Beauty

I’m a big fan of the song “You Are So Beautiful.” I like most (not all) of the versions that have been produced over the last few decades. Joe Cocker’s version is probably my favorite. There’s something deeply soulful about it. Something simple. Something beautiful.

The song fell out of favor in the Graves house a several years back. My sister, Kelly, walked down the aisle to this song in 1997 when she married her (now “ex”) husband Jory. It was the perfect song for a beautiful bride.

I was eighteen when they got married. On top of the world. Big hoop earring. Suffice to say I did not lack for confidence.

When she came down that aisle twelve years ago, I cried like Lucas did late last night. “Can’t you see? . . .you’re everything I hoped for, you’re all I need. You are so beautiful to me.”

But their marriage only lasted a few short years. It shattered into a million little pieces.

Last night, Kara and I are watching American Idol, Lucas is fast asleep and Danny Gokey busts out a hallelujah-filled version of “You Are So Beautiful.”

Context is everything.

If I’d heard that song last week, it would have brought back bitter memories surrounding my sister’s messy divorce. Broken hearts. Betrayed covenant. Fatherless little girl (my sister has a beautiful daughter named Lexi). My trip to Arkansas to stand by my sister during the divorce proceedings (my father was so upset he could not go).

But, we’ve had time as a family to heal. Kelly is now remarried to a gem, Major Ray Stemitz—a gentle man’s man if I ever met one. He’s a great husband to Kelly and an equally great father to Lexi. The wounds are still there for her but they aren’t as fresh. Actually, the wounds are now more like scars.

And Lucas is here. A new chapter for everyone.

When Gokey belted out that song last night, everything in the world, at least for a moment, felt good. Kelly’s in a healthy place in her own life. Kara’s an all-star mom. Lucas is rocking our world one dirty diaper at a time.

P.S. Kara recently wrote a great blog about the actual birth day.

The Table

Our close friends, the Barton family, brought us dinner tonight: sweet tea, pot roast, green beans, fresh rolls, and banana cream pudding. They also brought another good friend, Randy Harris, in town this week, teaching a short course at Rochester College. 

I told Randy three things: 1) I don't have a "go away" mat on my front porch 2) If I tell him to make himself at home he cannot reply, "Great. Go home." and 3) He can't leave until he gives Lucas a blessing. 

The blessing came unexpectedly. I explained to our friends that Kara and I are settling on Lucas playing baseball (since she loves football and I love basketball). Randy smiled his classic smile and looked at Lucas, "Lucas . . . mess your daddy up. Become a concert pianist." 

Of course, he's right. I don't care what Lucas does. I care about who he becomes. I'll teach him the sentiment that's framed my life for the last several years, "Don't ask what the world needs. Instead, ask what makes you come alive, because what the world needs is people who've come alive." 

My Boy

Lucas Joshua Graves

8lbs. 10 ounces 21 inches

May 7, 2009, 6:12 P.M.

The Amended Birthing Plan

A few months back, I wrote my "ultimate guy birthing plan" after being inspired by our nurse at Beaumont Hospital during our first "birthing class." Here's what I wrote:

Kara and I recently started a birthing class offered at the local hospital where Baby Lucas will enter the world late April/early May. Our instructor (a really sharp and funny nurse) walked us through many important aspects of preparing for birth . . . mainly . . . you can prepare but you are never ultimately prepared.Some hospitals today allow parents to develop a birthing plan. That is, here's what the parents like to see happen in the ideal birthing situation. Call it consumer delivery with a touch of creativity.

Of course, my imagination perked up when I heard the words "ideal birthing situation." Here's what I envisioned when I heard those words.First, upon arrival to the hospital, Beethoven's Fifth will be playing quietly in the background. Upon entrance into the hospital, the famous Las Vegas announcer-guy will grab a mic (preferably a mic that drops from the ceiling) and announce to the world, "Ladies and Gentlemen . . . the hour we've been waiting for . . . let's get ready to rummmmbbbblllleee."

After that serene beginning, Kara and I will both receive robes that read Baby Daddy and Baby Momma on the back. Mine is white with blue trim. Kara's is white with green trim.As we approach the room where Lucas will enter the world, a rep from M&M's will offer me a lifetime supply of peanut M&M's for "the enduring trial I'm about to go through." I graciously accept and begin to devour a king size bag of God's favorite candy. I remind the M&M rep that Kara's the real hero in this drama.The mood needs to change so I slip an Enya CD into the CD player (my man card was pulled a long, long time ago).

Kara and I both get foot massages from a European massage champion. The lights are dimmed and we listen to scholarship offers from Duke (Coach K who has Kobe on the phone talking about how we would've gone to Duke had he not gone to the NBA right out of high school) and Roy (UNC baby) and Bill (KU's the leader at this point).

At this point, Nelson Mandela enters the room and reads to us from Letter from a Birmingham Jail. He then offers a South African blessing for Lucas's future. He ends by reading a prayer that is specifically written by Desmond Tutu. "Lucas, God has big dreams for you," are his parting words. Bono has also sent us a video message in which he sings Pride.Just then, things heat up. Kara is ready to deliver.

After thirty minutes or so, the moment has arrived. Queen is playing "We are the Champions" in the background, Stuart Scott is texting me for up-to-the-minute information. Lucas enters the world, I'm crying, Kara's crying and Lucas offers us the universal sign of stability; he gives us the peace sign.I do what any good dad would do. I ask the nurse if I can have the honor of cutting the umbilical cord. The nurse says, "Of course." With a Dwight Shcrute glimmer in my eye, I pull a large Samurai sword out and cut the umbilical cord in half, while yelling, "Freeeeeddddoooom. They can take our lives but they can never take our freeeddddoooommm."

That's the ultimate (guys) birthing plan. Of course, if you don't appreciate satire, this little piece will be lost on you. Kara's birthing plan is much more simple and realistic. Hey, a dad can dream can't he?

---

Now that we are on the eve of Lucas's arrival (Kara will be induced in the early morning), I think I will change my ultimate guys birthing plan to:

Kara and Lucas are healthy.
Lucas cries a lot.
I get to hold Lucas' feet in the palm of my hands.
Family and friends are present over the next few days.
I get to see my (twin) brother hold Lucas.
The Tigers beat the White Sox Thursday night while we watch from the hospital room (I could not resist).

Due Date

Today is the (second) official due date for Lucas Joshua. Here's what I wrote on my blog back in October when we were still processing the joy of this new life. We're still waiting. Patiently waiting for this little guy to turn our life upside-down and inside-out.

---

Kara and I have been on many adventures together over the last several years. We’ve lived in Michigan (twice, once while dating, once while married), Nashville (Seminary and College), and Abilene (ditto).

We’ve traveled to many different places in the United States, usually catching a Major League Baseball game (Wrigley has been, by far, our favorite so far).

We’ve been to Hawaii and hit as many beaches as we could find. We just recently spent time in Paris, London and Uganda asking the question that’s been the theme of my life, “What is God up to anyway?”

We’ve been in the slums of Cass Park, finding ourselves in all kinds of unimaginable conversations and homes. We’ve broken bread with some of our homeless friends who are now, by the grace of God, off the streets. We even buried a few of our friends whose relationships, short-lived as they were, blessed our lives in gospel ways.

We’ve traveled deeper in our friendships with our small group of which we say all the time, “We are learning to do life together.” As a church family, we've traveled the path marked "missonal" learning from our mistakes.

But, we are now about to partake of a journey that will, in most ways, be all-together different than the other journeys mentioned.

Baby Graves will, by the goodness of God, join us on May 1st, 2009. Kara is eleven weeks pregnant for those curious . . . though you’d never know because she’s so skinny. If you happen to be at the Rochester Hills Public Library this week and find all the “baby name books” are checked out . . . now you know the whole story.

All Our Bags Are Packed . . .

We are in the final days of waiting for Lucas' arrival. We thought he'd be here by now (mostly because the doctors thought so also).

He's not.

I guess we might as well get used to things going a bit differently than expected. After all, we're about to be parents.

Our bags are packed. We are prepared, we think, for most scenarios that might present themselves in a suburban sprawl space hospital room in Metro Detroit (short of an invasion by Russian Warlords). Seriously, Kara's so thorough. I think we have ten MRE's, four sticks of dynamite (for any difficult people who might stop by), one extra oxygen tank, towel rack warmer for the warm shower I'm going to take from the stress of having this baby, and a briefcase full of twenty dollar bills just in case we need to bribe a nurse or two for extra ice cream. Wait, we're not having a root canal, we're having a baby. My bad.

We have clothes, back-up clothes, cell-phone charger, MacBook, MacBook charger, snacks, more food, books (cut me some slack . . . you never know), Kansas Jayhawks t-shirt to catch Lucas in (of course), and an autographed picture of Bono to put in the window. If Jesus had signed my "Joshua Tree" CD I'd put it in the window. He doesn't do autographs these days.

For those veteran parents and grandparents out there in cyberspace--what one thing would you suggest the Graves take to the hospital (serious or sarcastic answers welcome)?

Eviction

We are in the final stretch of pregnancy. At the ten week mark, Kara posted this on her blog regarding an eviction notice for Baby Lucas. If you know Kara, you'll appreciate this.


NOTICE OF EVICTION:

I am issuing a 90 day notice for EVICTION. Tenant will have 90 days in which he can either gather his belongings and promptly vacate the premises, or wait until the final day. After which, he will be physically removed from the property.He's being evicted due to breech of contract and destruction of property. Expansions only to the FRONT of the house, within reasonable limits, were discussed. Not only have these limits been exceeded, but additions to the back of the house were also made!Remodeling and gutting of the home was never approved, nor was changing the initial layout and base structure. And due to property damage, there are now leaks in both the upper AND lower levels of the home. On top of which, the landlord has received numerous complaints about nightly disturbances. After 90 days from this day that he doesn't comply with the notice will result in immediate and forceful removal at my discretion.

Love,

Mommy

The Ultimate (Guys) Birthing Plan

Kara and I recently started a birthing class offered at the local hospital where Baby Lucas will enter the world late April/early May. Our instructor (a really sharp and funny nurse) walked us through many important aspects of preparing for birth . . . mainly . . . you can prepare but you are never ultimately prepared.

Some hospitals today allow parents to develop a birthing plan. That is, here's what the parents like to see happen in the ideal birthing situation. Call it consumer delivery with a touch of creativity. Of course, my imagination perked up when I heard the words "ideal birthing situation." Here's what I envisioned when I heard those words.

First, upon arrival to the hospital, Beethoven's Fifth will be playing quietly in the background. Upon entrance into the hospital, the famous Las Vegas announcer-guy will grab a mic (preferably a mic that drops from the ceiling) and announce to the world, "Ladies and Gentlemen . . . the hour we've been waiting for . . . let's get ready to rummmmbbbblllleee."

After that serene beginning, Kara and I will both receive robes that read Baby Daddy and Baby Momma on the back. Mine is white with blue trim. Kara's is white with green trim.

As we approach the room where Lucas will enter the world, a rep from M&M's will offer me a lifetime supply of peanut M&M's for "the enduring trial I'm about to go through." I graciously accept and begin to devour a king size bag of God's favorite candy. I remind the M&M rep that Kara's the real hero in this drama.

The mood needs to change so I slip an Enya CD into the CD player (my man card was pulled a long, long time ago). Kara and I both get foot massages from a European massage champion. The lights are dimmed and we listen to scholarship offers from Duke (Coach K who has Kobe on the phone talking about how we would've gone to Duke had he not gone to the NBA right out of high school) and Roy (UNC baby) and Bill (KU's the leader at this point).

At this point, Nelson Mandela enters the room and reads to us from Letter from a Birmingham Jail. He then offers a South African blessing for Lucas's future. He ends by reading a prayer that is specifically written by Desmond Tutu. "Lucas, God has big dreams for you," are his parting words. Bono has also sent us a video message in which he sings Pride.

Just then, things heat up. Kara is ready to deliver. After thirty minutes or so, the moment has arrived. Queen is playing "We are the Champions" in the background, Stuart Scott is texting me for up-to-the-minute information. Lucas enters the world, I'm crying, Kara's crying and Lucas offers us the universal sign of stability; he gives us the peace sign.

I do what any good dad would do. I ask the nurse if I can have the honor of cutting the umbilical cord. The nurse says, "Of course." With a Dwight Shcrute glimmer in my eye, I pull a large Samurai sword out and cut the umbilical cord in half, while yelling, "Freeeeeddddoooom. They can take our lives but they can never take our freeeeddddoooommm."

That's the ultimate (guys) birthing plan. Of course, if you don't appreciate satire, this little piece will be lost on you. Kara's birthing plan is much more simple and realistic. Hey, a dad can dream can't he?

Dear Kara

I'm a firm believer that we do not affirm and encourage each other enough (in society in general and in the church specifically).

I wrote this short letter to Kara recently. It was read to her at the baby shower our church family put together. I could not be there (I was speaking at a church in Kansas) but wanted Kara to know how honored I am to be "doing life" (as our small group calls it) together. If you have not affirmed your wife/husband/significant other in an intentional way . . . I'm giving you homework this week. Do it.

Dear Kara,

I know you don't like public attention. In spite of me and your dad, you have always been a person who prefers to be behind the scenes, using your gifts and talents for God in simple but powerful ways. Since we've lived in Michigan you've helped our Cass Park efforts by cooking, and arranging misc.. gifts for our friends (chap stick, lotion, scarves). You have been the rock of our small group, organizing and encouraging the many different people God has woven into our lives. You are Mrs. Consistent when it comes to serving on the praise team and in the arts.

This does not even mention your work as a bank teller, substitute teacher, and organizer to Josh (Lord knows I'm all over the place, traveling several times per year--yet you keep me grounded).


All I have just mentioned does not define you. You are not what you do. You are special because you are made in God's likeness. You emulate and reveal God to me and others in ways that only you can. I want you to know, by proxy of this letter, I'm honored to be bringing Lucas into the world with you. I'm excited to be partners in this, the most terrifying and thrilling, of all our adventures to date. Yes, even more than the ominous time we were stranded in Paris during a bomb scare on our way back from Uganda.


Lucas will get to discover all the things I already know. You are beautiful, resourceful, humorous, lovely, dependable, brilliant, and all together fun. I would not wish for my life to have turned out any different than the manner in which God has shaped it to be. You are the nearest experience of God's Grace in my life. I love you without conditions.

---

What's In a Name? Lucas . . .

Kara and I wrestled for a few months over what to name our first child (coming to a nursery near you in May, 2009). We had some basic criteria for selecting the name. Because we are having a boy, we wanted to be creative but not too creative. I'm now convinced that selecting a girl's name is far easier than choosing a name for your son. We've had a name for a girl picked out since we were engaged.

We wanted the name to be strong without sounding overbearing. We wanted the name to be clear without being trite. Paramount for me: I didn't want a name that could a) easily be turned into another name, b) rhymed with something inappropriate (I'm far too creative in this area and have years of sharing a room with a twin who, together, had the ability to rhyme just about anything), or c) conjure up images of past bullies and bad memories.

You might be wise to surmise that we were a bit analytical in this process. Hey, this is our first child. Wait 'til we start talking vaccinations.

We checked out several "name" books from our local library. We each made a list based on these books. When we compared the list, we did not have ONE single name in common. That didn't surprise us at all, however. We're learning to embrace how different God has made us.

All that to say . . . we feel really good about the name we've selected: Lucas Joshua Graves. Lucas (which has roots in Latin, Greek, English and Gaelic meaning "light") brings a strong clear name with some Biblical allusion (The Gospel of Luke, my personal favorite). Joshua because, well, what father doesn't love to have part of him on display in his son?

Having said all that, I'm convinced that the person really makes the name. But starting off on a good foot in this world is a good thing I suppose. After all, Lucas Joshua sure gives you a better chance than Herod Adolf.

Baby Room

We have one spare bedroom in our modest 1,050 square foot home. It used to be yellow from top to bottom with a simple bed-frame that has been passed down in Kara's family for at least three or four generations. Kara's great grandfather died in this bed. Guests love to know this just as they are preparing to snuggle in for a good night's sleep at the Graves house.

The spare bedroom has experienced a transformation of sorts. The ceiling is white. The walls are a cool shade of green. The furniture has been replaced. A baby crib now sits where the bed used to. A miniature soccer ball, football, and basketball rest on top of a shelf. Who knows, Baby Graves (name still TBD) might be an artist or musician or writer or photographer . . . he might not even be interested in his dad's sports (basketball and baseball). That's fine with me.

This room used to be my least favorite in the entire house. The living room is for sports and good movies (and Gilmore Girls). The kitchen is for laughing, preparing, and joking. The dining room is for the occasional special meal. The den is for reading by the fireplace. The nook off the den is for writing blogs like this and papers for grad school. Our bedroom is for sleeping, one of God's magical gifts I'm convinced.

I never knew what to do with the yellow spare-bedroom. It just kind of sat in our house, with little attention. Occasionally I'd sleep in there if Kara was sick or just sick of me (yes preachers can be difficult to live with). Or, I'd hang my clothes for the next work day in there.

Things are different. The former room known as the yellow room is now my favorite room of all. It's become a sanctuary of sorts. Partly because of the work Kara's put into it. Mostly because it is a symbol of new life and new possibilities. The little life that will spend so much time in this room is proof that God works in the subtle, the whisper, the ordinary seasons of our lives.

I think I'll go to the sanctuary now. The yellow room. And pray for all of God's children.

Kara and I found out today that Baby Graves is . . .




A BOY!


Kara wrote a blog about it today with great photos. Read it HERE.

I am now officially taking basketball recruiting letters from (ONLY) Duke, Kansas, and Gonzaga. Please let the respective programs know. Coach K sent me a text tonight during church.

The Great Steak Mistake

A few weeks ago (on a Friday) I was in a particularly good mood. I had just received word that I was going to get a contract from a publisher for the book I've been working on for over a year now . . . I was relieved, excited, anxious, etc.

I called home to tell Kara the good news. "We should celebrate by going to dinner tonight," I said with a good amount of passion. "Sounds great, I'm in," Kara responded. I should note here that since about the middle of October, Kara has been craving steak on a regular basis. Angus. Sirloin. N.Y. Strip. Makes no difference.

"We could get steaks!" I added.

Fast forward three hours later . . . I came home from work, sat down on the couch, looked Kara dead in the eye and uttered words I now regret, "Kara--let's just stay home tonight. I'm tired. We can celebrate the book contract later. I know . . . I will make some tomato soup."

A death glare that rivals anything Hitler, Pol Pot, or Mussolini came my direction. Not only was I a) changing date plans (something that I should know by now is a death wish) but b) I was asking my pregnant wife to give up eating steak for c) tomato liquid. The perfect storm began to come together.

Being the perceptive man I am . . . (and feeling the death stare like a 125 degree heat lamp) I immediately said, "Or . . . we'll get steaks. Steak sounds good. I'll get my keys. Grab your coat."

Disaster averted.

Lesson #437: If you promise your pregnant wife the very food she craves, you'd better deliver. Your life is on the line.

Pocket of Sunshine

Kara and I have struggled to know just how to refer to Baby Graves in conversations without sounding harsh and distant (“it” . . . “that”) naïve (“he” . . . “she”) or too generic (“Baby Graves”). Leave it to Kara to come up with a clever description—after all this is the woman whose one-liners are so famous in our house, we regularly spend our evenings laughing so hard at comments Kara made the night before (like the time when she said in response to my lament that I was getting older every time I looked in the mirror . . . “I have the perfect solution. Stop looking in the mirror.” Or the time when I asked her what it would be like if we switched minds and not bodies. She responded like an assassin, “You’d be running this house").

Recently, Kara started referring to our baby as “our little pocket of sunshine.” At first I thought this was cheesy—a bit too dramatic. But the more and more I hear her use this phrase, I like it. In a few weeks, we'll know if the "pocket of sunshine" is of the male or female persuasion. And then we begin the journey/battle/process/negotiation process/bartering/election of selecting a name that will look more respectable on the birth certificate than "little pocket of sunshine."

Baby Graves, Film, Music, Flannery O'Connor

The excitement we've felt from our family and friends has been encouraging. Thanks to everyone who wrote an e-mail, commented on the blog, posted a note to Facebook, left me voice-mail/text. We are truly blessed to have so many people who are sharing life with us.

---

Tomorrow, I present a film I've been working on for almost a year at the Lipscomb Preaching Conference. My good friend and tech whiz, Sean Stockman, helped me put this video together. I think it's one of the best projects we've worked on together.

When David Fleer asked me to do this I said "yes" without hesitation. I'm fascinated with the relationship and connection of images, music, and film. I'm convinced that part of the church's future (especially regarding preaching and teaching) is to a) understand the way in which the medium is the message and b) the way in which various mediums can be used to further the cause of deep spirituality, grace, love, hope and justice.

I did some of this at the Nashville ZOE Conference a few weeks back if you are interested. Knight Media Group handles all the CD distribution (615.459.8087).

---

The reading I take with me is a sacred selection. I thought about taking this classic. But, after reading a bit, I did not think it would get the job done as I move in and out of Nashville and Atlanta. So, I went with a writer Thomas Merton once referred to as a truly legendary writer "for all time and all generations," (my paraphrase). I'll be taking Flannery O'Connor with me.

We Bring Good News

Kara and I have been on many adventures together over the last several years. We’ve lived in Michigan (twice, once while dating, once while married), Nashville (Seminary and College), and Abilene (ditto).

We’ve traveled to many different places in the United States, usually catching a Major League Baseball game (Wrigley has been, by far, our favorite so far).

We’ve been to Hawaii and hit as many beaches as we could find. We just recently spent time in Paris, London and Uganda asking the question that’s been the theme of my life, “What is God up to anyway?”

We’ve been in the slums of Cass Park, finding ourselves in all kinds of unimaginable conversations and homes. We’ve broken bread with some of our homeless friends who are now, by the grace of God, off the streets. We even buried a few of our friends whose relationships, short-lived as they were, blessed our lives in gospel ways.

We’ve traveled deeper in our friendships with our small group of which we say all the time, “We are learning to do life together.” As a church family, we've traveled the path marked "missional" learning from our mistakes.

But, we are now about to partake of a journey that will, in most ways, be all-together different than the other journeys mentioned.

Baby Graves will, by the goodness of God, join us on May 1st, 2009. Kara is eleven weeks pregnant for those curious . . . though you’d never know because she’s so skinny. If you happen to be at the Rochester Hills Public Library this week and find all the “baby name books” are checked out . . . now you know the whole story.

More (funny) stories to come . . . Is that a basketball in Baby Graves' hand?