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Approaching God One Thought At A Time

Babies are bits of stardust, blown from the hand of God.           
- Barretto

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Birth Of A Son

Psalms of Delight
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Most of the Bible's Psalms give thanks to God on one or more levels. Commanded to do so, Christians aught to make the time to praise God for His glorious nature, creative genius and many gifts to mankind.

Psalms of Delight are written in concert with
Psalms in the Night. Both series contain Modern Psalms meant to comfort and inspire those seeking the Omni-God revealed in Scripture.


Birth Of A Son Summary

Some moments in life define you. Some get better with age. The birth of my firstborn was such a moment. One of the top three spiritual experiences of my life, the gift of a son brought with it the closest thing I've ever known to the love of God. Calming my fears and guiding me as a father for years to come, the grace I received the day my son was born shaped the both of us. I pray it may continue doing so for generations to come.


Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift? The fruit of the womb his generous legacy?


- Psalm 127:3 MSG


Birth Of A Son

Modern Psalm of Delight 18

You do't have to be Omniscient to notice I'm a worrier. Not sure when I got started but given my childhood it was early on. I don't remember my biological father except from pictures and an unfortunate incident or two. My mom did the best she could, but I imagine I never developed basic trust. Having been raised in a pair of broken homes, I was out on my own by sixteen.

Of course, as
Creator and Savior You know all about me and everything else. I, on the other hand, have forgotten most of my life outside of the highlights. Days come and go. Each, as You noted, with "enough trouble of their own."

I'm anxious about many things. Long before sunrise I lay for a few minutes wrapped in soft bedding, wishing I was free of concern. I wished I could forget today's troubles and those from the past. I wished I could forget tomorrow's problems and fears. I wished I could remember yesterday's joys and enjoy them more fully. For a change of pace I decided to take a brake from worry, which is fear for wimps. Normally I'd be afraid to disengage, seeing the
virtue of fear is vastly underrated and in short supply today. But then, what could it hurt to try, at least for a few hours.

It occurred to me that having authored a couple thousand articles and audios, proverbs and letters, I hadn't written much about the birth and childhood of my children. Not that I've forgotten about them. Thanks to Your help I've spent more than two decades as an extremely hands on dad. Much of that time was filled with cherished memories, yet the last few months and years have been troubling enough me to found
Praying Parents. Still, the gift of parenthood deserves mentioning. I thought I'd start by going back a quarter century were it all began.

Once upon a time I was not a father. It's hard to recall, but I used to be just me. By the mid 80's I was in my mid twenties and married almost a decade. Marriage certainly changes you but it's having kids that finishes the job. From the moment Cathy became pregnant I prayed over the coming challenges. How could we afford a child on our incomes? Could I cope with such a responsibility? What about the constant crying and poopy diapers?

I remember wishing kids were born about nine or ten years old. We could skip the icky parts, starting with birth, and get right to the fun father stuff. Alas, it was not to be. After unsuccessful labor, my wife lay crosswise on an operating table, only a bit of cloth shielding me from the C- section incision. A fainter, I watched as Derek Judah Pennington come into the world, and our lives, crying and kicking, his matted hair covered in blood.

Clearly he didn't look a thing like me, though to his chagrin many have commented throughout his life on our strong resemblance. And, just as I'd feared, I had no natural affection for my son, who my wife had assured me would be a daughter. To the little guys credit he quieted down as they wrapped him up. I trailed dutifully behind the nurse and we headed off for processing and Cathy was wheeled away to recovery.

After some suctioning and wiping, weighing and measuring, the nurse placed Derek under a heat lamp leaving us to get acquainted. I was plagued by my thoughts and fears. I looked over my average size baby, noting the slightly wrinkled elephant skin hanging loosely on his body. He'd stopped crying altogether when something wonderful happened. Turning his tiny head he looked at me and suddenly I was in love. More so than for anyone I'd ever known, I loved my son! It was a welcomed surprise, bubbling up from within. A artesian well filling me with the
happiness and the strength of fatherly joy.

From then on things were great.
Your gift of love turned the tide. Over the years the power of Your grace helped shape and guide my thoughts and feelings, overflowing into tens of thousands of adoring words and kisses, tickles and hugs. It profoundly changed me, as for perhaps the first and only time I experienced firsthand the beauty of the Scripture, "perfect love casts out fear."

I loved Derek so much I had second thoughts about having another child. I was jealous that the intimacy I enjoyed with my son not be diluted. Happily, the love I felt for my boy multiplied at the birth of his sister
Bethany Telah Pennington two and a half years later. As different as siblings could be, they were the perfect complement to our little family. Derek a brave and beautiful blue eyed boy and Bethany a demure and precious brown eyed girl.

We had such a blast. Few fathers and sons enjoyed each other more. Happy and determined to instill all that I'd missed out on, we enjoyed each other thoroughly. As a toddler we played endlessly. We'd climb on my queen sized bed, strip off our shirts and "fight like a man." Sometimes I'd pin him instead of letting him win. He'd cry for his mom to rescue him. As she scolding me for being to rough, he smiled and stuck his tongue out at me from behind her back.

We walked and rode my bike around, exploring the neighborhood. We talked about God, reenacting Old and New Testament Bible stories. Playing the part of God Derek would boom, "Adam! What have you done? Serfant, you're cursed!"

Something of a Biblical literalist, before Derek's birth I had trouble understanding Scriptures
child raising advice on corporal punishment. Passages like, "spare the rod, spoil the child" and "beat your child, he'll not die" seemed unnecessarily harsh. Surely children brought up in the "nurture and admonition of the Lord" would respond perfectly well to firm and fair conversations. It didn't take long for Derek to prove me wrong. Thanks to Your gift at his birth, Derek got straight A's in basic trust. Lapping up all the love and care he received, he quickly learned to assert himself. By the time he was a full fledged toddler he'd gotten hundreds of spankings, along with explanations and reassuring hugs. In contrast, growing up in the same conditions his sister never received a single spanking. The closest she came was my swatting my own thigh, were upon she immediately collapsed in a "puddle of daughter."

Derek was always "dinner and a show." He loved entertaining himself and others. In his early years he gave us and his friends a thousand smiles. Everyone adored him and he them. Through our relationship I discovered the father and son dynamics I'd missed growing up. Thanks for the gift of such a wonderful son, as well as the
grace to love him completely. Thanks for ending the cycle of neglect and abuse, and for using my love for Derek to heal many of my childhood wounds.

Thanks also for the many lessons I've learned through the relationship with Derek. It seems I may have passed "basic trust" while I teaching it to my son. This would, in part, account for my reckless persistence in
pursuing You. Though I often feel denied, I can't help but hope the love You gave me for my son was an invitation to believe You have similar feelings for me. Perhaps one day, while waiting on You in prayer we can "fight like a man" and You'll let me win.



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