“Many of you have waited nine months for this moment — Drum Roll Please — I’m here to announce that Connor James Branch has officially been born. He’s a whopper at 9 pounds 14 ounces and is 20 ½ inches long.”

That was Terence’s blog post on March 4, 2010 — his second-ever post on Becky’s blog (www.terenceandbecky.com), which has quite a following out there in Mothers-To-Be Land.

This is a real milestone for our oldest child and his wife, who have waited a long time for this moment. When they married, Terence was in the military, and they agreed that wasn’t the best place to start a family. After his term was up, he jumped into finishing his college degree. Then they moved down here and moved in with us, during which time he completed an MBA. (Meanwhile, she so wanted children! And they weren’t even sure she could, based on some medical issues.)

Terence took a job over in Dallas County, so they moved an hour away. (I know. “Dallas.” But how will they ever get better over there unless people from Fort Worth go over and show them how?) Then… “Hey, we’re pregnant!”

We rejoiced with them then, and rejoice with them now! Last fall they realized another one of Becky’s dreams, moving in to their own house.

House. Family. It’s all starting to fall in to place.

Their day was a little different than my previous post with Joel and Rebecca.

Several days overdue, Baby Connor had still not dropped. Becky was really tired of not being able to breathe. (Did you note the size of this kid? If not, go back and reread the first paragraph.)

So Dr. Tatum scheduled her for a c-section at noon. Dr. Tatum is the fellow who also delivered Rebecca nearly 20 years ago.

Becky’s mother and grandmother were able to come down from Arkansas; Terence’s grandfather, grandmother and aunt were able to organize visits; and Sherry and I knew just where to be when. Baylor All Saints is a wonderful facility, with wonderfully attentive staff. Everything pretty much happened right on schedule.

Terence came ready to camp out for several days. I’m not sure I would be ready to join my wife for a c-section, but Terence came through fine. Apparently there’s a sheet/curtain thing to block the view for those of us who don’t care too much for watching surgeries, but still allowed him to see the baby be lifted up. For some reason, that reminded Terence and me of the time I snipped my thumb with some pruners, and I had to take him with me to the place where they put in the stitches.

Well, I’m glad I still have that thumb now, so I can give Terence and Becky a hearty thumbs-up! May their little(?) Connor grow up to do big things, and may He quickly come to know the God who made him, and express His glory.

Yesterday began at 5:30 a.m. with an alarming text from our Rebecca to Sherry. Several days past her due date, Rebecca was now saying, “I think we’re going to have a baby today.” Joel was already at work, so Rebecca was alone.

I was already dressed, so I went to pick her up. By 9:30 we were at the birthing center, 30 minutes south of our house. Between contractions, Rebecca was delighted to know that she could someday recount that her father had actually cut through a corner parking lot, cruised through a red light, and passed some slow cars using a convenient left turn lane. Her father will, in all likelihood, deny it because everybody knows he is a law abiding citizen.

The birthing center is a tranquil place, to be sure. I can see why expectant mothers would like it there: An updated older home, open and airy, immaculately clean, with soft music and a large screen with videos of large saltwater fish. A caring place.

Our midwife friends and caretakers there gathered around Rebecca with words of reassurance and encouragement. I prayed for her. We took a picture of her with Sherry and our midwives, Melody and Venessa. Soon Joel arrived, along with his mother and one of his sisters.

I found a soft couch downstairs. The others headed upstairs as Rebecca became more aware that Arielle was on her way.

Sherry’s local family, Loyce and Mama, arrived late morning, and we camped out downstairs together. Early afternoon arrived, and Loyce took orders for lunch and ran out to Jack in the Box. By the time she returned, the upstairs crowd was too busy to eat.

At 2:19 p.m., Melody came down the stairs just far enough and long enough to give us 2 thumbs-up and say, “Yes, she’s a girl!”

We didn’t know when they would let Rebecca come home, but we had a group scheduled to be at our house last night. We gave them a code to enter the house through the garage. As we finally headed to Rebecca’s house about 7:30, my phone rang. One of the guys at our house said the security alarm company was calling and leaving messages and “What should we do?”

This seemed odd. We knew we had not even set the security alarm, so figured it would all work out OK. Then the guy called back. “Uh, there are some police at the front door.” Finally, the police just took down some info and left. I mean, how many burglary rings include a half dozen couples with small children? The fire truck left, as well.

When Sherry finally got through to the alarm company, they said they had received “multiple alarms” from our residence, including trespassing, medical and fire. We have no idea what happened.

We’re glad the home alarm was false. We’re glad that Rebecca’s alarm was true.

We welcome Arielle Catherine Christopherson into the world. May the Lord bless her and keep her, may He make His face to shine upon her, and may she find a peace that passes all understanding in His life.

Any day now. That’s what they keep saying about the births of little Connor and little Arielle.

Daughter Rebecca’s “Arielle” and daughter-in-law Becky’s “Connor” were due one day apart — yesterday and today.

So far, nothing except some very uncomfortable mothers-to-be.

Two weeks ago — you remember the day of the Big Snow and threat of frozen roadways? The day before that, the midwife told Rebecca “could be today or tomorrow.” We flew into high alert.

No baby. Interesting how you begin to lose your “high alert” over time. Today we’re closer to a delivery, and probably less on-edge than we were during those snow days. Human nature is an odd thing. We absolutely know the delivery day is coming, but we lose the edge.

It reminds me of another event very much like that. Christ tell us He will return, and His word is sure. He tells us there will be signs like earthquakes, wars, and rumors of war, yet He does not tell us the precise day. Perhaps those signs are to remind us to stay on-edge, and waste no time until He appears.

Rebecca and Becky will deliver children into the world. Christ will deliver us out of it. Both events are assured. They should both keep us ever-ready and vigilant. Pray we do so.

You read where snow and ice are slippery, and it’s easy to fall.

Fall we did. Not Sherry, and not I, but another Branch — the one in front of our house.

The vultures quickly gathered. Before I pulled on my shoes to go out, three different neighbors were on the scene. “We saw it happen,” they said. What kind of world do we live in, where people watch the violence but do not intervene? Streets are no longer safe for timber, it seems.

One neighbor claimed the remains for cremation. Another offered a small chainsaw. Yet another helped clear the carcass out of the street, lest my dear Branch be dishonored by the approach of oblivious vehicles.

Neighbors helping neighbors. Death brings us together.

Snow here today — a record breaking snow for us. This morning I dropped Sherry at work. While there wasn’t all that much snow down yet, it was definitely slushy and slippery.

After I dropped her off, I got a text message with this picture. “Look what you left me in the parking lot,” she said. Sure enough, my car tracks left an early valentine. Could I do it again? Probably not. I have no idea how it happened. Some people might say it was a miracle — the kind of thing they show on Miracle Pets, or Touched by an Angel.

It’s a miracle, all right. But it’s not the hearts carved out of parking lot slush. The miracle is the love that makes the heart-picture possible. The miracle is that Sherry and I found each other again eight years after I graduated from high school. The miracle is that self-centered people can love at all.

It’s been a miracle for us since 1981. It’s been the handiwork of God since time began.

As soon as I get this item posted, I’ll be scouting the Internet for potential jobs. From what I read I won’t be alone.

It’s odd; for years we’ve routinely interacted with customer service people, repair people, and other gainfully employed people — the people who make life tick for us at the gas station, the bank, the laundry — and thought nothing of it. Now I wonder if other unemployed people who transact their business with these same employees have the same thought I do: “He has a job. She has a job.”

The past couple of weeks, I’ve been pondering, “How does God look at work?” What does the Bible say about work — not just the verses that tell us about working hard, or using work to provide for our families, but what’s God’s big plan for work? He made it; He must have a plan for it.

The outcome is this paper on the Theology of Work. Also, here’s a List of Verses the paper cites. It helped me. Maybe it will answer some questions for you, as well.

Included:

I. What is God telling us about Himself through “work?”
II. How can we reflect God’s creative/redemptive work in our own work?
III. How does God use our work in daily life?
IV. What does the Bible tell us about how God views man’s daily work?
V. FAQ
- Is “work” (daily work in the marketplace) real ministry?
- Is household work part of the equation?
- What about work for women?
- How do I respond to ungodly employers? Employees?
- Must work be physical – of our hands – to be real work?
- What role do trade unions have?
- What if I cannot find work?

Sherry just alerted me to the fact that there’s a cardinal in the back yard. I went to look. I watched for a few moments. He was interesting. Then the thought that came to mind was this: “Old people watch birds in the back yard. Your are watching a bird. Therefore….”

What an odd thought.

Is it a bad thing? Watching birds and the like, I mean.

Yes, if that’s all we do. We are participants in life, not spectators.

But no, if it means we actually slow down enough to see things we were too busy to see before.

Old people lose their vision and wear glasses. But they also see things that others don’t.

Not that I’m old. I’m just thinking about it.

My daughter looked radiant in her wedding gown.

Her heart was beating furiously. So nervous. So full of joyful anticipation. So anxious about the unknown.

My heart matched hers, as we stood arm-in-arm in the foyer of the church, staring at the double doors that would open in just 5 seconds… How did 25 years pass so quickly?

4 seconds… I remembered her in pink footy pajamas.

3 seconds… I remembered her at camp.

2 seconds… I remembered our date nights.

1 seconds… I remembered her moving out and getting her first job.

0… Now! The doors swung open, and every eye in the church turned toward us. The bride stepped forward, “entering God’s gate with thanksgiving, His courts with praise.” In just a few moments, I presented her to her groom, with whom she will spend the rest of her life.

Even then, it reminded me that each believer in Christ is standing right where my daughter and I stood last week. We are in the foyer of this life, walking arm in arm with God. At any moment, He may cause the doors to swing open that lead us into the perfect heavenly presence of Christ – who is our bridegroom.

I wonder, does my heart beat as furiously for that heavenly moment as it did in the foyer last week? Am I as full of joyful anticipation for the moment when God will usher me from this life into the life that weds us?

Am I remembering that the moment will be just as real (perhaps even moreso) as the rush my daughter and I felt when those doors were flung open for her?

The bridegroom awaits more eagerly than I can imagine. But may my imaginings and longing be more befitting of a bride whose bridegroom stands but one door away.

“Come, I will show you the bride, the wife of the Lamb.” Revelation 21:9

My status last Wednesday: “Sitting in the prayer room at our old house for the last time.”

We signed final papers selling that house last week, and I couldn’t help but spend some quiet time in the living room, where the Lord and I spent many early mornings together.

Through various trials, tribulations and triumphs, God drew me closer to Him there than I’d ever been. We talked in earnest together. He calmed my soul. He stirred me up. He heard my cries. He answered my prayers. He shared His Word.

I lay on the couch and watched the limbs of the trees outside reach toward heaven. I lay on the rug and considered God’s mercy on my unworthiness. I wept. I laughed. I pondered.

We spent 19 years together in that house, God and I.

Now, with the kids grown and living on their own, Sherry and I have moved. Faithfully, the Lord sold our old house, closing exactly 60 days from when we listed it.

That morning, in the prayer room (living room) of the old place, I remembered how often God’s followers marked their journeys with an altar. Abram did it. So did Noah. Jacob. So many others.

Each altar marked an important passage. Moses built an altar to mark God’s faithfulness in defending His people from Amalek. Later the Israelites took 12 stones from the Jordan to mark their crossing into the Promised Land.

Like the patriarchs, I built an altar that morning.

Not a physical altar, of course, but one from the heart. One that marks and celebrates the changes God wrought in my deepest parts while I lived in that neighborhood… while Sherry and I grew through three different churches… while our children challenged us with their journey from childhood to adulthood.

Am I different than the year we moved into that house? Oh, so very different. So very much better, but still so very far from what I should be.

For the patriarchs, altars were a way to say, “You did it, God! Not me, but you!” It was also their way to say, “I trust you for the next thing.”

So I say with my altar… and with the patriarchs, I pack up my tent so the long Journey with Christ can continue until at last I reach home.

Ever heard of the Arp Award? No reason you should. But I won it.

(Note: I am deeply double-minded about posting this item. I hate boastfulness, and this seems boastful. But I do have a point to make, and this event makes it well. So I’m counting on you to understand.)

The Arp Award is the highest honor bestowed by the Texas Nursery & Landscape Association. It was created when Arp Nursery donated a silver bowl to be passed down annually to an individual who has made outstanding contributions to the nursery/landscape industry. “These individuals exemplify the Association’s ideals: innovation, service, and highly ethical behavior in both business and personal lives.”

I join every past recipient I know in saying, “Who? Me? You’re kidding.” But for some reason, a “special nominating committee” has selected one person nearly every year since 1942. (My grandfather received it exactly 60 years ago.) This year they selected me.

Here are some things I find significant about this award:

1. You can’t buy it, because it’s not for sale. If you try to buy it, you immediately disqualify yourself because you’ve betrayed one of the association’s stated ideals.

2. You can’t campaign for it. It’s not like an office or position that’s won by politics.

3. You can’t earn it. This is hardest to comprehend. This is not like a Boy Scout merit badge, where the requirements are tangibly spelled out. Instead, you are chosen.

4. Yet… it is greatly desired.

The point? It reminds me of God’s merciful gift of redemption through Jesus Christ:

1. You can’t buy it. If the richest man in the world gave everything he had to wonderful charitable causes — perhaps even the church — it would not buy him a place of fellowship with God. The gifts God desires are from those who lay up riches in heaven.

2. You can’t campaign for it in your own will. Kiss up to anybody you like — even international church leaders or evangelists — and your attempts to make your own way to heaven will fall short on the day that votes are counted. The pleas that God desires are not to men, but to Himself.

3. You can’t earn it, though the requirements for salvation are actually spelled out quite distinctly. “Love the Lord with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself.” Do it from birth to death, every waking and sleeping moment of the day. It’s impossible. Only Jesus Christ has ever done such a thing.

4. Yet… it is greatly desired. So how does one receive it? By turning to the only who has ever earned it, Jesus; by confessing our own lack of lived-out love for God; by turning to Christ to intercede with the Father for our sinfulness; and by walking with Him the rest of our lives.

When the Arp Award is presented, everyone there is invited to drink a toast from what has been poured into it.

When Christ was presented for sacrifice, He invited His disciples to drink deeply as well. “In the same way also [Jesus] took the cup, after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’ For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” (1 Corinthians 11:25-26) Even today, He invites to drink Him in.

Am I boastful? Perhaps a little. But I pray the boasting has been directed correctly. “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” (2 Corinthians 10:17) To Him be the glory.