…yeah, I know…that picture does not look intimidating. In fact, it looks almost tranquil. It was a day I hope to never forget.

I close my eyes and there appears…darkness. Just the red/black inside of my eyelids and slowly with some coaxing I sense the shadow of a doorway and beyond that doorway I see a shore, back and forth visions of ocean and lake. Calm waters and rough waters…but always I feel peace.

I open my eyes and hear Your words through the voice of a wise man. I close my eyes and give in to the vision that wants to appear.

A man in a gray suit, with short brown hair and a contagious smile. He holds out his hand to a woman who I believe is beautiful. I see her only from behind. She is blonde, thin and is wearing a simple white dress of eyelet lace that swirls around her knees as she walks. They walk hand in hand along a shore – ever changing from ocean, to lake, to river, to pond, and back again. The scenery always changes and the man stays the same. He walks with His arms around her waist or her shoulders and as I watch she changes from woman to girl. She is so delicate and small, blonde, and again dressed in white and he walks with her hand in His. She changes back and forth between woman and child and he always stands between her and the water always holding her.

I see His face only from her perspective. Always smiling always looking at her directly.
At some point He must have let go because I see from her perspective the view from inside a boat. Her hands are mine, her dress is mine, her legs and feet are mine. Not mine as they are now, but I am her none the less. The boat is on a lake adrift and the only way to steer is with our hands. There is no motor, no oars, and no sail. Just our strength. We drift for a while, her and me as one, and we have no destination. We see a man far off on the shore, watching us and waving. Beckoning us but not demanding that we come to Him. We hesitate until by some odd miracle we see Him create a space for our boat, carved into the shore by His will. So we slowly paddle with our hands lazily in that direction and it takes what seems like forever to get to shore.

We arrive and He reaches out to us and I realize that “us” is just me. He was inviting ME. I take His hand and step onto the shore and He points toward a beautiful home and without speaking invites me in, but this time…I walk alone, and He is behind me. The room is circular and immense filled with large furniture intended for hours of relaxation. The kind you would sink comfortably into. Yet, there is plenty of space to dance. I turn to find Him and He was still right there behind me, waiting. He offers his hand and we dance. Something like a waltz but I am clumsy and don’t know the steps, but he still guides me and I laugh as he twirls me around the floor. I feel free and safe. Time stops, we stop and we stand facing each other. He has something for me. A gift. A single, simple, beautiful daisy. As I accept the gift I bring it close to my heart and the weight of it knocks me onto the floor. An impact my conscious self could feel in my chest. He offers His hand and helps me back up, and He smiles…and I am brought back out of my vision.

It was four minutes that will last a lifetime.

I know, that was an odd title for a post. All will be explained but I warn you, this is a long post.

(Some of you may recall this post where I talk about the bonding experience of automotive repair as a couples activity. I still highly support that, for us anyway.)

As a woman and a mother, I never understood what it was like for men in the delivery room. I think I have a glimpse of that now. Let me recap the past several days from my perspective:

(Please note, quotes will not be exact – it has been a long several days)

Thursday: (late afternoon – still daylight)

Dave (for those of you who don’t know – Dave is my wonderful husband) decides to continue to work on the Explorer by changing the spark plugs. He had mentioned that some of them looked difficult to get to but he was ready to go.

This is what I compare to planning the pregnancy. We both are excited for our own separate reasons about the possibilities of a new life (aka – spark plug) and what it will mean to us. (Me, personally a better running vehicle – for Dave likely a life without worrying about a wife being stranded on the side of the road.)

So, off he goes to do his task (We have now conceived) and I offer assistance in any way and as always am willing to hang outside with him for support (Just like any man once his wife has conceived). At this point he turns me down. (much like many pregnant women)

Thursday: (Evening, dusk)

Dave comes in asking me to hold his light for him. He has one side done and is having some trouble with a couple on the other side of the engine.(This means we are in labor) and so I join him beside the truck (aka hospital bed) and offer words of encouragement (never try to give advice to a woman in labor – that would be VERY bad) and I hold his light, as instructed shining it downward into the engine. (this would be like offering ice chips to the woman in labor, not exactly what she wants at that moment, however providing what you can)

After several excruciating minutes of light holding (yeah, much like the antsy feeling of being useless in the delivery room) I figure there has got to be a better way to light this thing. So, while at a moment that I am not needed I drop down to the front wheel well and peel back that plastic backing behind the tire and shine the light in that way. Dave is delighted by this and is grateful for my efforts. (This would be like offering to rub all the pain points in a laboring mothers back, while propping her up with exactly the right pillows, while still feeding her the ice chips and cooling her neck with a wet washcloth)

As I see him struggling through the vantage point of the wheel well, I ask him if I can try and he declines saying that he does not want me to injure myself, and me being – ME, I stuck my hand in through the well and grab his hand. His reaction was something like “YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” because he had been busting his knuckles from up above for quite some time. (this would be like telling a pregnant mother about this great thing called an epidural – relieves the pain, but does not really speed up the process)

Dave then shifts positions and is able to change out three of the four spark plugs with minimal effort. (labor pains are close together and the water has broken!) He is laughing and shaking his head and when I inquire as to why he explains how, prior to my joining him he had been cussing and shaking his fist at God and saying “Why can’t it ever be easy?” and remembers saying “Lord, a little help please!” and he was laughing because once again the help he received came in the form of his wife. If only he had taken me up on my offer of assistance early on, the process probably would have gone more smoothly (Every couple who has decided on an epidural can relate to the little moments of joy they have during this time of waiting for the actual delivery of their child, not to mention if at first the birthing mother was resistant to the epidural at first she is rather thankful at this point)

So, finally, he gets to that one spark plug in the front that had broken off a little during his first attempt. He is worried. He starts to turn the plug and SNAP. All that is left is the threads and collar. No nut, very little ceramic, the silver thingy in the center snapped off too except for a small bit left in the remaining bit of ceramic deep inside the collar. This is not good. (okay, compare this to, the doctor coming in and just when he tells you you are 9 centimeters dilated he also tells you – the baby is BREACH)

So, we call it a night and I Google how to remove a broken spark plug.

FRIDAY:

Dave takes me to work and goes to work himself for a few hours and then shops and borrows parts and tools for the necessary “procedure” to remove the broken spark plug. (okay, I don’t quite have a labor analogy for this part except – anxiously waiting and hoping)

He picks me up from work and reports that there has been no progress. The EZOUT is the wrong size, his hands and arms are killing him but he is still fighting and not willing to throw in the towel. (He is going to make a great mother for our little spark plug) I can only be there to support him with an extra pair of hands, holding the light once more and helping him to remain calm and patient. Praying the entire time for those things.

Sadly I realize that we had committed to help Danny V. and his family move the next morning and waited until as late as possible before canceling. I had to make the call. We hated not being able to honor our commitment. (Hey, we were in labor, I could not just leave him there stranded without his Lamaze coach!)

9pm the sun had gone down on another day, and still no apparent progress. (Along the lines of waiting for the doctor to decide to try to turn the baby or go cesarean)

Saturday:

We awake knowing that anything is possible. It is out of our hands. We can only do, all that we can do. I act as assistant and get him anything he needs (Like any good husband waits on his wife during a traumatic delivery). I find myself quite often leaning my forehead against the glass of the truck saying prayers for his patience and strength as well as for miracles such as the freaking broken spark plug to start spinning dag nab it! (Do, I need to make this comparison for you? Okay, worried father quietly praying for mom and baby to be okay)

The day progresses and Dave is still at it, dusk has come and night has arrived and I am again holding a light. Finally I hear the words I have longed to hear. A whisper that sounded like he said “Its moving” I cry “No way!” and drop to my knees next to him, I witness for myself the remnant spinning lose and as he frees it completely I yell with happiness and turn to him, with tears in my eyes and hug and kiss him and scream some more for joy! (This actually happened, I was so flipping happy about this, that moment made me think of this whole -father during delivery analogy! So, this would be akin to watching the crowning of the baby and then seeing the child covered in – well, you know – but being overjoyed anyway.) I looked at the clock and it was 8:18pm the next hour was spent putting in the new plug, attaching the wires, checking the fluids and putting away the tools. (Baby was cleaned up, and all necessary immediate tests are done before presenting it to the parents)

We go for a drive to check her out and go pick up some much deserved Taco Bell. (Taking the baby home.)

We have been enjoying the smooth ride (new child) ever since.

Me holding the “baby” shortly after “delivery”

Okay, I would like to say this…I am not a perfectionist. HOWEVER, I hate it when I have typos and spelling errors in any of my written pieces. ESPECIALLY on my blog. I just finished re-reading the blog post that I did very quickly yesterday without proofing and I am MORTIFIED at my errors.

So, rather than go back and edit it…I am challenging my readers to a contest. Tell me how many spelling errors and typos you can find. The person with the correct (or closest to correct) number wins. (The prize: my admiration for being able to spot typos and spelling errors)

The only rule: you can not count grammar and punctuation errors…This is a BLOG for Pete’s sake!

(This post dedicated to Kristin Baker…thank you for your kind words yesterday!)

Yesterday:

Breanna and I were driving in the car and I mentioned something about her not paying attention and her retort was something along the lines of her lack of paying attention is because she is too focused on my compulsive nose itching.

Apparently I itch my nose….alot.

Once I start, it begins with the polite swipe of back hand across bottom of nose apparently it turns into a full face rubdown with both hands. She is right. Now I am going to be acutely aware of this. I have probably looked afool for years.

(Where have my friends been to tell me about my annoying quirk? Thanks Breanna for finally pointing this out to me.)

Yesterday:

My husband hit hero status once again.

Apparently I am a bad car owner: I don’t pay attention to the 3 month/3000 mile rule.

So I tell my husband that on my trip out of town this weekend that every time I hit the breaks my oil pressure gauge would freak out! He went for a drive and no problem. Well the next day, same thing and so I was listening to a commercial for motor oil and said to my husband “Could it be low on oil?” so he checked it and sure enough…barely reading on the dipstick and rather nasty looking.

He had had the oil changed (by professionals) back in the Fall, and I have not done anything about it since (6+ months and 10,000+ iles later) and therefore my car was acting out and not cooperating with me very well lately. So, my husband who works on his feet 10+ hours a day came home yesterday and changed my oil, oil filter, brake lights and was going to do the spark plugs but it got too late. The car is already running better and something about him taking care of my car for me after a hard days work so that I do not end up stranded on the side of the road some day soon (big fear of mine by the way) makes him big gianormous hero in my book.!

Thanks honey – I love you!

Yesterday:

Paige, such a cute kid…so easy to please. I feel like she is waiting until her big sister is out of the house to become difficult relationally. However the fun story – I was telling Breanna that I needed her to reorganize a couple of my cupboards in the kitchen because she has – well, lets just say her spring break was extended – but this story is not about her. Well Paige overheard me asking Breanna about organizing cupboard and she jumped in and demanded that I let her do it. She has always been my cupboard organizer in the past (a darn good one) and she was not about to let her sister take away her fun chore! God love her…she is soooo my daughter.

Today:

Quote from Randy Pausch (47 year old college professor with only a few weeks left to live) shared this in his last lecture:

I don’t know if he penned the quote but her referenced it and I thought it pretty noteworthy.

When I was young my parents would tell me “drinking coffee will stunt your growth”

Ahhh, the good old days.

A realization I have had this week:

Some teenagers these days (including mine) have no peer social skills. They don’t need them. They live in the world of text messaging, and MySpace, and Facebook, and Instant Messaging where all of their words are typed and if they are overcome with an emotion they don’t have to deal with it…they can hit “delete”, “sign off”, or “remove someone from their friends list” and the problem is solved.

In the TEXT world you can “say” things without emotion even if you are crying and all choked up. You can YELL even when you are being quiet. You can LOL with all your friends even when you don’t get the joke, or if you do – you don’t really find it funny. You can 🙂 and no one can see that you are angry, or sad, or scared.

In the text world…you can stifle your growth and “have” whatever emotion you want to have.
In the text world…you can hide.

• My 17 year old daughter (Breanna) is in love with a broom – yes a real broom.
• My 11 year old daughter (Paige) is a singing tree. HONK!
• There really is such a thing as Velocity Learning and it is awesome
• Make no mistake – before having children, make sure you live in the right school district OR save to afford private school OR homeschool. A lesson no one taught me and I pay for my ill-planning in this area on a regular basis.
• School administrators are too busy to listen, observe and care. They only have time to hear, see and react.
• Guilty. I am reading a book that was chosen by Oprah. Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth…and loving it.
• The Daily Plate has ruined me. I can no longer put anything into my mouth without thinking about it.
• I believe that God is working in Breanna’s life without her realizing it. It is the only explanation for her relationships and the people that are drawn to her. Because she will care about them without judgement and accept them where they are but refuse to let them stay there. That is how she is made. Acceptance first. She will be a friend for as long as someone will allow her to be. Unfortunately, she is still honing her skills and sometimes teenagers can not handle brutal honesty.
• Kids can only take so much, they are still just kids.
• Some parents need to learn that to a child/teenager feeling accepted is as important to them as feeling loved.
• If you think your child needs counseling, the reality is…you might need it first and then see what changes.
• Love well.

I am a little behind on my mandatory high school junior year reading. So, this past weekend I picked up On the Road by Jack Kerouac and here are a couple great lines early on in the book that I enjoy:

“We understood each other on other levels of madness”

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”