"Cool Runnings", *OR* "Learning to Disconnect"

I never would have thought that forcing myself to disconnect and relax would be so difficult.

Yesterday was mine and Hillary's three year wedding anniversary. This day is extremely important to the two of us, but not in the standard "Everyone's anniversary is important to them" way. As many readers know, our wedding was not the first wedding for each of us. We'd each been put through the proverbial wringer when it came to past relationships, each having our previous marriages crumble around us despite our best efforts to keep them together.

Our relationship began with each of us in a place where we didn't know if we'd ever have back the lives we'd lost. Little did we know that God had even more in store for us, and what He was preparing us for was greater than anything we were leaving behind. After dating for less than a year I asked Hillary to marry me, and we tied the knot on July 18th, 2014.

It was a Friday, because every Saturday at the venue was booked solid for the entire summer. We rehearsed that morning in the summer sunshine, but then it rained for the rest of the day. The rain caused accidents on every major road leading to the venue, causing many guests (and even our cake) to arrive late.

But, like so many things in our lives, despite the apparent flaws on the surface, it was absolutely perfect. I won't go into much more about our wedding day now, since many readers have heard the story often. If you'd like the play-by-play of that amazing day, you can check out this post. 

Since our wedding, Hillary and I have made it a priority to take a week-long vacation every year, just the two of us. Our days consist of getting kids where they need to be, cooking for kids and adults, cleaning, work, exercise, and entertaining three kids with three very different sets of interests. With the break-neck pace of our life, Hillary and I will sometimes go days without ever having a conversation. The week-long excursion is necessary time to recharge and reconnect our marriage, to invest in each other so we can better invest in our family when we return home.

Last year, we broke our tradition of traveling to Key West, Florida, and traveled to Banff, a ski town in Alberta, Canada. It was a fantastic trip, and the cool weather and relaxed pace was exactly what Hillary needed, being seven months pregnant. It was such a fantastic experience that we decided to return to Banff this year.

And that's where I sit now, writing this post.

When we decided to return to Banff, we knew we wanted to do many of the things we weren't able to do last year, Hillary being pregnant. Even though yesterday was our first full day in Canada, we wanted to make the most of it. So we drove to Lake Louise, one of Canada's hidden treasures, and hiked the Plain of the Six Glaciers trail.

That's the Upper Victoria Glacier, front and center in the background. 

Fun fact: when something is very large, it destroys your ability to judge just how far away it is. And the series of glaciers in the background of the above photo is very, very large. It LOOKS like the Lower Victoria Glacier (the little snowy bottom of the big glacier) touches the back of the lack. In actuality, it's nearly a mile around the lake to the trailhead of the Plain of the Six Glaciers, and then nearly three more miles to the base of the Lower Victoria. Isn't "depth of field" interesting?

The hike was maybe the most difficult hike of my life. The trail was uphill the entire way (even to the base of the Glacier, which also doesn't look that high. Yay, perspective!) and covered with broken shale and rocks, which had eroded from the glaciers over the course of millennia of glacial ice melting and becoming the headwaters of the lake.

We also hiked over SNOW. Huge mounds of hard-packed snow, in the middle of summer. And it wasn't cold on the trail; the temperature was in the low 70's, and we worked up a healthy sweat over the miles. Still, snow found a way to survive.

Of course, I had to investigate. 

After neatly four miles of hiking, we finally arrived at the Plain of the Six Glaciers Tea House. Originally built in 1927 by the local railway company, the Tea House still operates to this day. It has no electricity and no running water. But to two extremely tired hikers, it was an oasis. Hillary ordered a bowl of hot vegetable soup and a cup of coffee, and I had tea with homemade biscuits. I probably would have preferred coffee, but how can you go to a 90-year-old tea house and not order tea?

Reading the story of the Teahouse from the upper patio. 

Once we were refreshed, we stretched out in my parachute hammock and took in the view of the glaciers. Soon after, we hiked a little further to get a better view, but we didn't go the entire way because we had to make the last shuttle bus down the overflow parking for Lake Louise. (Not pictures in any of the photos: the massive crowds of tourists that surround the lake area). 

The glaciers normally don't look so hazy; there are some brutal wildfires burning in British Columbia (one province to the west), and the smoke is blowing into Alberta. Everything smells like a campfire. 

We've had an amazing day of hiking already, and there are still many more days of vacation in Banff left. But, even though we're having a blast, we've been toying with the idea of leaving early and returning to Kentucky. This surprises even us, because we've never considered this on an anniversary trip before. We've always been happy to be back when the trip was over, yes, but never entertained the idea of actually cutting the trip short. 

But things back in Kentucky are much different now than they've been on any of our other trips. 

HOW DID SHE GET THIS BIG ALREADY!?! Someone tell me how to slow it down!! 

I didn't take this picture. It was sent to me by my mother and father, who are watching Ellie Kate while Hillary and I are out of the country. 

Mom and Dad came to Lexington to pick up the baby last Sunday, before Hillary and I had to drive to Cincinnati to stay the night to catch our early international flight Monday morning. We hugged, we kissed, and then they left with the baby. 

Hillary and I cried for ten minutes in the car and seriously considered cancelling our trip, then and there. 

We've left Faith and Zoe for three consecutive years, for a week each, as we left on our anniversary trip. It hadn't been this hard with them, because they're older and can understand that, even though we're gone, we will be back and our life will go back to normal. They're comfortable staying with various sets of relatives. And we promised we'd bring them back some souvenirs, which sweetened the deal. 

When we'd been to Canada the summer before, we hadn't even considered the possibility that it would be this difficult leaving the baby. She's so small... how can she understand that mommy and daddy will come back? What if she doesn't sleep well? What if she gets upset that we're not there? 

What if she forgets us? 

Of course, this is all nonsense. Ellie Kate remembers people she's met after much longer than a week's separation. She's sleeping pretty good (as well as can be expected, and better every night) at my parent's house. And she's generally a happy baby. 

But when you're used to kissing those squishy, little cheeks... when you're used to hearing that infectious laugh when you toss her into the air... how can you justify leaving that, for any period of time? 

I'll never understand people who are satisfied with seeing their children for one or two days every week. I'll never understand why someone would want to barter away those scant few days for extra weekend time. For Hillary and I, the struggle isn't in forcing ourselves to spend time with our kids, but forcing ourselves to spend time AWAY from our kids: to disconnect from them long enough to make sure they're not becoming the center of our universe. 

How does anyone have a child and not be forever altered? How can you simply return to the old mindset of doing everything for yourself? 

It's more difficult than some might realize, finally having a few days of "freedom" after spending so many months having to constantly look out for the interests of a helpless little person. Hillary and I, at first, were afraid we were becoming one of those couples that finds it impossible to have a life outside their children. We quickly realized this isn't the case: we still love to talk, have adventures, share our thoughts and ideas and dreams, and enjoy each other's company. But, honestly, it took us a day or so to fully take in the fact that we weren't responsible for any little people for a while. 

We haven't rescheduled our trip home. Yet. Hillary and I recognize that this time is crucial to our relationship with each other. Christ has directions for a strong marriage, and we recognize that keeping our marriage strong is at the core of keeping our family strong. And we know our baby, who may or not remember us when we get back (joking!), is in good hands with my parents. But you can bet, when the flight back to the USA boards, she and I will be first in line. 

Until then, I guess I'll keep re-watching this video. I took it the morning before my parents picked up Ellie Kate. 

Father's Day: Introspective stuff (or, "Manning Up")

I just celebrated my fourth Father's Day, and this one was the busiest yet. Actually, the last few months have been the busiest of my life, what with the birth of Elliot Katherine Smith in October of 2016. I can count on one hand the number of full nights of sleep Hillary and I have gotten in the last eight months, but it's been the most amazing eight months of my life and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

In fact, I wouldn't trade the last four years for anything, either.

Three years ago, Hillary and I were preparing for our wedding. As such, her daughters, soon to be my daughters, needed a name to call me. They'd been calling me 'Graham' for over a year, and although that had been fine when Hillary and I had been dating, it just didn't have the feeling that any of us wanted. 'Daddy' was already taken... so Faith, and by proxy, Zoe, since at that time Zoe wanted to do whatever Faith was doing, decided I would be called "Dad."

So even before Hillary and I were married, I became Dad. I officially had kids.

This was what was waiting for me when I came home from a mission trip to Guatemala that summer. Tears were shed. 

Fast forward a few years, and my life looks completely different than anything I ever planned. Hillary and I survive one miscarriage and then have Ellie Kate. She turns out to be absolutely amazing, and the cutest baby that has ever lived. Yes, I'm biased, but I am more than willing to back that statement up with independent research 

Good luck to anyone else vying for the title. This is your competition. 

I was lucky enough to spend Father's Day weekend not only with my father, but all three of my children, since other concerned parties asked to have the entire weekend free because of previously arranged engagements. More power to ME: I couldn't think of any other people I'd rather spend Father's Day weekend with.

And what commenced was a lot of swimming, playing, and all-around fun. And one big reminder that I am, without a doubt, the most blessed man on the face of the earth.

Last night, as I was feeding Ellie Kate her bedtime bottle and rocking her to sleep, I noticed a printed canvas that sat on her bookshelf. You all know the kind: there are hundred of them at Hobby Lobby, with fun and inspirational sayings printed on them. This one had been in Ellie Kate's nursery since we'd brought her home, but I don't think I'd read it until that very moment (it had been partially covered by "The Very Hungry Caterpillar"). I'm not sure when we bought this particular canvas, or if someone bought it for us, but here's what it says, in white letters on a pink field:

Read me a story 

and tuck me in tight. 

Tell me you love me 

and kiss me goodnight. 

I've shed a lot of tears over my kids already, even in the short time they've been in my life. But as I held the baby in my arms and read this, really read it, I had to bite my lip to keep the tears back as I faced a truth that I'd always known. It had been easy to ignore in the eight months since we'd brought Ellie Kate home, because of the breakneck pace that life has taken, but in that quite moment I was forced to confront it. 

I only have a short time to influence this little life before she steps into a harsh, bleak world. The world will not tell her she is loved, will not look out for her best interests, will not care whether she is happy or fed or encouraged. The world, given the chance, would chew her up and spit her out like it had millions before her. 

How long do I have? Ten years, before her friends suddenly have more influence than me? Ten years before me telling her "I love you" isn't enough for her to realize that she's beautiful, that she's amazing and special and perfect just the way she is? 

Even thinking back to the time that's already slipped away, the time I frittered away staying focused on keeping diapers clean and getting her to sleep through the night and moving her from bottles to baby food, without realizing those were moments I'd never get back... I realized I'd already lost so much time. 

And then I thought about Faith and Zoe, the older girls, and I got really horrified. 

Already, Faith is reaching the age where she'd rather spend time alone in her room with a piece of technology than with her mother and I. She's EIGHT. And if this is what she'd rather do, I have no one to blame but myself: if I want to encourage her to spend time with me now, and to foster the necessity for quality time so she'll still want me in her life when she's a teenager, I need to get off my butt and invest in her NOW. I know there are already voices from outside her, pulling her this way and that: and if you have a child around the same age and you think your kids are immune, PLEASE don't fool yourself. It starts earlier now than it did when we were kids. 

And Zoe... sweet, little Zoe... all she wants is someone to play with her. Legos. Play-Doh. Doc McStuffins. Dinosaurs. It doesn't matter to her. If you sit in her room and play with her, you're her best friend. 

How much time have I already missed with these girls? I've only been in their lives for four years, which means I'm already behind the curve. How often have they needed my time and attention, and I've simply been too hard-headed to notice and offer myself to them? It's not THEIR responsibility to seek me out for me to invest in them: It's up to ME to intentionally invest in these kids. 

Maybe I'm agonizing too much about this. After all, I don't *think* there's anything wrong with the time I spend playing video games, or watching TV, or goofing around on the Internet. I don't think too many of these opportunities have slipped through my fingers yet. But if I don't let myself become a little paranoid - if I'm not constantly on the look-out for every opportunity to make sure my kids know how loved they are - I'm going to blink, and these important moments are going to be gone. 

Ellie Kate has already moved out of the Duckling Room at daycare. Now she's a Piglet. 

Faith has seen hundred of videos on Youtube Kids, the contents of which I am completely oblivious of. 

Zoe wasn't even verbal when I met her. Now she's reading three- and four-letter words. 

The Steve Miller Band lied. Time doesn't keep 'slipping' into the future. Time screams into the future like a meteor entering the atmosphere, and only when you take a look around do you realize how much time has passed and how old you really are. 

I know one thing for certain, though: without God's help, I'm never going to be able to make the most of my time with my three girls. If I focus too hard on them, make them the center of my life instead of Him, I'll end up elevating them to a place they were never supposed to be: as the center of my life. And, while this sounds appealing while they're small and sweet and cute and cuddly, I have to remember that I'm the one they're looking up to, and what I teach them matters. If I teach them that earthly relationships are what we should strive for, that it's okay to make another person a god in your life, that's the kind of relationships they're going to look for. 

And if I'm afraid now of having my hands full when they're teenagers... I'll really have my work cut out for me if the girls make every little boy they fall in love with the centers of their universes. 

One day, the girls are going to be grown. And the things I teach them now, when they're young, are going to matter. While it's vitally important that I show them love and affection and caring that only their daddy can provide, it's even more dire that I teach them there's Someone who loves them on a level that I could never even approach. That, no matter how much someone on earth says they love them, that Another loved them so much that He sacrificed everything to be with them.

They need to learn that there is such a thing as love that can never be taken away, love that never fails, that never grows old, that always fulfills. 

There's no way to slow down the rate at which the girls are growing up. The two older ones have already been through so much in their young lives. If I want to make sure I'm not royally screwing up this Daddy business, I'm going to have to keep my head on straight and keep my eyes on Jesus. We, as parents, are the first line of defense against the forces that do, and will forever, assail our children. 

Time to man up. 

"Training Plans", OR "Outside the Zone"

It's been an eventful few weeks.

Elliot Katherine's nursery is coming along well!  Me and Hillary have rearranged lots of pieces of furniture, trying to keep half the room as a functional guest room while still adhering to the black-and-white monochrome color scheme we decided on. The guest bed has new bedding, I've painted nightstands and bookcases black ("Black Magic", as the can called it), and we've purchased a few new items of furniture to accent the room.

Chiefly among them:  Ellie Kate's crib!

Even though she's got a place to sleep if she showed up tomorrow, there's still a lot to do. Like put the rocker together. 

I'm going to put it together soon. Really. 

So Hillary and I are working to get the majority of the work done before school starts. By that time, it will be less than three months before she's due, and with me and the girls going back to school life is only going to get more hectic. 

In my last post, I wrote about the Hatfield/McCoy Half Marathon I ran in eastern Kentucky, and what an amazing race it was. And, with the completion of that race, how I had no more races until fall. The next race on my calendar isn't until September 17th: The Air Force Marathon in Dayton, Ohio. 

This is a point of anxiety for me. The last full marathon I ran was pretty awful; my time was terrible, I felt worse, physically, after the race than any other race since I started running, and my recovery took forever. With the memory of that abysmal race hanging over my head, I resolved to do something for the Air Force Marathon that I've never done before. 

I'm going to follow a training plan. 

Now, don't get me wrong. I've not done races in the past without training. But keep in mind: though I spend a lot of time on the road, I am a total novice when it comes to knowing how to train. So when I say I've "trained" for previous races, I mean I ran in the months beforehand, when running was convenient, and when running wasn't convenient I used a stationary bike or something else to help me stay active. In fact, if I was to nail a description to my old 'training plan', I'd have to call it the, "Just do whatever I want and hope it makes me faster" method. 

But, with as bad as I felt after the last race, I decided it was time to seek help from the pros. So I've started following a training plan from the people at Runner's World, who know thing or two about becoming a better runner. 

This isn't the first time I've thought about following a training plan, but it's definitely the first time I've actually followed up on it. Until now, I'd always told myself that I ran simply for the joy of running... for the happiness I get out of lacing up my shoes in the wee hours of the morning and hitting the pavement before the world wakes up. I always swore that I'd NEVER be one of "those people" who did meter-sprints, followed strict regiments, and was forced to press buttons on their GPS watch constantly while running to do numerical analysis of running data. 

But then I ran for a few years. And few more years. And a few MORE years. And I wasn't becoming a better runner. In fact, I was downright stagnant. 

There comes a point in all things, be it a job or a relationship or a skill or whatever, when staying in the same place isn't satisfying anymore. There comes a point when, if you're not going forward, you're going backward. 

Even though I didn't want to admit it, it was time to follow a training plan from people who know more about this stuff than I do. And the first part was admitting that there was a lot I didn't know. THAT might have been the most difficult part. 

So it was time for a change. And the first thing that had to change was my hair. 

Your gross thought of the day: running in the summer with a ponytail. It fills up with sweat, and then slaps on the back of your neck like a dead fish as you run. Nasty. 

Pictured: hair that is much easier to run with. 

Don't worry; this wasn't some existential crisis, or a desperate cry for help! I've actually been toying with the idea of cutting my hair for years, and have gotten really serious about it these last few months. I actually wanted to do it before the Hatfield/McCoy half, but wasn't able to make it to a barber. With having long hair for more than a decade, it was time for a change. And Hillary likes it, which is a major plus. :) 

So, I'm two weeks into my training plan, and it's already putting me outside my comfort zone. Last Sunday I had to run 10 miles, according to the plan. But Hillary and I went to a late showing of 'Independence Day: Resurgence', and I didn't fall asleep until 1:30 in the morning. I would have to get up before 6:00, run the whole distance, and get home in time to help wrangle the kids into suitable shape to make it to church at 10:30, which is a half hour drive. 

I wanted to make excuses. I wanted to sleep in. I wanted to do it MY way. 

But I also wanted to get better. And I wanted THAT more than those other things. So I ran 10 miles before church, and took a really great nap that afternoon. 

In the training plan, the middle of the week is peppered with short runs, some of which are instructed to be on "hilly" courses (good luck finding a course in central Kentucky that's NOT hilly). But Sundays are "long run" days. After last week's 10-miler, I would have been happy to log another like it. 

But the training plan wouldn't let me. This Sunday's long run was 12 miles. 

So, here's what I'm realizing. Stagnation is no fun. Even if you're sitting at a place that used to be a place of comfort, of safety, you can't simply keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect things to get better. You've got to wake up earlier, run a little longer, push a little harder, give a little more effort. And then, next time, give a little more. And the time after that, a little more. 

Waking up at 5:15 on a Sunday in summer to run 12 miles in the rain SUCKS AND I HATE IT. 

But you know what I hate even more? The idea of never getting any better. 

So I did it. 

And earlier in the week I saw this baby raccoon hanging out by Woodford County Middle School while doing a "hilly" run. He's not relevant to the story. I just thought he was awesome.

If you're a consistent reader of this blog, you might recognize this as the portion where I bring the entry full circle. It's time to connect that revelation about my running to other portions of my life; specifically, that not-yet-complete nursery in which I'm currently sitting while writing this. 

I've done a lot of things in my life. But I've never taken care of a baby before. Most of the skills I've acquired over the years have to do with me, and me alone. I'm a good runner, which is almost strictly a solitary sport. I'm a darn good video game player; again, mostly solo. I've read loads of books and seen lots of shows and done a whole lot of things that revolve around ME. 

Then, after getting divorced, I remarried to a woman who understands me as no one else ever has. Of course, I already had a little insight into marriage, even if my last one went down in bigger flames than the Hindenburg. At least I had a frame of reference to begin learning how to be a real husband. 

Over the last few years, I've learned a lot about being a dad. It's been the most amazing, worthwhile transformation I could ever experience. I feel a lot of the rough edges of my personality wearing away as old, selfish Graham starts to become a thing of the past. Good riddance. 

Coming this October, I'm going to be flying blind when a baby comes into my life. 

The Graham I am now, I haven't been for very long. This Graham is the best version of Graham that has ever existed. I've worked out everything this Graham has to do on a daily basis, as a husband and father and teacher and Christian and runner. Though he's still got a lot to learn regarding these various roles, he's got the basics covered. I get this Graham. 

But, like with my running, this Graham has to change. Because staying stagnant, not preparing for what's coming, isn't an option. If I'm going to become the person Ellie Kate needs, I've got do exactly what I said above: wake up earlier, go a little longer, push a little harder, give a little more effort. And then, next time, give a little more. And the time after that, a little more. 

And, OH MY GOSH, does it analogy apply to my spiritual walk! It's like the Holy Spirit only reveals things to me when I can slap to an analogy that my super-dense, completely-unable-to-discern brain can understand. How often do I get stuck in spiritual limbo, comfortable with my relationship with Christ? I read a story or book in the Bible, or hear a sermon, or go on a mission trip or a retreat... then I let those affect me, make me strive to follow Christ harder, awaken a need for more of Him... and then I sit on that happy feeling. Because the feeling is comfortable. It's easy. It's something I know. 

But staying where we are, especially in our relationship with God, is never an option. Heck, it's not even POSSIBLE. Every moment I'm not seeking to grow closer to God, I'm slipping away, distracted by the cares and stresses and responsibilities of this world. 

Shannon L. Alder once said, "Life happens one step outside of your comfort zone." And I couldn't agree more. But I want to take it a step further: life happens when you keep taking one step out of your comfort zone. Because one little step is good; but your comfort zone quickly expands to encompass that step. And then you're back in your comfort zone. Which is why I have to take another step. And another. And another. 

The REAL race is always staying one step ahead of your comfort zone. 

Or, in my case, one mile.  

"Outnumbered" OR "Blessed Beyond Measure"

If you're a regular follower of this blog, then you know that me and Hillary are officially expecting our third child (our first child together) in October. In case you haven't heard that story, feel free to check out the post previous to this one. It was quite a journey to make it to this point.

Even though the big secret was revealed to the whole world, there was still another secret that far fewer people were privy to:

Boy or Girl? 

Only a select few people knew. Not even Hillary and I; we arranged with Hillary's doctor to seal the identity of the gender in an envelope, which we delivered to Hillary's mother, Teresa, and Hillary's brother's girlfriend, Mohini. The two of them had volunteered to throw us a gender reveal party as soon as they heard we had a baby on the way. 

It was almost a month between the big Facebook pregnancy reveal and the gender reveal party. And in that time, Hillary researched (and practiced) every old wives' tale she could find about determining the baby's gender.  

What she considered the most important tell was the baby's heartbeat. Using a home fetal doppler, she found (and still finds) the baby's heartbeat at least once a day. According to the doppler, the baby has a heart rate of around 150 bpm. And, according to whatever nebulous place on the internet where one finds such information, a heart rate that slow indicated a boy. 

Hillary was also incredibly nauseous for the entire first trimester. And, according to a friend of ours who experienced the same symptoms, those are symptoms of being pregnant with a boy (the friend in question had, appropriate to her theory, given birth to a boy). 

When the gender reveal party finally arrived, Hillary and I were treated to an amazing surprise: a volcano. 

We were to pour baking soda into the volcano, and watch as lava streamed out the top. The color of the lava would indicate the baby's gender. 

Volcanos are messy, so we took it outside. And there, in our front yard, we saw it. 

PINK lava. 

Honesty time. And yes, I realize that's pretty much all the time with me, especially when I post my thoughts and exercises and whatever else on the internet for all to read. But time to lay out the truth like a fitted sheet. Because that's the thing with the truth: it looks easy, but most of the time it's corners have elastic in them and you can't get them around the mattress without someone's help. 

I was a little disappointed. 

Don't get me wrong; I am absolutely thrilled that me and Hillary are going to bring this little girl into the world. I consider myself the luckiest man in the world (eat your heart out, Lou Gehrig), that I not only get to raise this child of mine, but the two beautiful, wonderful girls that God decided to bring into my life. And I could not ask for a more supportive, hard-working, and loving woman to call my wife through it all. 

But, even so... I sort of wanted a son. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that.  

Maybe it's something hard-wired into the DNA of a man, to want a smaller version of you running around behind you, learning all the things you learned, from you, watching him grow and wondering what kind of man he's going to be. And, of course, there's the patriarchal desire to continue passing your name to your descendants. As if I was a Game of Thrones character looking to extend my family bloodline. 

By that evening, when all our friends had gone home and Hillary and I had put our two current girls to bed, the shock of seeing the pink lava had worn off. And I'd had time to consider what I'd been telling people for weeks, who'd been asking the ubiquitous question, "What do you want your baby to be?" 

"Healthy," I'd said. 

And, by God, I am sticking by it. 

This child is the child that Hillary and I prayed for, the one we'd spend month after month trying for, mourning for, and placing all our hopes and dreams in. After losing the pregnancy in October (see last blog post), all we wanted was a happy, healthy baby together. The way I look at it, God has a lot more experience in choosing the perfect children for their parents, and I haven't heard an instance yet of Him getting it wrong. She is our child, our gift from God, exactly as He has intended her. The gender He's picked is good enough for Him, so it's certainly good enough for me. 

Last weekend, Hillary and I got to attended two weddings on the same day; one in the early afternoon, and one in the evening, one-hundred-and-fifty miles apart. It made for a lot of driving, but we got to see our beautiful girls drop flower petals just before a bride made the walk to meet her groom. 

No, really, I'm not crying. There's just something in my eye. 

And then, as I gradually stretched the truth of the matter around my mattress of life, I began to realize  the full weight of what it meant to have the unparalleled honor of being a father to three daughters. 

One day, I will be the guy walking a girl down the aisle to meet her groom. 

And I'm going to get to do it three times. 

There are going to be, at fewest, six prom dresses these girls are going to be fitted for, which I'm going to object to because of the (in my eyes) scandalous amount of skin they show, but for which I'll eventually give in at the girls' insistence, because I'm their dad and I'm already wrapped around their little fingers. 

Boys galore are going to be brought to our house, and I'm going to feel like almost all of them are not good enough for my girls. I'm going to ruthlessly create lists of all the qualities I don't like in them, but I'm going to keep (most of them) to myself because I want to trust their judgment. And besides, everyone knows telling a teenage girl she CAN'T date a certain boy only makes her want to date him even more. 

I'm also going to learn how to disassemble a gun on the kitchen table, clean it, and meticulously reassemble it. Just in case. 

There are going to be sleep-overs, make-overs, tea parties, wrestling matches, games of tag and hide-and-seek and video game marathons, sword fights and scary stories and campfires and s'mores. And it's all because God decided to bless me with three little girls. 

Yes, I'm hopelessly outnumbered. But this is exactly how God intended it. So I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Seeing how grown-up Faith and Zoe already are, and how fast they're growing up, I barely held it together as the wedding progressed. And as much as I can't wait for our new baby to arrive, I want to revel in this magical time of not knowing, of simply wondering and waiting and hoping. 

Oh, and if you're wondering, the baby is completely healthy. 

See you in October, Elliot Katherine Smith. 

7/2/14: "Early to Rise" OR "Alone Time"

I love waking up before everyone else. 

Waking up early allows one to see a version of the world that few others ever will. In the early morning hours, when the world is just waking up, everything feels different. It's like the world is being born all over again, and you get to witness it firsthand. 

What I like best about waking up early is the time alone I can have before the rest of the world catches up. For me, it's a time to be still and quiet, take in the world that my God created and think about what today might bring. 

And to blog, of course. 

It's THUMY Senior High Beach Retreat 2014. This year our condo isn't as close to the ocean as in years past, but it does have this amazing view of a golf course. 

Plus, the ocean is less than a mile away, so that helps. 

My morning run was short today, because I didn't know the area well enough to know that the road dead-ends at the end of this development. Still, I got to see the ocean, emerald-green and barely a soul in her. 

Though I'm much more at home with some solid ground under my feet, the ocean is a welcome change, and was always my favorite vacation as a kid. 

When I got back from my run, I was still the only one awake in the condo. I was able to make a cup of instant coffee without waking any of the youth sleeping in the living room, and I snuck onto the balcony by way of going outside and climbing going through the gate. 

I wasn't alone for long. Soon my friend and fellow youth worker Tim and his inant son James were awake. Tim left James with me so he could fix the baby some breakfast, granting me and James a great opportunity to feed some bagels to the local wildlife. 

And it's awesome experiences like this that make it worth relinquishing some of the solitude of the morning. That, and ducks are awesome.

Also posting my running stats, because if I don't I'll never keep track of it all. 

Good morning, Destin. Good morning, world.