never seen her in more pain - and have never been more proud to stand by her side. She progressed quickly with the "help" of pitocin, and by 8am, it was time to push. I held one leg while the nurse held the other, and watched as our daughter came into the world. It was surreal.
I tried mostly in vain to read the Psalms and pray aloud during Joanna's labor - I was so overcome with the experience, and seeing her endure so much that I choked almost every time I opened my mouth. It's something I've seen my own Dad experience countless times before. Jo's father has similar moments when he will "fall silent" in prayer or conversation if he's feeling especially emotional.
For me, it was the feeling that an explosive sob was lurking just below the surface - threatening to emasculate if I so much as spoke another word. A week later I can see that the deeper cause was more like a consuming gratefulness.
Gratefulness to be married to the woman of my dreams, to have the opportunity to become a Dad, to have a healthy and whole child, and to know that God had chosen Jo and I to be her parents. Although we were surprised to discover the process was beginning in December of 2010; walking through the moment, contraction by contraction, it couldn't have felt more on purpose - meant to be - even orchestrated.
And it left me speechless.
Through it - I felt engrafted into the fraternity of speechless, grateful Dads; verklempt and unable to utter a sound. Not emasculated, but reborn as something "more man" than I was before. Metamorphosed into something deeper perhaps. I wonder if it happens each time you have a child, or if it even happens to every dude who becomes "Dad"?
Finally, as I cut the cord and Everly Ivy Tongue was placed on Jo's chest for the first time, I cut loose and did burst into sobbing tears. No good reason to hold back - no chance to pull it off if I had tried.
Joanna's water broke unexpectedly on Thursday night, and we labored through it together (in a sense) all night long. She pulled it off naturally, with some light drugs in her IV drip to take the edge off. Still, I've never seen her in more pain - and have never been more proud to stand by her side. She progressed quickly with the "help" of pitocin, and by 8am, it was time to push. I held one leg while the nurse held the other, and watched as our daughter came into the world. It was surreal.
I tried mostly in vain to read the Psalms and pray aloud during Joanna's labor - I was so overcome with the experience, and seeing her endure so much that I choked almost every time I opened my mouth. It's something I've seen my own Dad experience countless times before. Jo's father has similar moments when he will "fall silent" in prayer or conversation if he's feeling especially emotional.
For me, it was the feeling that an explosive sob was lurking just below the surface - threatening to emasculate if I so much as spoke another word. A week later I can see that the deeper cause was more like a consuming gratefulness.Gratefulness to be married to the woman of my dreams, to have the opportunity to become a Dad, to have a healthy and whole child, and to know that God had chosen Jo and I to be her parents. Although we were surprised to discover the process was beginning in December of 2010; walking through the moment, contraction by contraction, it couldn't have felt more on purpose - meant to be - even orchestrated.
And it left me speechless.
Through it - I felt engrafted into the fraternity of speechless, grateful Dads; verklempt and unable to utter a sound. Not emasculated, but reborn as something "more man" than I was before. Metamorphosed into something deeper perhaps. I wonder if it happens each time you have a child, or if it even happens to every dude who becomes "Dad"?
Finally, as I cut the cord and Everly Ivy Tongue was placed on Jo's chest for the first time, I cut loose and did burst into sobbing tears. No good reason to hold back - no chance to pull it off if I had tried.
August 25, 2011
Learning - by Doing - by Sitting
Summer was kind to me. With lots of changes in the NLSW, getting licensed as a pastor, and a baby (any day now!) to cap it all off - it held my attention well enough. Still, the biggest surprise of summer happened to be an extra vertebrae that ironically frustrated my efforts to fully enjoy the aforementioned summer season.
Discovering that spare bone back there (pun intended), my mind became alerted to the gentle ache - that while not terrible threw my mental fortitude for a loop. It's taken about 2 months to heal physically, and get over it mentally. Along the way I've had a few new experiences - "rights of passage" if you will.
The strange; at the end of a ride, pulling onto my sidewalk passing a haggard, shirtless guy who called out even as he recoiled to one side, "Can I have your bike?" I surprised even myself with the speed of my reaction - thoughtless, instinctual: "No!"
The universal; walking back in cleats after a flat when I forgot a spare, getting rescued from miles of cleat-walking, spending an hour trying to fix my first flat, and that first ride back out on a tube I changed myself. Freedom.
The terrifying; a "Hells Angels" kind of guy on a polished hog made a last minute left in front of me. He wasn't looking. I was resting my neck for a split second - staring at my spinning ankles - and when I looked up it was almost too late. My tires squeaked, leaving rubber on the road. It was much closer than I ever want to experience again; inches.
Although I might call it adventure, Jo wouldn't be happy to hear about my afternoon 'endo' at 30mph.
Of course, if you're not a rider yourself, these things aren't half as interesting as they are to me. What I discovered this summer was an underlying fear, an insecurity. "What if I'm doomed to life on the couch? What if despite a fortitude for fitness, I'm unable, and slowly degenerate into neglect and apathy?" This battle has been as much mental as it has been flesh and blood.
Getting back into some speed work last week, thinking over how well I'd recovered, the verse in 2 Corinthians came to mind: "If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" As things do while riding - it began to just run through my mind over and over, until I added my own piece to the finish - "the new has come in me."
That 'newness' is more encompassing than any of us fully realize, not limited to our physical bodies or occasional circumstances, but the depths of soul and spirit, joints and marrow. Thanks God. My summer journey of bike and bone, mind and spirit helped me remember anew; "I will not fear, He holds it all."
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