The Davis Family + 1 (or, The New Addition)

On Thursday, December 17th, 2009, at 10:31 a.m., Jonathan Cole Davis entered the world; he weighed 7 pounds and 1 ounce, and was 19 3/4 inches long. Unlike his big sister, who came into the world with her eyes wide open (and has scarcely shut them since), he chose instead to snooze his way through his first day on earth. Also unlike his sister, he actually knows how to CRY. She screamed. Or shrieked - or squealed at the top of her lungs. But not cry. He cries nicely - although he hasn't really seen a need to to do much of it (at least not until this morning, but that's another story entirely.)

We arrived at the hospital at a few minutes past 4:30 in the morning; they admitted us, and sent us straight to labor & delivery. Once there, we were put in a room, and they started IVs (it took 3 tries to actually get the thing in my hand, leaving rather painful holes...ow.) and the nurse expressed her suprise - she said she usually doesn't have people walking in there who are over 4 cm dialated and totally effaced who aren't actually in labor already! :-) Oh, well, I guess I just have to be different! Anyhow, we sat there for the next 4 hours or so - they increased the pitocin drip every 15 minutes or so, until around 9 when they came and broke my water -"to get things moving a little faster" - and did they ever! In the space of about 20-30 minutes, we went from 5 cm. to 9! So, they called the Dr, he said go ahead and start pushing, so they all came in and started getting things ready, had me push a few times 'just for the fun of it', and then the nurse left the room. We sat there minding our own business for a few minutes, when all the sudden, the Doctor came flying through the door and said, "we've got to get this baby out of there NOW!"
Ok, now we were scared!
Apparently, his heart rate had started dropping, and though it wasn't dangerously low, they wanted to get him out quickly. Dr. Darby checked, and said he was too high for him to reach with the forceps, but said to try to push once and see if he'd move down far enough, otherwise he was doing a c-cection immediately. I pushed a couple of times, and he said he thought he could reach him. During this exchange, the baby's heart beat had gone up a bit, but after those pushes, it started dropping again.
Talk about going into high gear! Without any warning, the Dr. said, "Dad, I need you to help. You hold her shoulders with one arm, and push on the top of her stomach with the other arm. She's going to push like she's never pushed before." With Brad pushing on my stomach, me pushing, and the Dr. pulling, he was out in about 5 minutes! He told Brad he got to cut the cord since he'd done half the work getting him out, and they quickly got him under the warmer. Thankfully, he immediately started breathing and protested mightily about the treatment he was getting!
Remarkably, Mommy only tore a tiny bit - even with all the jerking and pushing that was going on - and only had to have ONE stitch!
Other than bruise on the side of his head from the forceps, baby Jonathan is in perfect shape! Not quite being 38 weeks, they had warned us that there was a slight possibility that his lungs wouldn't be totally developed and he might have to have some oxygen at first, but his lungs are in perfect shape! In fact, the pediatritician came in to check him out yesterday morning, and when she came to talk to me, she walked in the door and said "I am SO confused!" His gestational age (according to my due date) was 37 weeks, 6 days, but his developemental age, according to her testing was over 39 weeks! She said he's perfect...

But we knew that already!

God is soo good!

Juliana immediately said that we could keep him! In fact, when we asked her what she thought of her new brother, she said, "he's so cute - I lubs him!" and gave him kisses! She has been very good with him. While Im typing this, he's on my lap sleeping, and she come every few minutes to crawl up beside me -'can I see the baby brudder?'- and rubs his head or pats him. She also loves to hold him.

Now for pictures...

The official 'First Photo'

Cleaned up pretty nice, huh?

Big Sister meets Little Brother

Daddy finally gets to hold him

The whole family

Sweet Baby Boy

Kisses!

Tired Dad

Getting ready to go home

Going home at last!

And, just for reference:

Juliana at 1 day

Life, as we know it:

Where to begin? I have been woefully neglecting this thing, haven't I?
I shall now attempt to update you on the happenings in our lives over the past month or so - if I can keep from falling asleep on my keyboard! (You have to give me a break here - growing a person is hard work!)
The first week of November was revival with Rev. Larry Pettit; enjoyed hearing him preach again and feeling the presence of the Lord. (that reminds me - got to finish posting the sermons on the church website http://www.westlakepilgrimnazarene.com/ - Oh, Bother!)
The day after revival ended, we set off for Missouri. A friend that Brad used to work with when we lived there had called and asked him to come do a drywall finishing job for him, and we wanted to go spend some time with the family there, so off we went.
Juliana loved being able to stay at MoMo & Bapaw's house - and of course MoMo spoiled her rotten. She also got to rake leaves one day with Pop M&M (Brad's dad), and had a blast!

She also had a little birthday party with family (and Heidi & Emily Boardman, but they're kinda family, too :-) ), one night with a PRINCESS cake! She's very into princesses right now, so that made her day, as well as all the cool stuff she got - Heidi, she's already worn out that aquadoodle thing ya'll got her!

Of course, while we were there, Brad and I both managed to catch a nasty little bug. He was sick for several days, and I tried to puke the baby out, but somehow he stayed in there, and we made it back home without any permanant damage - I think.

November 19th, we headed south again. Drove from Cape Girardeau, Missouri, to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and stopped to go to a Gaither concert. We had gotten free tickets for it, and our seats were front and center - 10th row back from the stage! Would have enjoyed it more if we hadn't just traveled for 8 1/2 hours to get there, but it was a good concert anyway!
Got out of there around 10 and made the 2-hour trip back to our house.

Saturday (the 21st), the ladies from our church had a baby shower for me - with a John Deere theme! :-) I didn't get any pictures, 'cause my camera batteries decided to die on me - BOTH sets of them! Anyhow, we got some lovely things for the baby, and had a good time with all the ladies. Thank you, Sis. Adamson, and all of the others who helped out!

After that came Thanksgiving, then a very special day -
On the 28th, our baby girl turned 3!

She's grown so much in three years - already so grown up in some ways - and in other ways NOT. (We aren't going to discuss the potty thing right now...) Just in the last few weeks, she's learned to draw (she can do a pretty good Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucmber), she's learning her alphabet, she can count to 20 (usually with no help, although 14 & 15 still confuse her every once in a while), and she tries to help mommy do the dishes and cook. She's pretty good with unloading the dishwasher - the stuff she can reach, at least - but she wants to play in the sink now; if I leave water in the sink, she's reaching over and dipping stuff in it and stirring...one time I even found her with one of her play cups, dipping soapy water out of the sink and drinking it! Her tastebuds definitely aren't grown up yet! :-)

As for the little guy, he's still in there - wiggling away. I've been having contractions off and on for several weeks now (enough that they told me last week to take it easy, rest lots, drink lots, and try to keep him in there 'til 36 weeks...) but no baby yet. I went in for Doctor's appointment yesterday, and when she walked in she said, "I really didn't expect to see you in here this week"! Comforting, huh? Anyway, if he hasn't come by next Monday (my next appt.), they're going schedlue a time to induce - around 38 weeks. For some reason they think this kid is going to fall out if I sneeze or anything (I've tried it and it doesn't work.).

So, I guess we'll have a baby sometime between now and Christmas! :-) We're trying to get his room ready so he'll at least have a place to sleep when he gets here.

So that's a few things that happened in the last month or so. I can't promise you I'll have more time to update in the future, but I'll at least let you know when the baby comes! :-)

The Painting

The old artist sits on his stool, paintbrush in hand. He thoughtfully looks at the canvas before him, and, ever so slowly makes a small stroke with his brush; then, another.
Nearby, in another chair, sits a young man; he watches intently as the old man paints, hoping to learn something from this great man.
Time passes. The older man is focused on his work, and rarely speaks, choosing instead to let the painting speak to him. The picture begins to unfold, but it is a simple one. The colors are muted, the scene - well, not dramatic at all.
The young man, looking on, begins to grow impatient. Why is it taking him so long? If this man is the acclaimed master artist that everyone says he is, why can’t he just paint the thing and get it over with?
And the painting- oh my. Surely there has to be some mistake! Why, it’s so… so, drab!
Finally, after several hours have passed, the young man has had enough.
“Sir,” he says to the old artist, “not to be impertinent or anything, but, to be quite honest, I believe I could have painted a much better picture in much less time than this one has taken you.”
Wordlessly, the man hands him the paint brush.
Flabbergasted, the young man looks at him with raised brows.
“But what do I do?” he asks.
“Paint,” said the artist, simply.
“But, don’t you want to give me a new canvas?”
“No,” he replied. “This one will do.”
So, the young man took the brush in hand and sits down to paint. But where to begin?
He dips the brush in the paint, and, gazing at the painting, sees a spot that looks like it could use a bit more paint; but wait a minute - he’s already put paint on his brush and it’s not the right color at all! Should he clean the brush?
He thinks about it for a moment, but…the color’s really not that bad. It’s close, just not exact. “Nobody will ever notice,” he thinks to himself, so, he puts the brush to the canvas and makes a small stroke. There! That wasn’t so bad - he can do this!
He adds a few more strokes here and there. As he paints, he thinks, “you know, really, he’s not so great,. Just look at this! So boring! What it really needs is some bright color.”
So, growing more sure of himself with each stroke, he puts a little red here, a little orange there, some purples, some greens… and with each touch of the brush the picture become more and more garish and laughable. Here and there, he sees little mistakes that he has made, but, rather than take the time to consider, and right the wrongs, he just keeps on painting, hoping the next stroke will mask the errors.
The master artist looks on, not speaking, but merely observing as his painting that was once, though not elaborate, still a thing of beauty, is covered in ugly strokes of bright color; the flowers that he had so painstakingly painted, one petal at a time, have been made into huge black marks. Streaks of paint, and drips here and there mar the surface; but still he does not say a word.
Some time passes, and the young man, surveying his work, begins to realize that his painting is not what he had hoped for. In fact, it’s really ugly. But the old man still has not spoken.
“Why does he sit there and not speak?” the young man thought to himself. “Why doesn’t he help me? If he‘s all that they say he is, why does he not show me what to do?”
Finally, in desperation, he cries, “I cannot do this thing. You take the brush and show me what to do.”
Gently, the old man takes the brush from his hand and sets it downs. Then he takes a rag and, soaking it with turpentine, gently begins to wipe the drips and streaks from the canvas. Then he takes the brush in hand once more, and begins to paint, covering the streaky places. Slowly, the painting again becomes a thing of beauty. Though it’s not what the master had originally intended, and though, if you look closely, imperfections still scar its surface, it is lovely to look upon once more.
The young man sits and watches, and finally speaks again, but this time, not with the cocky attitude he’d had to begin with - no, he is humbled. But still, one thing bothers him and he asks,
“Sir? Why didn’t you stop me? Why did you let me go on?”
The old man turns, and gently says,
“Son, I was waiting for you to ask for my help.”

One day, God, the Master Artist, began a painting. He took the blank canvas that was a life, and started to paint - just a stroke here and there, but slowly the picture came into view. It was simple, yet had the makings of a masterpiece.
The man, looking at what he could see of his life, said, “Lord, not be impertinent or anything, but honestly, I think I could do better than that myself.”
So God handed him the brush.
But the man soon found out that running his life was harder than he’d originally thought.
And the Master didn’t speak.
He tried a little of this, a little of that, and the lines of the painting began to be blurred.
Someone said, “Try this, it will make you happy!” So he tried it, but instead of happiness, he found depression and anger.
Someone else said, “Do this, it will make you feel good.” But instead of good feelings he found pain and
emptiness.
But still the Master merely looked on.
And with everything he tried, new streaks and drips appeared on the painting, until, one day, he sat back to view the painting of his life, and instead of the lovely picture he‘d started with, he saw one with slashes of black, streaks of dirt - ultimately, it looked like he was ruined.
“God,” he cried out in desperation, “I can’t do this anymore. You take it and show me what to do!”
And God, the Master Artist, took the brush in his hand; he wiped away the streaks and drips, and began the painting again.

Each one of us is a masterpiece. When God made you, he had a plan - a beautiful picture in mind.
But, so many times, we think we can do better, and we take the brush in hand to run our own lives. And we mess up.
But instead of turning to the Master, we try to cover our mistakes - and make a bigger mess, over and over again, until it looks like life can’t get any worse. In desperation we turn to God and cry, “Lord, I can’t take this anymore!”
And He takes our broken, ruined life, and makes it beautiful again.


So you’ve messed up.

It’s not hopeless! No matter how terrible it may seem - whatever you’ve done, however you’re broken, it’s never too late to be restored. Though it may seem like no one cares about you - that God’s not listening, rest assured: He’s never left your side; He’s waiting patiently, ready to make the painting again.
All you have to do is ask.
And when you do, He’ll take all the broken pieces, wipe away the streaks - the dirt that sin has left on your soul - and make you once again into a thing a beauty.

A priceless masterpiece.