Yes, we have the cutest baby. I’ve added more photos to the week 1 photo set.
We’re doing much better. Kathleen and I are starting to get into a rhythm. My throat feels better. Kathleen is still in pain but isn’t coughing as much. We’re getting used to the sleep. After our fun start last Sunday, any sleep feels heavenly, so one hour here and one hour there isn’t so bad.
Charlie is … weep … wonderful. What a gift! On Friday I taught him Life Lesson #1: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and discipline.” (Proverbs 1:7) And some of you may be saying “whah?” Fear? In a way, yes, fear is a little part of it, but in the same sense that you would fear Mount Everest as you climbed it. You’re not running away from it and cowering waiting to be struck down. At the same time you have a healthy respect for something so grand and majestic and dangerous. The word used in this instance is the Hebrew word Yirah, which means “reverence for the Lord.” I want Charlie to know that, above all, we stand in awe of our God who gave us life and chose not to spare his own. That kind of love is terrifying.
Lesson #2 was doing his multiplication tables, which he memorized.
Cheers.
Our son, Charlie, was born Monday, February 5, 2007, at 6:20pm, weighing in at 9 pounds, 2 ounces (0.65 stones). He was a little over 20 inches long (51 cm).
Here is a slideshow of pictures from his first week: http://www.flickr.com/photos/loveoirs/sets/72157594525817218/show/
In addition to learning how to live again and recovering from labor and delivery, Kathleen and I are trying to recover from illnesses we acquired before the birth. Kathleen has a cold and a bad cough and I have strep throat. So, please be gentle when you email or call.
Speaking of which, we really do appreciate the well-wishes and the support. I am overcome emotionally by all the love we have received bringing Charlie into the world and in the near future I hope to write about what this experience has meant (and is meaning) to me. He is here–and we are surviving–because of all of you.
That said, while we would love to call or email all of you, our most likely action right now will be to not. We’re in biggest-bang-for-the-buck mode, so if we have anything to say, we’ll probably say it here as it reaches the most people at once.
So, that’s it for now. Take care. Until our next communiqué, this is Harry writing on behalf of the Love family in Seattle.
Only Maya Angelou can use this metaphor to discuss life and pull it off without sounding like an elementary school student. It was her inspirational theme while speaking to a large Seattle crowd last week, an event I was able to partake off due to a lovely collision of Harry’s thoughtfulness and my birthday! Think of every adjective to describe someone who is larger than life, and it would describe Maya. She was truly the phenomenal woman about whom she has written.
Of course, I am biased. I have read her works with awe and gratitude since high school, one of the few authors whom I sought for that long without obligation from teachers. I even deferred admission to Wake Forest, where she’s on faculty, hoping that someday I could learn directly from her. That still makes me shiver, but meeting Harry, going to Siberia, meeting my college friends, and allowing my dad’s retirement to occur before 80 certainly outweigh that scant possibility.
Anyways, her voice and message were rich. She alternated between sharing her own life experiences and reading poetry (both her own and others) to encourage us to believe in our unique gifts, see our potential to be rainbow amidst others’ clouds, and be thankful for those who have done so for us. She shared that without rainbows in our clouds, none of us could say “Good morning” everyday. None of us could continue through life keeping our heads high. At the end of the night, the woman sitting next to me, who came by herself, tearfully told me she really needed to hear Maya’s messsage. I could see in her eyes that she had been in a desperate place and was leaving it. I may never cross paths with this woman again, but she blessed me that night through her vulnerability. I believe she left changed, encouraged, and renewed. I believe this was the case for most of the audience. What incredible work.
This is what I want to remember to strive for: to be like Maya was for the audience, so that each person I encounter may know they are loved, unique, and special. In the midst of the daily grind, it is hard to remember that this is so important. Not only for our loved ones, but for strangers. For those whom a simple “Good morning” could make their day.
After much weeping and gnashing of teeth, I have separated the sheep from the goats in my very imperfect, non-What-Would-Jesus-Design way. And so, HarryLove.org is now open for public lambasting. Just don’t ask me what it’s for.
Kathleen found The Tale of the Unknown Island by José Saramago (translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa; illustrated by Peter Sis) at the library and blazed through it. “You’ve got to read this,” she said. And I did. At 51 very small pages, it was a quick read. But it’s one of those stories that could take a lifetime to fully appreciate.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is quoted as saying “Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.” This is as true in life as it is in writing. And so it is with Saramago’s tale. What I appreciate most about the telling of the story is that Saramago seems to have crafted each sentence to say no more or less than it should, and all of it in an engaging, run-on prose style that pushes the story forward, a style that is both humorous and sensible at the same time, and he marries that with a story about a protagonist who is on a simple, yet profound, quest.
You, sir, are only interested in islands that are known, And unknown ones too, once they’re known, Perhaps this one won’t let itself be known, Then I won’t give you the boat, Yes, you will. When they heard these words, uttered with such calm confidence, the would-be supplicants at the door for favors, whose impatience had been growing steadily since this conversation had begun, decided to intervene in the man’s favor, more out of a desire to get rid of him than out of any sense of solidarity, and so they started shouting, Give him the boat, give him the boat.
