While the girls and I flew over the miles toward Florida today, our excitement mounted as we anticipated being with those waiting for us at the end of our journey. By the time we walked through Linnea and Adam’s front door, our little firecracker Skylar was already in dream land, but Micah Nathan had waited up for us.

New babies have their own special club. To join, they must have a scent so alluring, it’s almost intoxicating. Their skin must be like satin, so smooth you can’t tell if you’re touching it yet. And their mouths, able to open wide and cry with vigor, must be mushy when kissed. We got to attend the newborn club meeting tonight to meet Micah, and he qualified on all counts.

Micah’s parents are stronger this time around, having survived the newborn “night” of dynamite Skylar. She had been in the club, too, but had insisted her opinion dominate all others, including her parents’. (As Skylar’s grandma, I’d attended some of those early meetings, too, and remember the whirligig of events.) But when a new baby screams, second-time parents know “this too shall pass,” which is why tonight, even as Micah fussed, we all thought he was utterly adorable.

Holding this precious bundle for the first time, I could see my own babies in him. As his daddy said, “He has a Nyman face.” The marvel is that God never runs out of ideas for making babies unique. Skylar and Micah are as different as a kitten and a puppy, while simultaneously sharing a family resemblance.  This phenomenon is a mystery that’s all to God’s credit, and he performs this wonder again and again, in every family.

Just as visiting an art gallery and studying the paintings reveals what the artist is like, so it is with studying this new little baby. As we learn what he’s like, we’ll be getting to know more about the One who created him.

Tonight, as Linnea bounced gently on an exercise ball in an effort to comfort a complaining Micah who was then bouncing in the crook of her arm, all of us reminisced about the difference between today’s one week birthday of Micah and Skylar’s one week birthday 18 months ago. Skylar has since grown into a high-energy, smart-as-a-whip, fast-talking toddler who lives life in a blur of activity. Adam summed it up well when he said, “Looking back at Sky’s first weeks and her intensity then, it all makes perfect sense, knowing her now.”

So what will we see in Micah? What clues will we find during these early meetings of the newborn club? We all look forward to the joy of discovery. In the mean time, our greatest challenge will be to keep Skylar from taking over all the meetings!

“Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him. Children born to a young man are like arrows in a warrior’s hands. How joyful is the man whose quiver is full of them!” (Psalm 127:3-5a)

Since Midge is about to pass out, I’m writing the blog for her tonight. It’s been a long day of traveling and we’re all a little tired. But unlike me, who got to sack out at the hotel once we arrived and watch movies all night, Midge decided to pay a visit to some family friends and their six children while we were in the area. So, even though I desperately tried to convince her I had nothing good to say, I figured I could do her this favor.

I am 19 years old and the the baby of our family. I grew up with constant teasing from my siblings about how I was the “golden child” who always got my way. Though that may have been true at times, there are also downsides to being the last one.

When my dad was sick, he wrote a note to each of us. My mom gave them to us to read a few days after he died. In his note to me, he expressed sadness that he would be absent from my future. This is something each one of us has to face, but being the youngest, sometimes it’s hard not to feel I missed out on the most. The reality is, none of us had control over the situation, and my siblings each suffered just as great a loss as I did. In his note to me, Papa also wrote that I was the only one who had all the experiences of my six brothers and sisters before me to draw on and learn from. Each of them is part of the legacy he left, and they will always be in my life. I am very blessed to have had 19 years with my dad, which is much more than many people can say.

American families love to travel. Climbing in the car and heading for the nearest highway is the kind of adventure old and young can enjoy together. My two “little girls” and I have spent the day readying for a journey from Chicago to northern Florida that will begin tomorrow morning. Our family babies are 19 and 21, so these babies will probably do most of the driving.

I’ve been looking forward to our road trip for many reasons, mostly because of what is waiting at the other end: brand new Micah Nathan, not yet one week old, and big sissy Skylar. But I’ve also been eager to spend time with Louisa and Birgitta. It’s been three months since they lost their father to cancer, and I want to come current with what they’re thinking and how they’re coping.

Road trips are perfect for catching up with each other, whether it’s clocking miles on the open highway or sitting across from one another at a McDonald’s table. Once we’ve separated ourselves from all things home and work, everyday burdens lift, and a fresh freedom takes its place.

Our family, like many others, has taken unnumbered road trips together. Nate usually orchestrated these, although I did the packing. He chose the route and determined when we’d make our pit stops. Some fathers push for the goal with a determination that blasts through bathroom requests and pleadings for food. Not Nate. He was a champion stopper, every hour if he had his way.

The reason was that he was such a drinker. Coffee, water, milk shakes, diet Cokes, it didn’t matter. If we stopped for gas, he’d always pick up a coffee the size of a waste basket. That dictated our next stop would be in about an hour to use the facilities, after which he’d come back to the car with another big drink, or maybe two.

I did my best to nag about this, wanting to tick off more miles in less time, but after years of hoping he’d see things my way and realizing he never would, I gave up. Once I went with the flow, I enjoyed the perks that accompanied frequent stops. As he’d go inside for his drink(s) he’d ask, “Anyone want anything? Ice cream? Pretzels? Fishy crackers?” Stopping wasn’t all bad.

As the girls and I have been planning this journey, I’ve missed Nate’s involvement. He’d make sure the car’s oil change was up to date, check the tires for bald spots, do the loading and drive all the miles. I especially appreciated his stamina for time behind the wheel if we were “driving through.” While I had to slap myself or pinch cheeks to stay awake on my night-time shift, he never seemed to get sleepy. He even stayed awake during my shift when he could have been dozing, chatting with me in an effort to be sure I was still awake.

This trip will be different, because Nate isn’t with us. He won’t be participating in the festivities in Florida as we hold Micah for the first time and won’t be on hand for 18 month old Skylar to renew a relationship from last fall. He won’t appear in any of the pictures and won’t be ordering the pizza or the Chinese food. He won’t be gassing up the car, making “newspaper runs” or discussing current events. We’ll all miss him.

Sometimes it feels wrong to be making new memories without Nate. Yet not to do so is to sit in a room and refuse to live life. We have to go. And tomorrow morning we will.

“Behold, I am going to send an angel before you to guard you along the way and to bring you into the place which I have prepared.” (Exodus 23:20)