It's a boy!

 

Here he is at 22 weeks.

The nurse said he has long legs. Here's one of them.

Here he is pulling on one of those long legs.

His name is Reid Aaron Akridge. We call him Reid.

Reid is not really a family name, but R.A. Akridge is. Gunter's grandfather's name was RA Akridge, no periods, and nobody knows if RA actually stood for anything. It was just RA, or "Paw" to Gunter. He died when we were six, just before I moved to Elba, so I have not had the privilege of meeting the man my son is named after...yet. But judging from the stories I've heard about Paw, I look forward to meeting him in Heaven one day.

RA came under overwhelming conviction in a cornfield one day in his younger years. He gave his life to God that day and was never the same.

One day when RA was a boy, he threw a rock and killed a neighbor's rooster. Not long after He met Jesus as an adult, RA went to the woman, by then well-advanced in years, confessed and apologized for killing her rooster. He just had to make it right, to live with a clear conscience before God and men.

It was no surprise to any of RA's three children to be awoken in the middle of the night and loaded into the family pickup truck to go help someone in need. RA lived out a good Samaritan lifestyle and made sure his children were present to watch and learn.

I look forward to the times when Gunter will share stories with Reid about the first R.A. Akridge. But my eyes well up and my heart burns when I think of the day when I can tell him about his middle name, Aaron.

Aaron is also an Akridge family name. I know nothing about Aaron Akridge, Paw's daddy, but that name stirs truths treasured deep within my heart, placed there by God Himself, from the life of another Aaron I read about in my recent adventures in the Old Testament.

I can't wait to tell him about how Aaron spoke for Moses as God prepared the way to free Israel from slavery in Egypt. How he and his sons were chosen high priests, mediators between God and His people -- representations of Jesus, our Great High Priest. How God used Aaron and prepared him to be a servant, even after He made some very unwise decisions.

Oh, but most of all...Leviticus 9. You'd think the high priest's job would be cushy and glamorous. Dignified and sanitary. Ha! More like splattering blood and cleaning internal organs. God gave specific instructions about what He wanted Aaron and his sons to do, and Leviticus 9 describes Aaron's carrying out of every tedious, gory detail. Aaron was obedient, and the end result? All the people saw God's glory:

(v. 23-24) "Then Moses and Aaron went into the Tabernacle, and when they came back out, they blessed the people again, and the glory of the Lord appeared to the whole community. Fire blazed forth from the Lord's presence and consumed the burnt offering and the fat on the altar. When the people saw this, they shouted with joy and fell face down on the ground."

What Aaron might have seen as dressing livestock, God used to illustrate His plan to save all humanity, and His glory blazed forth.

Ah, Reid. We'll explain it to you when you're older.

Let's get this potty started

Gunter and I had a very romantic date last night after we stopped by WCM's Faith Radio broadcast. We ate at our favorite Dothan Mexican restaurant (where, lo and behold, we knew three people who worked there from our favorite Mexican restaurant in Opp...Apparently, we are VIPs wherever we go). But that's another story. On to the good part.

The next stop on our romantic date was a bookstore to find the perfect potty book. Since our 18-month-old has most of her books memorized, what better way, I thought, than to convey the concept of potty training than through a potty book?

Piece of cake, right? Um, no.

Of the gazillion different potty training books, some were too gross (I guess any books about said subject would have to be a little on the icky side), some too wordy, some not explanatory enough, some not visually appealing, yada yada yada.
Though I'm not sure we found the perfect potty book (we ended up buying two, one that Mommy liked and one that Daddy liked), we did find some real jewels by an author called Leslie Patricelli.

Well, maybe jewels wouldn't be an accurate description, but they were downright hilarious! (Are there rules against two adults cackling like hyenas in the children's section of the bookstore?) I can't offer you a free sample of iced caramel mocha something, but just pretend you're there, and take a look at a few of these pages.

Cute, huh? And for the record, Bailey is now especially fond of Daddy's pick for the potty book.

Please feel free to post a comment and let me know your favorites! I've loved children's books long before I even LIKED children. Potty training suggestions are welcomed, too.

Adoption Day

January 24, 1988, was the greatest day of my life.

It wasn’t my wedding day, though that day was also the beginning of a love union that would change my life forever.

It wasn’t the birth of my first child, though that would also mark the start of a great adventure in giving myself to another.

On January 24, 1988, God somehow called a 4-year-old girl by name and adopted her into His family, taking her from enemy of the Almighty to beloved of the King. Even though I still needed a lifetime of polishing, my parents say I was a different child after that day.

I used to be jealous of people with powerful testimonies – people who sold drugs and kicked cats before they met Jesus and He radically changed their lives. I felt inadequate with no stories to tell of how I used to steal crayons but then I met Jesus and now I don’t. I worried because I couldn’t remember how I felt when God forgave my sins, or even what I understood.

Then, one day in my early teens, I ran across John 3:18: “He who believes in Him is not condemned; but he who does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.” There it was, in black and white (technically, red and white). I didn’t have to have a deep understanding of theology. I didn’t have to remember any certain detail or say a formula of words. I believed -- not just then, but also now -- and that was enough.

God has a unique plan for everyone. He draws us to Himself in His own time. Now, as I look back, I am deeply thankful that God drew me when He did. Though I made mistakes and rebelled plenty, I know His presence in my life spared me from so much pain. I grew up knowing Him, and I am thankful that I can't remember when He wasn't there.

I remember Him in elementary school as I realized that wrong bothered me when it didn’t bother other kids in my class. I remember His presence thick around me in my bedroom as my dad taught me how to study my Bible and spend time alone with God.

I remember Him in middle school, my Comforter and Confidante during those tough growing-up years. I remember Him in junior high as He called me to commit my purity to Him and learned to stumble along the path He set out for me.

I remember Him in high school as He grew me and prepared me for what lie ahead.

I remember Him in college, that nagging voice I knew so well calling to me as I tried to walk away. He was there every time I came crawling back, grounding my faith and reminding me that Life was only in Him.

He made my dreams come true as he arranged my marriage.

He was there through cancer and chemotherapy. He answered me in the middle of the night in the living room floor as I cried in desperation.

He knit my first child together. He was there when she was born, and He patiently upheld me during those first difficult weeks. He was there to direct my steps when I didn’t know what life meant for me anymore.

We’ve seen His assuring presence triumph when things seem dark. He makes us bubble over with laughter and spreads our joy to others. He still answers our prayers and works out our rough spots. Glimpses of His glory typify the sweetest of life’s moments.

A relationship with God is an epic love story, an adventure full of twists and dynamic characters. No matter when your story with God officially began (even if it hasn’t), I bet you can look back, too, and see His hand orchestrating your life. Drawing you with strings of love, even before you loved Him back.

Happy Adoption Day, God. I’m so thankful to be yours. I’ll love you more in the next chapter than in the last.

Life Lesson #387: Husbands don’t like to use frou-frou soap

It’s common knowledge that the majority of men are not as diligent with their handwashing as they should be. You know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen ‘em walk out the bathroom door before the toilet finishes flushing, hands dry as a bone.

(Gives me the heebie-jeebies.)

And why? I’m sure there are many reasons. Maybe the avoidance of handwashing stems from the same gene that makes little boys loathe baths. For example, when my brother was little, Mom and Dad had to inspect his hair to make sure he had used shampoo.

Yes, I’m being too general. My own husband is an excellent handwasher. And, no, I didn’t train him to be this way. He does it on his own. So, men, don’t think I’m beating up on all of you.

On the contrary…women, as much as you hate this dirty habit, you may be contributing to your man’s handwashing delinquency. Are you an unsuspecting accessory to your husband’s crime of grime?

If something like this rests upon your sink, you might just be.

Oh, it looks innocent enough. It has all the traits of an ordinary bottle of handsoap – clear, plastic bottle (though strangely shaped like a bent square), squirter on the top, colored liquid soap… Ah, but the soap just happens to smell like sweet winter vanilla or pink fluffy flower!

Which leads me to my latest life lesson: husbands don’t like to use frou-frou soap – including my five-star handwasher. He wants his hands clean, but he doesn’t want to walk around smelling like fragrant petunia rain! If frou-frou soap is all your man has to choose from at the sink, he might be tempted to walk right by, choosing grit over girly.

So, in an effort to encourage men to wash their hands, I have invented a line of men’s handsoap, just for them. Featured scents include:
Grilling out
Big nasty cheeseburger
Gridiron
Red dirt
Oil change
Too much cologne
Gone fishin’
Lawnmower
Hardware store
Channel surfing
(And my husband’s special suggestion) Chuck Norris

By all means, ladies, keep the girly handsoap on your sink. Walk around smelling like sugar candy swirl, and love it. But give your husband some manly (or, at least milder) soap.

And if someone wants to take my man-soap idea and run with it, just be sure, as soon as you make your millions, to send me a sizable check or a trip to somewhere tropical. Thanks.

Stretch marks on my heart

If I’m switching to decaf, it better be for good reason.

And it is.

Meet “Squirt,” the newest Akridge, due in early July. Yes, it seems as though I like being huge-pregnant during the hot parts of the Alabama summers, like July and August. There's no good reason we're calling him or her "Squirt." It's just for fun until he or she has a real name.

It seems to me that God often blesses for no good reason…at least, for reasons only He knows. With all my faults, I wonder sometimes, WHY WOULD HE TRUST ME WITH ANOTHER ONE?!

The only thing I can figure, He must have plans for these children beyond what I can know. Before Bailey ever was and before this baby ever was, Gunter and I prayed earnestly that God would only give us children if their lives would glorify Him. I’m believing Him for that.

I figure He also has more work to do in my life. Labor pains are nothing compared to the growing pains that come with being a mother! I think parenthood is God’s way of sculpting us into the self-sacrificing servants we were supposed to be anyway.

That’s why the weeks after Bailey’s birth were such a shock to me. Being a servant was the furthest thing from my character…and actions. Then along came this bundle of joy, and I was all but forced to switch from serving myself to giving my life – physically, emotionally, socially, mentally – to serve another (who had no way to repay me for my kindness except in dirty diapers).

Yes, those first few weeks were tough. But reward upon reward did come...her first smile, every time she says, “Mommy,” her head on my shoulder.

Yet, so much more “me” needs to be sacrificed. I need another tour through humility boot camp.
I’m so glad that it’s “God who is at work in [us], both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13). He doesn’t just ask us to grow or demand that we be more like Jesus. No, this good God works in us to make it possible. He sends me a way, blessing in the form of Squirt.

Thank You, Lord. Thank You for investing in me joy, pain, sweet glimpses of You, deeper love and spit-up on my shoulder.

Look out, world! Here she comes!

Bailey is walking. Yes, her 1-year-old friends have been doing it for quite some time, but Bailey is not swayed by peer pressure at this point in her life. I’d also like to point out that she is actually wearing shoes, but that’s another story for another blog.

It’s not that Bailey minded the idea of walking. What she really didn’t like was the idea of falling. She simply would not walk until she knew she could do it well. She’s pulled up and cruised for several months, but she saw no need to let go before she could actually go somewhere on those two squishy feet.

My dad thinks it could be perfectionist tendencies getting in the way already. Maybe so. I think she might have inherited a portion of Mama’s don’t-want-a-face-full-of-floor syndrome. Let me give you an example.   

When I was in third grade, anybody who was anybody celebrated her birthday with a party at the Opp Skating Rink. It was all the rage. There’s no telling how many times we played “wipeout” when the scratchy voice over the PA told us to, or – so romantic – couple-skated to Garth Brooks’ “Shameless” as the disco ball cast lights across the floor.

(Of course, there was no “Shameless” at my birthday party because my parents insisted on only playing Christian music…and that was back before we had discovered cool Christian music like Michael W. Smith or Steven Curtis Chapman. Southern-gospel-quartet wipeout, anyone? Kids’-praise limbo?)

Anyway. Most of the time, you could find me hanging close to the painted wooden rails enclosing the rink. Only the thrill-seekers ventured to the middle of the floor…those who would go home with a few more bruises after their cake and potato chips. Me, I felt more comfortable within falling distance of the old trusty rail. Busting it just wasn’t worth the thrill.

So Bailey has finally let go of the couch…and even my hand, most of the time. It’s not that my daughter and I are not adventurous. We just see no need to volunteer for unnecessary physical pain or that scary rush of being out of control.

Lack of control. I think that’s really what it boils down to. It’s why my husband avoids amusement park rides – he can’t drive. I’ve told him that, next time, I’ll bring him a little fake steering wheel so at least he can feel like he’s in control.

Why do we crave control? Why do we think we are so capable? Why does Gunter think he would do a better job driving a roller coaster than letting it run on the track for which it was designed?!

Our being in control is all an illusion, anyway, but with a couch, a rail or a steering wheel…a secure job, a healthy body, talents, money in the bank, people to love us, an active ministry, a full schedule... we think we have control.

As I got ready to spend time with God this morning, questions churned in my mind. I am constantly in need of wisdom to know how to raise my daughter, how to act on certain decisions, how to handle what’s on my plate. I bet right now, your own struggles are popping up in your mind, too. I have the tendency to want to think through my problems, turn them over and over until I solve them in the conference room of my own head. Work myself into a pure frazzle. Wisdom beyond myself – that’s what I needed this morning.

And there it was in 1 Samuel 18:14: “David was acting wisely in all his ways for the Lord was with him.” (Also see verses 5, 12, 28 and 30).

David acted wisely – not because he had it all together. Not because he was in control of his circumstances. Not because the answers were easy or he was a good problem-solver.

He acted wisely because the Lord was with him. Liberating, isn’t it?

Mi familia

If you read our article in the magazine, you know a bit of our story. What better way, I thought, for you to get to know us a little more than to meet us in our natural habitat, our local Mexican restaurant?

The Akridge family are valued customers here – high-rollers, if you will. People know us. If this place was a casino, they’d comp us a room. Exaggerating? Nay, nay. About a month ago, we overheard one waiter say to another, “Se gustan Mexicana, eh?” (or something like that) which means, “They really like Mexican food, huh?”
  
Maybe we do visit too often. We’ve made friends with the staff, know the ages of their children, and Bailey asks for tortilla. It actually comes out more like “tilla,” but I don’t think she’s ever asked for “salad” or “Brussels sprouts.”

Now, if your inner Dave Ramsey is gearing up to rebuke us for eating out so much, let me assure you that we are pretty cheap-living people. It just about brings us physical pain to spend money on ourselves. We don’t even have a monthly clothes budget, but we’ll slap down $3 for a bowl of cheese dip any day of the week.

It’s funny, I hated Mexican food until I started dating Gunter. He loved it, and of course I didn’t tell him any different when he asked me out to a Mexican restaurant for our first…and second…dates. (That’s how you are when you start dating, even if you have known each other since the 3rd grade.) Somewhere in the process of becoming one flesh, I learned to crave it as much as he did.

We’re starting Bailey on it early. She likes it because:
1. She’s guaranteed tortilla and cheese.
2. She enjoys watching soccer on the much-nicer-than-ours TV screens.
3. The music puts her in a dancing mood.
4. This particular restaurant has about a million knick-knacks sitting around, including a fountain and a ceramic chicken she loudly “Bock! Bock!”s to every time we visit. She gets so excited, we silently apologize to everyone sitting near us who probably expected a nice, quiet meal.

And, of course, Mama likes it not just for the cuisine and ambiance, but also because you get to take the experience with you. Why do MEXICAN restaurants have the best Southern sweet tea?