
I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before that I've had the same Bible since I was a sophomore in high school. So, like, eighteen years. Or whatever.
Look at it, won't you? Note the dusty rose/mauve Bible cover. That's clearly not of this decade. It's not even of this century. It's solid early 90's Christian Culture Chic. Through the years, the Bible cover and the Bible's covers have grown attached to each other. Literally. It's quite unhealthy. Co-dependent, I think.
Kyle bought me a new Bible for Christmas. And, to be honest, I was offended.
I didn't ask for a new Bible.
I didn't want a new Bible.
He had the audacity to suggest that I needed a new Bible. I think he might have said my old Bible was "embarrassing." I did not "take that well."
What if you're called on to read from the first chapter of Genesis?
Well.

Okay. So the first three chapters of Genesis are all torn out and in disarray. I don't know when that happened (possibly around the time Dacey was a toddler and possibly when we were learning that Toddlers Destroy Things).
But, you know, those first three chapters of Genesis . . . they cause so much division. So much rancor. So much disagreement. Maybe it's sort of symbolic that I can't read to you from the first three chapter of Genesis. Maybe?
But what I needed for him to understand is that my old Bible was much more than, you know, God's Holy Word spoken to us. It was a record of days for me.
I still remember exactly where I was when I first stumbled on Ephesians 3. I remember taking my ink pen and underlining and starring it. I was a senior in high school. I needed to know how high and long and wide and deep is the love of Christ. I needed to know that the God who loves me can do things I can't even dream up in my wildest dreams.

Consider, if you will, the book of Daniel. Does your book of Daniel look like this? Possibly. (If you've taken Beth Moore's class on Daniel.) (Like I have.) (Twice.)

One of my favorite pages from my old Bible. On the morning of January 27th, 2005, I was nine days passed my due date with Dacey. We were to wake up early, call the L&D floor at the hospital, and if there was room, I could come in for an induction.
And alas, there was no room. And once again, I had to wait on the LORD:

(but I did go into labor later that day. God's timing. You just never know about these things.)
Page after page is marked up, circled, starred, noted . . . I can hardly read a passage without taking a tumble down Memory Lane.
But it gets better. Oh, yes.
In the back, there are scads of old church bulletins and notes and random pieces of paper, some carefully tucked away, some thoughtlessly shoved in for no apparent reason at all.

Here's this one from when we lived in Fort Worth, years and years ago, years before we started our family, those years I spent as a Coach's Wife, the one who sat alone in church.
I entertained myself with baby names:

And this one? Oh, this is just one long note passed between bestie Jaime and I circa 1993. Maybe 1994. Righteous, upstanding young women that we were, we should have been taking sermon notes.
But we were sixteen-ish, and our thoughts rose far above the church pews and stained glass and swirled with dreams of leaving home and college and career and and and . . .
I put a heavy blur down on that one to protect the innocent, of course. Jaime and I were nothing if not innocent. *snort*

I keep that one because it makes me cringe and laugh and remember who I was when that Bible was crisp and new, when my faith was taking baby steps, when I knew nothing of the bruised knees and forehead bumps that my beliefs would endure in the years to come.
And so.
My husband, the one who loves clean lines and no clutter, the one who doesn't write in his Bibles, the one who is responsible with church bulletins, he bought me a new Bible for Christmas:


And there is Genesis, all intact and complete (and still controversial).

And there's Ephesians, pristine and glittering with the same promises:

And there's Daniel, all maps and puzzles and knots to be untangled and words that find fulfillment in Revelation:
And a very sterile Psalm. Still offering the same assurance of God's goodness while we wait. It looks naive and untested, all untouched like that. Doesn't it?

It's a little sad, you know. Putting that old Bible away and using a new one. This one is even a new translation, y'all! This NIV-born-and-bred girl is tripping on two left feet through the New Living Translation.
But the timing feels just right. I am thirty-three-and-a-half, after all. The passages I have already underlined in my new Bible didn't catch a star in the old one. My faith, while most definitely not fully matured, has made it through the wobbly years and feels good in its skin.
It did take me a few days to warm up to the new Bible, the one I didn't ask for, but it wasn't long before a gentle Voice spoke:
For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland. (Isaiah 43:19) (In the N. L. T.)
Can you envision anything bringing you back to Texas? Please? Soon? ♥
A few nights ago, I dreamt we were moving back to San Marcos. I woke up ensconced in warmth and dreamy joy. When I became fully aware that it was just a dream, I cried. For real. I miss Texas so much. A year ago today, I wrote a little list of all the things I miss about it.
Can I see us moving back there? Kyle and I plan to retire somewhere in the Valley. Prior to that? Only if God's tender mercy and sovereign will allows for it. My growing up years were spent here in Oklahoma, but The Republic will probably always feel like home to me.
sniff sniff Moving on . . .
* * * * *
Now, let's see, Amanda (different Amanda from above), Sheila, Stephanie, and Lisa all wanted to know about our plans for more children.
I mentioned in the NFP post that we are currently avoiding trying to get pregnant.
Will we ever have another?
Oh, this question is so complicated for me. Let me attempt to break it down:
On the one hand, I always dreamed I would have at least three kids. On the other hand, I never dreamed I would have had two Cesarean births.
The possibility of being able to try for a VBA2C in Oklahoma looks pretty slim. C-sections are major surgeries with inherent risk. Honestly? I am scared to have another one.
I would guess, at some point, we'll try for at least one more.
I do need a gracious, loving scripted response to the "are you going to try for a boy?" question. I don't mind a bit when people ask if we are going to have more kids. But what am I supposed to do with the gender question here? It's not like we get to choose.
(Oh, you can have your Shettles Method. We tried that with AJ and she is evidence of God's jovial response to our attempt to control the matter.)
I could really spin out on this, but my friend Robin at Not Ever Still Life already voiced her opinion on the question, so I'll defer to her passionate and eloquent response. (Robin is, by the way, currently babymooning with her itty-bitty brand new little boy.)
Annnnnnnnnnnnd, moving on.
* * * * *
My sweet, sweet friend Corey asked: What is something you do JUST FOR YOURSELF? Something that puts YOU first?
For about five years, the thing that I have done that is just for myself is this: Enforce an early bedtime for our children.
Now, I know, I know. Some of you may think that we AP-ers just let our kids run all over the place until all hours of the night when they crash out on the floor. I can't tell you what other families do, but that is not what we do.
I read a lot - a lot - of material on sleep back in The Dark Days. One positive and healthy thing I came away with is how early bedtimes are good for babies and little ones. My babies were usually in bed for the night by 6:30 or 7:00. Dacey is now five and AJ is two and a half and we still have a fairly strict lights-out by 8:00 rule. They usually talk, play, and sing for awhile (sometimes an hour longer) in their beds, but they are in their beds by 8:00.
So maybe this isn't just for me. I believe it is good for them. But it's really, REALLY good for me.
Those hours from eight o'clock until I crash out on the floor (kidding) are my Off-Duty time. I read, watch TV, return telephone calls, play on the computer, watch movies with Kyle . . . whatever I feel like doing. I guard my evening downtime fiercely, and if I don't get it, I get very cranky. It's the best possible thing I can do for myself in this season of life. It's (almost) just for me.
* * * * *
That's it for today! More tomorrow. (Meanwhile, The 40 Days of Joy continue at Megspots. Days 12 and 13 can be seen there.)