New Verse Of An Old Lullaby

By 8:30, on a typical Monday morning, I am in my office, in my squeaky brown dress shoes and pleated pants, evaluating the dilemmas and the deadlines of the week ahead. It’s not the low point in my week (for some reason, I dislike Tuesdays more than Mondays) but it’s about as far as you can get from quitting time on a Friday.

But not so this Monday morning; this one was different.

8:30 this Monday finds me at home, in jeans and a t-shirt, staring into the toothless grin of my 11 week-old daughter. Her chin glistens from the slobber she’s been able to manufacture since I first plucked her from her crib two minutes ago and her cheeks are so chubby that it must make holding her head up even more difficult.

Anyway, this Monday, and most of the next three weeks to follow, are going to be filled by such moments. After all, during that time I will be the “stay at home” Dad and primary caregiver for a rambunctious 3 year old and her baby sister (the aforementioned baby girl).

Despite my disdain of Monday and Tuesday mornings in the office, I am certainly appreciative of a job that allows me Mondays like this one too. With the wife headed off to her job for the first time in three months, I now step into the role of the paternal parent on maternity leave (sort of) to change diapers, fix bottles, cook lunch, wipe noses, dry tears, and do the laundry for this precious three-week stretch.

Monday morning starts well and things continue on that way through much of the day. There was that especially unpleasant diaper change for baby girl accompanied by the 3 year old’s comments that nearly ruin cheese dip for me (you do the math) but beyond that, most every out-of-the-ordinary task on day one is handled with ordinary ease.

I am grateful for that; grateful that it goes well but even more grateful that it goes at all. Just four short years ago, our little family of three appeared complete, although our prayers to expand that family had not ceased. The fact that, today, I am home with two of my three children may not mean much to you, but that statement – “two of my three” – was foreign to our lives for so many years.

Things change. At age 41 I am again snapping an infant carrier into the car, just as I did at age 26 and again at 37. I am singing a new verse of an old lullaby; one I first sang 14 years ago.

I hope when the 3 year old is 41 she will remember this time at home with Dad. I hope she will share the memories and tell the stories to the baby girl who, even though she won’t remember, may get to relive the time through her big sister’s stories and recollections.

So, day one of “just me and the girls” goes pretty well. No injuries, no extended crying, no delays, no dilemmas (except for that one diaper incident) and most of all, no regrets on my part for being right where I was today and where I will be tomorrow.

New Verse Of An Old Lullaby

By 8:30, on a typical Monday morning, I am in my office, in my squeaky brown dress shoes and pleated pants, evaluating the dilemmas and the deadlines of the week ahead. It’s not the low point in my week (for some reason, I dislike Tuesdays more than Mondays) but it’s about as far as you can get from quitting time on a Friday.

But not so this Monday morning; this one was different.

8:30 this Monday finds me at home, in jeans and a t-shirt, staring into the toothless grin of my 11 week-old daughter. Her chin glistens from the slobber she’s been able to manufacture since I first plucked her from her crib two minutes ago and her cheeks are so chubby that it must make holding her head up even more difficult.

Anyway, this Monday, and most of the next three weeks to follow, are going to be filled by such moments. After all, during that time I will be the “stay at home” Dad and primary caregiver for a rambunctious 3 year old and her baby sister (the aforementioned baby girl).

Despite my disdain of Monday and Tuesday mornings in the office, I am certainly appreciative of a job that allows me Mondays like this one too. With the wife headed off to her job for the first time in three months, I now step into the role of the paternal parent on maternity leave (sort of) to change diapers, fix bottles, cook lunch, wipe noses, dry tears, and do the laundry for this precious three-week stretch.

Monday morning starts well and things continue on that way through much of the day. There was that especially unpleasant diaper change for baby girl accompanied by the 3 year old’s comments that nearly ruin cheese dip for me (you do the math) but beyond that, most every out-of-the-ordinary task on day one is handled with ordinary ease.

I am grateful for that; grateful that it goes well but even more grateful that it goes at all. Just four short years ago, our little family of three appeared complete, although our prayers to expand that family had not ceased. The fact that, today, I am home with two of my three children may not mean much to you, but that statement – “two of my three” – was foreign to our lives for so many years.

Things change. At age 41 I am again snapping an infant carrier into the car, just as I did at age 26 and again at 37. I am singing a new verse of an old lullaby; one I first sang 14 years ago.

I hope when the 3 year old is 41 she will remember this time at home with Dad. I hope she will share the memories and tell the stories to the baby girl who, even though she won’t remember, may get to relive the time through her big sister’s stories and recollections.

So, day one of “just me and the girls” goes pretty well. No injuries, no extended crying, no delays, no dilemmas (except for that one diaper incident) and most of all, no regrets on my part for being right where I was today and where I will be tomorrow.

We Cant Last

We’ve been good, but we can’t last …

It’s been over 50 years since a trio of Chipmunks (that’s right, Chipmunks) made a lasting contribution to the culture of Christmas with a little song most of us know very well.

For sure, “The Chipmunk Song” has enjoyed lasting appeal since its release in the late fall of 1958. Multiple generations have had the opportunity to sing along with Alvin, Simon and Theodore while they decorated the tree; drove to Grandma’s or waded through wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Passing through the years -- from vinyl grooves to digital files -- the song retains all its charms, highlighted by Alvin’s passionate plea for a hula hoop. 

However, while that plea may have stolen the show, the song’s message is more about Christmas in the present than Christmas presents.  Sure, a hula hoop might be a nice reward, but Alvin and the boys were really seeking relief from their efforts to be good. “We’ve been good, but we can’t last” they confess.

Indeed, who can?

Right there, in the middle of this much-loved novelty song, we hear the echoes of humanity’s enduring plea ... the plea for relief from our own efforts at redemption.

A plea for mercy and grace.

This cry for relief pre-dates Christmas; born thousands of years earlier, during mankind’s futile efforts to find redemption under the Old Testament law. That law was a burden no man could bear and a standard no man could meet.  If being “good” depended on meeting that standard then, truly, goodness could not last.

But then, Christmas finally arrived.  

There was Jesus – Christmas in flesh and blood; bringing with Him redemption and salvation.  Mankind’s plea was answered by a Gift we did not deserve and grace flooded over our futile efforts to achieve “good.” By grace, through faith, we could last.

Many places in Scripture reference this wonderful news, including the Apostle Paul’s plain and simple words in Galatians 2:16: “Nevertheless knowing that a man is not justified by the works of the Law,” writes the Apostle, “but through faith in Christ Jesus.”

There is no more effort, no more law, no more worrying about the staying power of our goodness. In place of all that? Faith.

This year, when you hear Alvin and the boys renew their plea for Christmas’ quick arrival, you will find simple holiday joy in their words.  You will smile at the thought of a Chipmunk and a hula hoop and maybe even at the thought of your own childhood impatience once associated with the holiday.

However, my wish for you is that you will find your greatest joy in the realization that Christmas stays. The holiday celebration may come once a year, but the meaning of the season, the Savior, never leaves.  His Word tells us so.

Yes, for as long as The Chipmunk Song is played, Alvin will still want that hula hoop. However, for as long as eternity rolls – we can enjoy the gift of grace.  With that gift, we can indeed last.