not quite the first bath

FIRST bath at the Lang's house!

FIRST bath at his God's Resort home!

time at G.R.

My favorite picture of mom and him

Michael and Ellie meet their first nephew for the first time

Three generations of mentoring?

already expressive

Uriah was expressive from the beginning! His first smile was in the hospital - and first giggle followed a couple days later in the home. He'd make lots of coos and wide-mouth smiles in reaction to us. And, I admit, while he was sleeping. 

His legs were so scrawny that his diapers didn't hold in much - it'd escape out around the legs!

We had many visitors of our friends, church ministers or God's Resort board, and of course our neighbors. 

We would soon be moving to Iowa, so while the family was there they were a large blessing in getting everything packed up - but amidst all of the busyness we were able to soak in the feeling of parenthood. A little scary, too! But we relish every touch of his soft skin and new stage of discovering sounds. 

Oh, Who Knows?

Oh, who knows that fragile body?

The lips that pucker, the toothless smile,

The weight of tiny body, hair soft and downy,

Or forehead where no worries strut their guile.

No one knows like the mother's eyes,

The mother's lips, fingers, eyes, and ears,

And heart... where hope and prayer therein lies.

Evident when out of love, stream grateful tears;

When the child is not in arms, the imagined weight is felt

When round cheeks aren't at the tip of a kiss

The kiss is untangibly dealt;

Just as prayers wrap a blanket round when a child is missed.

Oh, who knows the fragile body

But the whole being of the mother?

She who has bent the body and soul to simply study

The sleeping child, tucked gently under the covers.

emilie g. 11.09

Where Does Joy Begin?

Where does joy begin?

From the tips of stubby, tiny toes,

From short little arms and a round little nose.

Where does joy end?

In a mother's soft smile, warm embrace,

Silhouettes of gratitude's beaming face.

emilie g. 11.09.08

Named by his father

This picture is the Naming of our boy. Yes, I had held him for a few fleeting moments (long enough to ingrain the deepest attachment and love, and an image of new eyes staring RIGHT into mine), and then he was taken to be quickly cleaned up by hospital hands and then passed to Papa. Others in the room, I hope, felt the sacredness of the moment, for some left and those who didn't left a quietness. I don't know what those moments were like for Eddie, but he came back from that corner with his eyes shining.

The week before the birth I had been at the Udell's house, resting up and becoming peaceful for the delivery. I had gone into a small dining room adjacent the kitchen, and sat at the table with a journal, a Bible, and a prayerful spirit. I was reading through Daniel, amazed over and over by how the character held so much that I desired for my son: wisdom in youth, ability to be counter-cultural, God given understanding. Soon this time with the Lord resulted in an image that I would later paint and give to Uriah - an image of a lone figure standing as all others bowed down against God around him, and their prostrate bodies resembling the gravestones of their sacrificed eternal life. I wrote in my journal that I wanted to name my son Uriah Daniel, but I didn't tell Eddie this.

Weeks before the birth I'd decided that Eddie could name our son. He had told me how it was so significant to him that his father had named him. Of course, I had some say in what the "narrowing down" of names were, or give suggestions. 

But here were were in the delivery room, and Eddie walked up to me with this glowing expression.

"Emilie, there are a couple different names we could give him, but I really think he's a Uriah Daniel."

What do you have in store for him, Lord?

Bathed by the Grandmothers

This is a special picture to me, my culmination of emotion etched by the combination of the tenderness of the moment and also its history. I can remember barely being out of the stage of being bathed in the sink myself, but saying, "Grandmama's giving the new baby the first bath... again!" And Grandmama was there, giving the freshly breathing infant a meticulous cleansing in the silver kitchen sink. And soon out would come the Johnson-smelling and swaddled new Lang addition. 

But here was Eddie and I's newest addition, with the tenderness of my mother's hands cradlign it into the world. This grandma'am hands softly washed him, hands which had given dozens of baths to children in kitchen sinks and thousands of kisses to the silken cheeks that smelled of Johnson No Tears, but the little one within her arms was my own son. 

It is a simple tradition, but precious to my heart nonetheless. My child will come into this world and immediately know of the caring hands of his family. And while the tenderness will not always be a tangible hug and bathing, it will continue in tender prayers... long after he's grown out of the sink.