Blessing #3: Morgan

At first, I thought I'd make blessing #3 be "being a daddy" but it goes deeper than that. Each of my boys are a blessing in and of themselves. So I will list them separately. I will never forget the day we found out that Morgan was going to be part of our lives. I had wanted to be a daddy for so long. And, after years of praying, God finally said, "Ok." But, as God often does with His blessings, He took it an extra step. Just being a daddy wasn't enough. He made me the daddy of the most amazing little boy! Jen and I have often joked that we don't remember what life was like before we had kids. And we're okay with that. The joy, the absolute pure joy that comes with parenthood is beyond words. There are days that I wish I could freeze time and keep him right where he is. But other days, I absolutely enjoy watching who he is becoming. Oddly enough, one of my favorite pictures of Morgan is before he was even born. I swear, in this ultrasound, it looks like he's singing into a microphone! Even today, music is such a big part of his life. Oh, how I love to listen to his sweet little voice as he sings at the top of his lungs. He makes up his own songs. He bangs on his guitar or his drum set. Music is such a big part of his life--even his bedtime routine requires singing. I love that! (And yes, I'll admit, I do love that he knows the words to daddy's songs and wants to hear them over and over again.) I call him "beautiful boy" and yes, it's because he's got this beautiful little face with big, bright, blue eyes and a smile that will melt your heart. But it's also because of the person he's becoming. He's such a sweet boy. He is giving, caring, nurturing--and such an encourager. I don't want to think of what my life would be like without the wrestling matches on the living room floor, the cuddles on the couch, the sing-a-longs and the hugs and kisses. The first time I heard him say "daddy" my heart melted...and it still does, every single time. I love being Morgan's daddy. I really do. If it's all my life was designed for, it has been more than fulfilling. I love you beautiful boy. How about you? Have you taken time lately to really count your blessings? Try it! You may realize just how blessed you really are!

Sick Boy

The past few days, my little boy, Morgan, has been sick. Nothing too serious...but enough to make him cry out in pain from time to time.

I don't know about other dads, but it absolutely shreds my heart to see my little boy in pain. Oh, I hate not being able to take that away. When he looks at me like, "daddy, make it go away." Ugh.

I am very thankful for my job. It affords me much more than the opportunity to put food on the table (which is a much-appreciated accomplisment)...but it also allows me to provide medicine for when my little guy is sick. It allows me to know that he's safe at home with his mommy while I'm at my desk. And, since I work for such a wonderful ministry, it also allows me to help take care of children living in extreme poverty around the world--who can't afford medicines or food without our help.

Still, when my little guy is sick...I just wish I could stay home and hold him all day long. That beats a good day at work any day.

Fan

This past weekend I sang on the worship team at my home church, Rocky Mountain Calvary. It was such a nice release. I can honestly say that I desperately needed it.

Just before one of the services, the entire worship team was backstage with pastor Eric, when the conversation turned to football. Eric said, "I could take it or leave it. I don't really need to watch the games, just hear the scores once they're over."

WHAT!!??? My jaw dropped. My eyes bulged. My heart raced. What sort of human is this? What sort of being doesn't live vicariously through his/her football team? I'm sorry. This does not compute.

Needless to say, I'm a fan. As in short for fanatic. As in my life is seriously affected by how well my team does. I can get physically ill if my team is playing poorly--I kid you not. I'm a diehard Dallas Cowboys fan, so you can pretty much guess that I've been physically ill for the past 11 years--at least during football season. This year, the team looks good. (But it's still early in the season, and as the Patriots learned, anything can happen.)

That got me to thinking though. I wonder why? Why are there so many fans, like myself, who take the game so seriously? At the risk of being completely transparent, wouldn't it be nice if I was as passionate about my job as I am about my football team? Or what if I was as passionate about my religion as I am about football? Some fans I know are more passionate about their team than their own family. Though my wife may say I get there sometimes myself, I'm not quite that bad.

I don't think.

Crud.

I may be.

I guess, in a way, it's sad what we choose to be passionate about. When I'm gone, if someone ever asks "What was Tim passionate about?" I don't want the only answer to be, "The Dallas Cowboys." I want people to know I'm also passionate about my family, being a dad...I'm passionate about making honest music that people can relate to. I'm passionate about releasing children from poverty. I'm passionate about finding meaning in this life. And I want to be known for being a passionate follower of Christ. I've still got work to do in those areas, but I want my passion to grow. You could say I'm passionate about being passionate! Ha!

What are you passionate about?

Six Months

This past Friday, my little baby boy Morgan turned six months old. I can't begin to believe it. Six months. I've been a daddy for six whole months. Before he was born, people would say, "Oh your life is about to change!" I had no idea. I thought they were talking about sleepless nights, diaper changing and fussy temper tantrums. Those things are all true, but I was expecting them. No, the change I wasn't expecting was the one that's taking place in me.

I never thought I could love anyone the way I love my son. I can't stand being away from him for any period of time. I absolute live for his smile...his giggle. I can't wait to hold him in my arms when I get home from work each day. Some days, I can't make it without calling home to hear how he's doing...or at least looking at pictures of him. I love his smell (well some of the smells aren't as pleasant as others!) I love how he recognizes me the second I walk through the door and greets me with a wide open-mouthed smile. I love how he examines my face with such a serious look when I'm holding him. I'm absolutely and totally in love.

And I don't think it ever hit me before just how difficult it must have been for God to give that up for me. Oh how He must have loved His son Jesus! To have a perfect son who touched so many lives...stayed pure, maintained righteousness, defended the poor and the needy. What dad wouldn't be proud? Yet, in the midst of all that love, God allowed His one and only son to be beaten, mocked, teased, tortured, abused, punished and ultimately murdered for me.

Not to offend anyone out there, but there is no one...no one on this planet I would give up my son for. I simply don't love anyone enough to make such a sacrifice. Yet God did it for me. And He did it for you too. That's amazing love. That's beyond comprehension. That's God being what only God can be.

I love being a daddy. I thank God for the miracle that has changed my life for the past six months. I look forward to the years of hugs, wet kisses, boo-boos, temper tantrums, dirty diapers, and sleepless nights to come.

Baby Morgan is Here!

Note: This blog originally posted on March 27, 2007. But somehow I lost all my blogs and am having to re-post them.

Let me tell you about the best day of my life. In actuality, I should say "the best 24-hour period of my life" because it spanned two days on the calendar. It began around noon on Tuesday, March 20th. My wife Jen, 39 weeks pregnant (typical pregnancies are based on a 40-week period, for those of you who don't know) started having contractions about every ten minutes. Well, we're not supposed to go to the hospital until the contractions are 3-5 minutes apart. So my poor wife had to endure the painful contractions at 10 minutes apart...for nearly 12 hours! It was exciting, because we knew this meant that baby Morgan was one day closer to being here. But it was frustrating when the contractions refused to get any closer...hour after hour...after hour. Finally, around 11pm, the contractions did start getting a little closer. 7 minutes...5 minutes...3 minutes. Once they were consistently 3 minutes apart, we headed to the hospital. The doctor checked us into a small room and put Jen on a monitor. "She's 3 centimeters dilated." she told us. (You can't have the baby til you're around 10 centimeters dilated. We still had a way to go.) So they continued to monitor Jen and the contractions kept coming...getting as close as 2 minutes apart. After about four more hours of this, the doctor checked Jen again. Still only 3 centimeters apart! All that painful work...and no progress! So the doctor decided to put Jen on pitosin--a drug that would increase the frequency--and intensity--of the contractions. After about an hour on the drug, Jen progressed to 4 centimeters. But the contractions had become terribly painful. So, we opted for the epidural--a painkiller administered into the spine that pretty much takes away all feeling from your waist down. It was a scary decision, but once it was administered, Jen never felt another contraction. But it wasn't over yet. After another hour, the doctor noticed that baby Morgan's heart rate was decreasing every time Jen had an intense contraction. They tried having her roll over to the opposite side she was lying on...but that didn't work. So they monitored closely. His heart rate kept dipping...dipping...dangerously low. We both began to worry. I sent out nearly two dozen text messages, asking friends to pray. And I prayed myself.

"Please God, don't let us get this close and lose this little boy. I can't take it. My heart can't take it. Please bring him to us safely...bring us a healthy baby boy."

After a couple more dips in heart rate, the doctor decided to take Jen off the pitosin and schedule a c-section. With lightning speed, the nurses were in our room, wheeling Jen's bed out the door, down the hallway and up a ramp into the operating room. They gave me a mask, gown, hat and shoe coverings to wear. It was amazing seeing the doctors scramble so fast--like watching a hospital drama. Within minutes, Jen was laid out on the table. A blue sheet was laid out like a curtain between her and the doctors, so she couldn't watch the operation. I, on the other hand, was able to watch. I've sat in on a few operations in my life, so I knew I could handle the sight. (I gotta say though, knowing that it's your wife that they're cutting open is a little different.) The doctors made the incision, then started cutting through muscle and tissue. Suddenly, the doctor stopped cutting and reached both of her hands inside of my wife's abdomen. She dug around for a few seconds, then pulled her hands out and they were holding a little baby's head. He has dark hair! They clipped the umbilical cord and suctioned out his mouth and noise within a milisecond. Then it came...that sound I've waited so many years to hear:

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!" Oh, what a beautiful sound!

"Who has the dimpled chin?" the doctor asked.

"Dimpled chin?"

"Yeah, he's got a dimpled chin."

"My dad had one. But I didn't really inherit it. Wow...he's got my dad's chin. How cool is that?"

He cried as they scrambled his little body over to a warmer a few feet away...and started cleaning him up. Tears filled my eyes. "That's my son! Oh...and he's beautiful!" My poor wife had to lay there behind the blue curtain, still unable to see anything. So, once they got him cleaned up, I carried our son over to her and let her touch his face. The waterworks were flowing for both of us at that point, I tell ya! They had to sew Jen up and then she had to go into recovery from the operation. That took three hours. Three hours without getting to hold her newborn son. It must have been excruciating for her. But I spent every second of those hours with him...as he took his first bath...got his vaccinations...tested for every imaginable abnormality...and weighed him. "Five pounds...3 and a half ounces. He's a little peanut." nurse Libby said. "18 inches long. What a cute little guy." Yep, he's a tiny guy....but absolutely adorable. Once all the tests were done, I sat in a rocking chair with him for an hour...and we just stared at each other. "Morgan...I'm your daddy." It was the same sentence I started with every night, as I spoke to him through my wife's belly during her pregnancy. Now, I finally get to see the face of the little boy I was addressing...and he could see where the voice was coming from. It was an amazing time of bonding. I truly have fallen in love. I've wanted to be a daddy for so long and now God has granted me this wish...this little blessing that is the result of years of prayers. It is amazing. The most wonderful day of my life. Welcome to our world, little Morgan Douglas Glenn. We've waited a long time for you.

For more information on Tim Glenn, go to www.timglennmusic.com

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The Soles Of My Shoes Don't Get Dirty

Note: This blog was originally posted on December 7, 2006...but somehow I lost all of my blogs and am having to re-post them. July 17th, 2006 is a day I will never forget. It's the day I stopped walking on solid ground. It didn't start off so spectacular. For all intents and purposes it had the makings of a typical day. I got up at 6:45am, went to work, sat through a gajillion meetings, shuffled through emails and paperwork and came home. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until I walked into the house. I entered through the garage as usual. As soon as I opened the door, I noticed my wife standing in the kitchen smiling. On the kitchen table was a small gold gift box. "Open it." she said, grinning from ear to ear. "But my birthday isn't until tomorrow." "Just open it!"I sat in the chair at the dining table and grabbed the small box in my hand. What's inside? Why is Jen being so secretive. It's not like her. "Isn't it bad luck to open my birthday presents befo..." "Open it! She clinched jer jaw with the command, but she was still unable to hide her toothy grin. I lifted the lid of the tiny gold box. I was immediately confused by what I saw inside. It was a pocket watch, with the words "World's Greatest Dad" engraved on the outside. I must be a little slow because all I could think was "Is this her dad's old watch? Why would Jen's dad give me this watch? Is this something he's 'passing down to me' since he never had a son? What could this mean? I lifted the watch out of the box and underneath it was a pair of a blue baby socks...and a pair of pink ones. "You're going to be a daddy." My wife said, with tears welling up in her eyes.You have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words. My wife and I have been married for 12 years and it just hadn't happened for us. To be honest, I had given up on the hope of ever having a little baby in the house. But on July 17th, 2006, God breated new hope into our home. As tears poured out of my eyes uncontrollably, I hugged my wife. Then asked the question every man must ask at that moment: "Are you sure?" (How could such joy be based on reality?) "Yes. I took two tests just to make sure." She showed me the two pregnancy test sticks. Both positive. "Take it again!" I insisted. Which she did...all three positive! We danced in the kitchen...and the living room...and then stopped to pray. We thanked God for the blessing and prayed for a healthy baby that we could commit to Him. My father died when I was seven. I have only a couple of memories of him. Yet, I think I've always feared that I could never be half the man he was. Half the father he was. You see, my mother abandoned me and my siblings when I was five. My father spent the last two years of his life raising five children. And he was sick. He was dying. What a father. Could I be that kind of father to my child? Since July, my wife's little belly has grown. Occasionally, you can see a little nudge on the surface of her tummy...from the inside. Amazing. Every night, I place my head near her belly and listen to him moving around in there. Oh yes, it's a boy! We found out 20 weeks into the pregnancy. His name will be Morgan Douglas Glenn. Douglas was my father's name. After I listen for awhile, I talk to my son. I love the way he reacts to my voice. I wish I could hold him now. But, as God loves to do with me, I'm learning one more lesson in patience. Little Morgan needs that tiem in his mother's womb. So I must learn to wait. Ever since that hot July day, I have not walked on ground. My shoes have not touched the earth. I just hover. Most of the time I'm about six inches above the floor. Yeah, the soles of my shoes do not get dirty. I don't know if every man wants to be a father as much as I do. I don't know if every father-to-be yearns to hold his child like I do. I only know that I can't wait to hear that baby's cry....to hold him in my arms....to hear him call me "daddy" for the first time...to play with him on the floor and teach him all the things that little boys need to know. I can't wait to have him hold my hand as we cross the street or in the mall...whereever. And you can bet that, with every step, my feet will never touch the ground. For more information on Tim Glenn, go to www.timglennmusic.com tim glenn