As a father, I have quite a few traditions with my children.  For instance, we have “Daddy story time,” in which I tell tall tales of wonder that usually star a gritty little boy named Hudson and a sweet little girl named Harper.  We have “Daddy study time,” where we learn odd and interesting things like the coolest flags in the world (my vote is for Nepal).  And we have “Daddy night’s outs,” where the three of us (Daddy, Hudson, and Harper) all pile into the car or onto our bikes and go on great and enchanting adventures (like to Sportsman Warehouse to hunt wild-eyed rhinos). 

Momma Ludy greatly appreciates all of the above-mentioned traditions, because while Daddy and the kiddos are all occupied, laughing, dreaming, and concocting new adventures, she can grab herself a mug of hot tea, sit down in an overstuffed chair and read a book.  

Amidst all the many traditions we have in the Ludy family, there is one that possibly holds more meaning than all the others:

Daddy’s Special Book Projects.

I have committed to write a book for each of my children.  Yes, I have wondered as to the sanity of this commitment at various moments throughout the past four years, but overall, I’m very glad that I have pursued it. 

I started Hudson’s book when he was a couple days old and it proved to be quite therapeutic for my soul.  And already, after only four years of working on Hudson’s literary masterpiece, I’m already cresting 100 pages of gripping, soul-stirring, tender-hearted text. 

The goal in these books is to somehow capture, in an artistic, up-close and deeply personal way, the essence of who these little critters are.  I follow their life stories, chronicle their key moments, and add a romantic backdrop to the great calling that they have received. 

Well, if you haven’t yet heard, Leslie and I are adopting again.  In fact, we should be meeting our precious little boy any day now (official due date is October 30th).  It’s a domestic adoption and the story is simply beautiful.  We have grown to be dear friends with the birth mother, in fact, to the point where she has requested Leslie to join her in the birth room and has asked her to cut the umbilical cord. 

And, yes, this means another book for Papa Ludy.  

So, ask me how I feel about writing yet another book.   

I’m thrilled!  In fact, I’ve already put pen to paper and begun the next literary masterpiece.    And I have one of those “author hunches” that this life story is going to be a good one.

Now, when I started this blog, I wasn’t planning to do this, but I’m going to let you take a peek inside.  It’s going to make this particular blog a bit long, but I’m guessing you will lend me some understanding.

Here’s the book so far:

                   if

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust your God when all men doubt Him

But make allowance for their doubting too,

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master,

If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much,

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

the poet, Kipling

at the time when kings go forth to battle

2nd Samuel 11:1

October 12, 2008

Precious one,

When your brother, Hudson, was born it seemed the earth shook.  It was a grand and epic quaking of the nations with over 240,000 men, women, and children destroyed along Asia’s Pacific Rim.  And yet, out of that massive loss of life emerged a new life, a contender’s life – the infantile glimpse of a great and mighty man. 

When true men are born into this world, the destroyer yearns to snuff them out long before their lives ever reach that crucial point of maturity, and thusly, cognizance of their impenetrability.

The lives of Moses and Christ brought about such drastic response from the Dark regime that countless little babies were slaughtered in the vain attempt of halting these men from growing up into the mighty deliverers that they were destined to become. 

Much like Moses, and much like your great Savior, you will be born into a season of great lostness, great deceit – a time in which even the elect have been swayed to believe doctrines of the dark order.  It’s a time of enslavement to the flesh under the banner of “liberty in Christ.”  It’s a time when there is a form of godliness but a denial of the true power that is always supposed to attend the godly life. 

This is the time when kings go forth to battle, my son.  This is the time in history when a standard must be raised, a call must be issued, a gauntlet must drop.  And you, dear one, are being constructed after the pattern as shown in the mount.  Your DNA is spiked with an unusual spiritual energy and a curious hunger for the substance of the Heavenly Kingdom. And your father is given to the cause of prayer for your formation.  I am given to the cause of seeing you built after the blueprint of the mighty and, thusly, inaugurated into the company of heroes.   

You have been born for such a time as this.

So shall they fear the name of the LORD from the west, and his glory from the rising of the sun. When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the LORD shall lift up a standard against him.

The miraculous story of your adoption is a testimony in and of itself of the message of your life.  It has been a God-scripted story, a story of courage, truth, and glory. 

You are not yet born, little one, but already my father’s heart is warmed.  Jesus Christ has a claim upon my life, my time, my energies, my resources, my affections, and He has invited me to spend my best on you. 

Oh, how you are loved by all those in your life.  Your family will be a large one – one built possibly more out of spirit than biology.  And just as it was a painful necessity for Moses to enter the basket as a baby and thusly risk a permanent separation from the mother that gave him breath, so you too will enter a basket, an ark of refuge, and be asked to risk the unknown of God’s gracious adoptive plan.  For Moses, he not only supernaturally received back the involvement of his mother in his life, but he was positioned through the God-directed events of his life to deliver the nation of Israel from their chains. 

What your story will be is still yet to be determined, but I’m certain it will be equally as beautiful.