Smith, Party of 7

In typical Sadie-always-forgets-about-her-camera-upon-returning-to-school fashion, I have zero pictures to illustrate the introductory days of my senior year.

That's actually a lie-- I have one picture that Katie and Claire took of me sacked out Tuesday morning. But then there's drool and that's awkward and doesn't nobody need to see all of that.

Dad and I were, for the most part, slap happily sleep deprived. One of us slept while the other drove so we didn't see much of each other, even within the confines of my sportscar.

Why the exhaustion, you ask?

Oh, just a little thing called a BABY!

More specifically, a little thing called Truett.

I am, of course, not nearly as exhausted as the two who formed this new little family. And the little bit of sleep deprivation I did endure was, hands down, worth it.

I didn't think I'd get to meet this little man. I mean sure I harassed him to COME ON WITH IT through voice messages and texting and in person every time I thought about it in the month leading up to his birth (don't worry, I always ended with "... but I'll love you unconditionally anyway.") But then on Thursday Dr. Simmons was all like, "this baby isn't coming within the next week" and hope was lost. It was actually kind of nice to have a definite "no" and set my mind to packing up for school, resigned to meeting Truett over my fall break.

Then along comes Friday afternoon, when Mom and I are trying to pump ourselves up to a last minute Wal Mart run by laying around watching Project Runway on the couch (likely strategy, I know) and Steph calls questioning whether or not she'd just experienced her water breaking. After Mom assured her 9 different times that this was indeed happening, we squealed for no shorter than 5 minutes and tried to ourselves comprehend that this was, indeed, happening. Pretty soon we kicked ourselves into high gear, no Project Runway required this time.

Critically, Emily and I called Steph to sing "I'm Coming Out," as if from Truett's point of view. We wanted the world to know, we had to let it show! 

The thing about *almost* grandparents, apparently, is that they experience some type of weird relapse to their roles 30 years prior at the onset of labor (28 to be precise. And by precise, I do mean to the day). Mom kept suggesting things all frantically and Dad would be reassuring and accomodating and all "what do you need me to do?!" Thoughts like, "Oh no, the room isn't ready" and "I didn't even get to paint my toenails" come rushing back to the new grandmother as naturally as they came with her own labor.

But this time her children get to laugh at her.

We beamed as we entered Chic-Fil-A and then again when we showed up at the hospital.

We beamed pretty much everywhere we went the entire weekend, despite exhausted exteriors. Luke and Stephanie included.

I might still be beaming.

We laughed a lot and prayed a lot and listened to Selah a lot and waited a lot.

I remember hugging Luke and saying (just hours after his 28th birthday had come and gone), "next time I see you, you'll be a dad."

And then at 5:08 a.m on August 21st.

Christopher Truett Smith.

7 pounds, 9 ounces and 20 3/4 inches of great.

With his precious nose and tiny toes and big feet and the most adorable little profile.

Okay, am I right?!

Maybe I'm just biased, but the kid is awesome and club-can't-even-handle-him-right-now kinds of great. After 17 hours of adoring the brilliance of God's handiwork, I certainly couldn't handle it anymore. So I drove a thousand or so miles away.

Or at least that's how we're spinnin' it. School was a minor factor.

Aaaaaanyway, that's the way we became a party of 7, and I can't get over getting to be a part!

Happiest

Katie got me thinking about something in her recent post.

And then thinking about it more when we went to see Eat Pray Love tonight.

Life. A combination of the big picture and the little things.

There is a lot about true selves and real happiness and the like in Julia Roberts's latest flick. Taking adventures and shaking things up kind of stuff. She's looking for a way out of her life, a way to find perspective, so she goes traveling.

Here's my thing. Unlike the character Liz, I'm not looking for a way out of my life. But in my own personal ventures, I am finding that I am happiest when I am out of my comfort zone. I'm most drawn to people not like me. I feel for the people who don't have the love and support I was born into. I feel like they don't need my pity, but would most appreciate my understanding. And for some reason I think I have an extra dose of that understanding built into me (where doses of other things are missing, mind you).

Compassion. Without action is simply emotion.

See, I find myself most often trying to shake feelings of sympathy or squashing the courage I begin building to approach an issue. So ideas get put down in my mind before they come close to action.

It's not my fault the world is that way. It's their fault for not making something of themselves. I can't be blamed for being born into better circumstances. I'm not doing anything wrong here.

These are ways I try to drown out thoughts of actually helping things.

Excuses. They sound so terrible written in black and white because they are that terrible. They are a way of saying "no." And they sound fine and reasonable in my head, but written plainly like that I can see them for the sin that they are. Could there be anything more frustrating to God than a Christian prepared with excuses?

I don't know. I'm not Him.

Which is something that always comes back to surprise me when I can't come up with a way to help people and step out of my comfort zone on my own. All I can do is toss around a few ideas in my mind that never come close to fruition because by myself I can offer about as much as emotion.

Compassion, the kind that makes a difference, really is prompted by God-sized ideas and opportunities. Which I feel like He'd go ahead and offer me if I weren't so armed with reasons to say "no."

My family is here. I'm happy here. It's too hard to be depended on. I can't handle that. I'm young and dependent on support from home. It's not safe. I'm afraid.

Of what, Sadie?

Being happiest? Didn't you just admit you're happiest outside of your comfort zone?

Well, yes. Yes I did. What is that about?

But, Lord, there's nothing wrong with here. I don't do anything wrong here.

I've been reading Mark Batterson again lately and he reminded me yesterday that you can do nothing wrong with your life and still do nothing right.

For me the big picture is easy to see. I'm an idealist, after all, and we don't have a problem envisioning the way things should be. And it doesn't take up too much of my imagination to find a way that little things (even the big little things) can be reconciled to the eventual bigger, ideal picture.

I can go from little things to big picture and back to seeing big picture in little things faster than you can say "carpe deum." Things that have already happened? Well but of course they will add up to a number greater than the sum of the parts and a beautiful image will be made of the pieces.

But the future? It's harder for me to know how to make the little things add up to the big picture I'd like my life to end up looking like. Where to go from here to end up where I want to be? I like outside of the comfortable, but I don't want to be irresponsible. I love venturing off, but am very aware that I'm only able to do so because of the many ways my family supports me from home. Unlike Liz, I feel like the big picture perspective comes pretty easily to me-- it's the making it jive with decisions about my future or how I choose to treat people every day that perplexes me.

I'm good at the doing nothing wrong.

But what about the something right? What about the flourishing?

What if I mess something up? What if I make a mistake? What if I upset someone? It's like to me each little thing has to reflect the big picture (the ideal, if you will) and I'm so afraid of each piece not mirroring the perfection of the bigger picture-- the part where everything is redeemed and taken care of and harmonious-- that I cease to take advantage of my resources and well-wishing emotions to act with compassion.

I love different people. I love different places. I love that my God does not depend on my circumstances and I love the little bit of that theory that I've had the privilege to find tried and true. I know that He is big picture-- the redeemer, the provider, the giver of peace. And I'm determined to find Him in the little day-to-day of life around me.

What scares me is to turn around on my life and not see Him in the little things about my own life. Do the little things about my life point to redemption and care and peace beyond circumstance? Oh, God, I wish they would. That's what I'm concerned about.

And that is why I'm packing my bags and loading up my little red sports car sunfire on another little adventure to a place where the bigger picture seems to make its way into the every day with a little less interruption.

It's not about getting away from my life, it's about really getting into it.

And with graduation approaching the only real question on my mind is, "where to next?"

Sweet Little Time

Dear Truett,

Word on the street is that you are going to take your sweet little time getting here. So that when you're here, I'll be there.

I'll just be that funny aunt from far, far away with the obnoxiously loud laugh who makes you call her "auntie," I suppose.

But I have to say that this time preparing our lives and hearts for you has been quite sweet enough to tide me over until October -- which is right around the time you'll be for-real smiling anyway. Your gassy smiles wouldn't fool me even if I was around.

Precious baby boy, you are so loved.

I've held my breath through enough of your mom's appointments to become a professional tank-less diver. And I've let out enough sighs of relief to keep an Arkansan cool in July after the verdict is delivered each time-- you're healthy.

I've prayed many prayers over you, as I know so many others have. In general they've gone like this:

I can't wait for you to thump a heartbeat into Baby Smith-- that we could all breathe a little easier. Until then, continue to craft Baby's organs and tissues just right- preparing him or her for the purpose you have for it on this earth. Thank you for loving this baby more than we even know to yet and promising him or her that love faithfully for a lifetime. You know the days in that life already, but God I ask your special blessing and guidance on them and for Luke and Stephanie as they raise this baby through said days. (1-24-10)

Truett! (3-6-10)

Thank you for Truett and the hope of new life in our family. Grow him up in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man. Even now, what a miracle, Lord. (4-6-10)

For Truett.  Healthy babies don't just happen. You know that. You are weaving him together perfectly in a secret place. Forever is in your hands, and so is this baby. I am thankful for lungs, kidneys, and 4 chambers. For however long Luke and Steph have him, Lord, he is really just yours. Do what you will in that tiny baby you are crafting. (4-10-10)

These are just the thoughts of your aunt. Your parents take cherishing and nurturing you to a whole new level because for now you are theirs for the keeping.

It goes without saying that Tutu and whatever-you-decide-to-call-the-bald-one have a special place for you in their hearts (and house). They stake claim to 1/4 of you and, unlike me, they already know what it's like to have a piece of them shake up the entire world by just being.

(Between you and me, squirt, you'll be doing well to get 1/4 of Tutu and Baldy's character. Also, please don't choose baldy for his name, it's just filler for now).

As for your mom and dad, I can't decide whose laugh I'd rather you have. I can't decide whose smile or cheeks or personality you should inherit. What is so cool about you is that you don't have to be one or the other. You get to be a little of both and then a lot of your own. Sweet gig.

(It would be okay if you inherit your mother's hair. See Baldy for more information. But still don't actually call him that).

All of this comes down to how I can't wait to meet you.. the you snackin' on milk and cookies this side of your Mom.

None of us can wait.

We can't wait to kiss you,

to feed you,

clothe you,

diaper you,

rock you,

bathe you,

or sing you to sleep.

And we've taken our sweet little time getting the stage set for your debut.

Sweet time we'll never have again. Time when God began His work in you while we slapped some paint on a wall and called ourselves artists -- as if our handiwork compared.

The time when God molded your face and features as we cut edges and outlets.

Time when the fragility of the entire process made me seek more fervently the God who knows your every day.

Time that will seem much less sweet compared to having you here.

But take your sweet little time, baby.

The joy of meeting you will make up for any delay of the occasion.

I am certain of it.

(just don't take too long for your mom's sake, okay?)

Saddle Up Your Horses

I'm doing my best to enjoy the last sips of summer life much like I'm trying my best to savor the Peanut Butter Cup smoothie I brought home from work.

That's a treat, you see, because the smoothie has 600 calories. (and also because in 1 week I'm going to have to pay full price for these babies).

It's a simply indulgent smoothie. As in it says that on the menu. Indulgent.

In many ways, that's what this final bit of time left at home is. Shopping for "school clothes" with Mom and buying bridal gifts and Step Up marathons and babysitting and working with the hilarities I call coworkers* and curling up in my room's new reading chair with my alpaca blanket is all coming to an end shortly. And forever.

I mean, sure. Fun will always exist in life where you throw in a little energy to conjure it up. I pray I'll always have the energy to entertain the subjects above. But this is the last summer in the traditional style I've known to date. Not to be dramatic or anything.

The thing is that it doesn't feel very dramatic. Just like another school year to pump myself up to. Thinking towards summers of uninterrupted work or starting a career away from home or whatever else God has up his sleeve seems a bit daunting. But so did the 5th grade when I was starting the 4th. It's about a step at a time. So that's what I'm doing.

The step I was particularly grateful for last night was drifting asleep healthy. And knowing that every other one of my loved ones was doing so, too. For some reason I had a quick vision of myself trying to fall asleep in a hospital bed and it cast my plush, comfy bed in a glorious light.

At best I am elated to start this semester. At worst, I am overwhelmed by how much there is to do before it has even begun. Insert lump in throat here. Anxious to do something about the, well, anxiety, I actually wrote out a list.

No I do not have a fever. Just a residual headache, thankyouverymuch.

It's not so much a list of things to do, as so much a list of goals to fulfill. School Year's resolutions, if you will:

1. The Tivo must go!

It is the greatest blessing a curse has ever been, the television recording device. By it, friends are able to gather and laugh, or one is able to have something stomach-able to watch at 2 a.m. All the time is the time to watch t.v. with these things and with it one (or at least this one) is fooled into thinking there is all the time in the world. All the time to write papers and have conversation and journal and pray and study and dance and seize the day! Until, of course, little of these things happen because all of the time just got spent either in front of the tv or planning events around it. And so, my friends, the tivo must go.

2. The Cell Phone Policy makes its debut

If you know me, you know my beef with the cell phone. You know I'd rather just not have one. I don't enjoy the idea that people can expect to talk to me any time of day they'd like or that they would have the right to be upset with me if I was not available. Phone calls weren't meant to be taken during lunch time, nor was texting designed as a diversion from present company.

That being said, I know there is a balance to strike between the real world and the grandmother that lives inside of me. A few things lead me to my new policy:

a. I know I take my... let's say reclusive... cell phone tendencies have the tendency to drift from any notion of the etiquette in whose name I protest.

b. Back in the 'ole days I remember Mom making it a specific point to check messages and return calls for the first 10 minutes or so after we got home from running errands. Any friend in the history of being my friend could tell you I might benefit from my mother's sound example.

c. I've recently become more conscious of my activity while at the wheel of a car. And my responsibility as a citizen to consider the safety of everyone else's precious cargo even if I am by myself in my car.

So the plan is to maximize the benefits of the cell (i.e. emergency help, communication with people I've made plans with, contact with people when they need me) while minimizing the hassle of being a part of the instant gratification generation and the frustration I have with phones. My phone will be on me at almost all times. I will, however, only check it once I arrive back at my apartment. At which point I will dedicate the first few minutes to returning any calls I "miss" while out and about.

I can guarantee this will mean that I answer my phone less often. But I am certain that it will increase the rate at which I return that call. Win/win.

3. Better Stewardship

I want to use what I have and use it well. I want to share and share well. With many people because that's what brings me joy. And if I can make it happen, I'm sure it would make me a much better servant-- a lover of God and of people. And I'm interested in that.

This sounds stupid, I know. But I'm starting with my clothes. Use it or lose it, baby. So I'm going to return to the 4th grade (this is becoming a theme in this blog post) and lay out my clothes before bed, while I have the time and energy to actually look at and use what I have. What I don't use goes. In this way, I will become a better steward of my resources.

By the same token, I would like to be a better steward of my time. A planner will help with this. (novel, I know). I'd like to become a part of the system that allows me to be a good steward of my clothes by enabling me to donate what I don't use by volunteering at a donation center. I don't know where that is or what it looks like, but it is a school year resolution, and I will find a way.

4. I'm going back to the closet, baby.

Back in the day when I peed in my pants in front of my boss while telling him I'd spend 1 hour of quiet time in my closet every night, I had no idea how beneficial that time would actually be (or how God can teach someone through their ineffective bladder). I'm missing the company of my shoes during my prayers and the rustling of my roommates outside of the door as they attempt to feed me and pass me notes during my "time out."

And at the end of the time, I can pick out my clothes, so #3 is built in here.

Score.

5. 365 Days of Thankfulness.

Niki Mangan (who may or may not know I exist) has been doing this for a while and I've envied it every time it shows up in my news feed. So, starting on September 5, 2010, I'm posting a picture for every day and being thankful. On purpose.

6. DC

#6 will incorporate #4, which incorporated #3, so this list gets easier as we go. Last year I resolved to get to DC more often. So I did. And it was great and beyond what I knew to expect. God just does that sometimes. But now I'm intrigued because if He can do that with the silly little idea of a starry eyed little college girl wanting to take more cute-sy day trips to the city, I want to know what He can do with the longing prayers of a broken-hearted near-graduate who wants to make a difference in that city. Or somewhere. I can't approach it on my own and God wouldn't want me to and I think knowing where to go next starts with a humble and regular acknowledgement of that so that prayer will be built in to the glorious, everyday college life that I do my best to soak up.

7. Job or no job, this internship is going on record.

The schedule of topics this past spring for the internship at Fairview was beyond coincidence or happenstance. There was a purpose behind every meeting. But. I was terrible at recording what we did and what resources I used so whether I'm coordinator or not, I will have a group of students and I will keep tabs on our "curriculum."

8. Church people, here I come.

Turns out that there are so cool folks at Fairview. Pretty certain I knew that going into Peru. Coming out, though, I have such a deeper desire to grow those relationships. Thus, it is on the list.

9. Let there be sleepovers!

In all of the chaos that was the busy lives of the ladies of La Petite Maison Blanche and given my own home-body tendencies, it turns out that I did a lot less bunking in than I'd dreamed last year. This year, an overnight bag will permanently reside at the little white house, so there will be no excuse against spontaneous sleeping over. Katie Jones, I'll leave Freedman at the apt. so you won't be lonely. Plus there's always Claire and Claire!coffee :)

10. Farmer's market, baby!

There's something about cheap fresh flowers that I can't resist. Except for I have for three years. Not. Any. More. Last year I accomplished the "go-to-DC-more-often" dream. Now it's downtown Fredericksburg's turn. It's time to shop local, starting with my Saturday mornings.

So that's it. It might be ambitious, but it's enough to turn anxiety into excitement and daunting tasks into fulfilling goals. With the correct amount of listening to Steven Curtis Chapman's "Great Adventure" and some good company along the way, I think the list is doable.

Saddle up your horses.

Im coming for you, Senior Year.