Atticus Cai

Today God brought life into the world.

He did so very quickly.

Adriana woke me up by telling me that our "Alarm Clock" had broken. Never being found of our alarm clock, I did not care or react. After telling me this same information again and noticing my indifference, she communicated more intelligibly and intensely, "MY WATER JUST BROKE". This was at 7:11am, as told to us by our still functioning alarm clock.

Adriana, then began to make sure that her parents knew what they were to do when we headed off to the hospital to have a kid. She called Bethany Keena and let her know that we would be missing our graduation. She made a list of things for her mom to clean. She had breakfast. Eggs and strawberries. We are hypnobirthers (this natural birth class we attended) and as such tried we to remain calm and at home for the long early stages of labor.

Problem: There were no early stages of this labor.

After a bath and listening to the birth CD, Adriana's discomfort began to elevate. We decided it was time to saunter on over to the hospital. But, lest you have forgotten, we are hypnobirthers and decided to take our hippy time. I had the church van key left in my pocket (huge surprise), and so I made sure to run that over to the office along with some other things necessary for church tomorrow.

On the way to the hospital things began to warm up. Dad was fine, as I pointed out how nice the day was and noticed all the joggers on Sheridan road, speaking calmly to my laboring bride believing that we were beginning a journey that would take all day if not longer. Mom was starting to feel more pressure.

We arrived in the hospital, and I went in to go get somebody to help. I had a couple of jokes for the nurses. I felt okay about them, but I could have been funnier. We eventually got her into a wheelchair and brought her in. Calmly.

After all, we are hypnobirthers. We have all day.

Actually, we had 8 minutes.

The nurse checked us upon arrival, and then came the fury. The comments "that's his head" and "I need a doctor in here" are among the few I can remember. We were tossed on a random bed in an overflow space. A doctor and 2 nurses came in and then after push! push! push! we were staring at our first child.

Atticus Cai was born at 9:12am, sporting a hefty 7 pounds 11 ounces in his 20.5 inch frame. He has thick black hair and giant hands, which we are guessing are from his mom's side.

Now, I sit here and look at the sunset from our postpartum room. I sit near my bride and my resting, healthy and exceedingly hairy son. I am caught up by true beauty. God has been so profoundly kind. I would have to cut out too many of my jokes to tell you all the answers to prayer that we have seen today. In short, our birth process and the health of our son, and the timing of his arrival are marks of God's true provision over our family. As I sit here, I cannot but acknowledge a miraculous God.

The comments and texts and calls and visits have been overwhelming. We are really loved. Our friends and family are taking care of us and my feelings are inundated with all of your responses, prayers, gifts and support over these months, culminating today.

Thanks, Jesus. You did a beautiful thing today. Help us love our child well.

Pity sounds better than grief

Lately I have had a lot of passive self pity. I have been tired, busy and overwhelmed. The weight I have been carrying is too much for me right now. I blame the situations that I am in, and of course, quickly tell myself that I am simply suffering the way Jesus did … and I deserve some well earned points from it.

Pity gives me power. It leads me to anger at the next need, which feels strong. It woos me to false justice, believing that I deserve more, better, best. It takes me to self-righteousness, and when comparing myself with others, I find a way to think of myself as a more deserving person of recognition than the next guy. It gives me bravado and reason to self preserve. In that wall of protection, I am tough. I deserve to fight for me.

But I have realized … I am not busier than normal. I do not have more responsibilities or less help or fewer friends. But, I am still more empty. With Jesus, Anna and others things are chill, but I am still hitting my limit way sooner than normal.

It is ungrieved grief that is burning me out. While I want to blame other people and their needs and demands on me, it is sadness that is gnawing at my soul.

Grief. That is a word that softens me towards others and bothers me in myself. Grief is weak. It is needy. It is unpredictable and unempowering. It feels unsolvable, unending and unconquerable. Self pity is way more fun of a feeling.

My soul feels so naked when it is sad.

But I really am. I am sad. I cannot solve it and Jesus hasn’t seemed to try to fix it either. While I have tried to cover it with lies like ‘I am just so busy’, the reality of it is I cannot handle the normal load I can usually. I am really weak, easily tired, and am frequently overwhelmed, confused and hurt. I am very sensitive to people’s words and can barely think about leaving Winnetka. I love my friends here (from ages 2 to 92) that I really am hurting to leave. I have moments where I think through the good-byes, and I want to hide.

And, the thing is, to hurt is not to heal. Going through that pain does not produce instant therapy. It just hurts. It just sucks.

Jesus doesn’t seem to be leading me out of this grief either. He is trying to get me to sit in it. I’d rather not. I’d rather work on other’s needs and then just feel the empowering feelings of pity that says I was noble to care for them rather than me. I prefer this false martyrdom over true grief anyday.

The truth is I am scared to feel the fears I have about leaving. I am scared to tell my own heart that I don’t know how to say goodbye to people I love. I am embarrassed how much these people mean to me, and am afraid that they will be much more okay with me gone than I will be to leave. I am scared to open a door to sadness, because I don’t know how much is in there. I don’t know how long it will take to clean up.

God, help me grieve. Be gentle with me because in grief I am a lot less tough than I am when steeled in pity.

Having a kid.

Having a kid.

Since getting Audi pregnant, I have heard enough advice to last me at least 3 kids (that’s why we are hoping for triplets! No, not at all.). I am not complaining about the advice, but I am a little inundated with it. The thing I hear over and over more than anything else is, “your life will never be the same”. This is usually followed by some type of small giggle or look that says “oh, he has no idea what is about to hit him”.

And I ask myself the question, “do I want a kid?” Now, I know that question is probably offensive to read for some. And some may say it is selfish to ask. I am not asking of whether or not to keep him, but I am asking how am I actually doing with my life about to change. You see, I live in legit fear of my world shrinking. I have seen many parents idolize their children and – on the side - somewhat care about Jesus and what He is doing in the world. It seems that many of them care more about their kids than they do about knowing God, and I believe that is a great sin … and I believe it so lastingly damaging to their kids. No kid should be taught that they are the center of the universe.

Is that what ‘your life will never be the same’ means? Does it mean, that I have a new focus … a focus that will make my concern for Jesus and His mission smaller? Yes, I am scared of that. I am scared that I will idolize my child and place my own identity in how he is doing/living/looks.

Then I think about holding my boy. I think about what it will be like to lead a life in a way a dad is called to lead his son. I think about the awesome and scary responsibilities of providing, protecting, defending, developing and nurturing a life into the world. I think about coaching a soccer team or eating a lot of Chucky Cheese, taking him to his first baseball game, and reading to him some Dr Seuss. I think about trying to understand science homework to give him some confidence. I think about learning to enjoy what he enjoys. Maybe football. Maybe drama. Maybe reading. Maybe Sponge Bob (please NO!).

And … my heart finds itself swelling. Because I do. I want to be a dad. I love that little sucker even though I have only met him through ultrasounds and solid kicks. I am anxious and overwhelmed at the thought of cherishing and praying for and with him. I am scared at the reality that I will pass on my flaws and hurt him with my weakness and failures as a man. But, yes I want to be his father.

I sincerely hope that my life ‘will never be the same’. I hope that I am less selfish. I hope that I can learn what sacrifice is all about. I hope I can face my fears, own my immaturities and weaknesses and provide for my family in all the ways that they need. I hope I can to apologize better.

But, most of all, I hope that I trust a lot more. Not less. I hope that I realize that I need Jesus more. Not less. I hope that this drives me more to know Him in the midst of not knowing how to do this. Not less. I hope that my view on Jesus and His mission will expand. Not shrink.

And for that, I need Him very much. I need Him because I can’t follow Him well on my own, and I sure as heck can’t be a good dad without Him.

MACs ... really? An honest question from the other side.

I am a PC user … and I poke fun at the MAC Cult. I tease the ridiculous price of a new MAC computer, tease the unnecessary IPAD, complain about the difficult print options on the IMAC in our office, and I laugh at the ridiculous price of the MACbook and its aluminum chasis (who says “chasis” anyway?!).
And yet, I confess that I often wonder if I am the one missing out.
I know that somehow Steve Jobs has made computers sexy and that the image of the company is something attractive to everyone. Can someone HONESTLY tell me … is the price only worth it for the image? Or is it really that much better of a machine?

We just finished our family mission statement! it took us forever and many "discussions" over words. it also reminds me how grateful i am for both Jesus and the bride He gave me. Here she is.

Willey Family Mission

Our mission is to give our complete loyalty to God and His mission for the world,

by offering Him

the intimacy of our hearts and habits

and the holistic obedience of our

inward and outward lives.

We inwardly commit

to establish a home of safety, communion and worship

by cherishing and enjoying one another in mind, body and heart,

discipling our family through the unique leading of the Spirit,

and setting patterns of stewardship with our time and resources.

We outwardly commit to make disciples of Jesus Christ

as we serve the local church,

mobilize the Church to love the world,

and lead our family in mission to our local community.

We do this through giving our time and talents,

pursuing individual hearts and needs,

and authentically opening our lives and home.

Why Philly is the best worst city in America

After living in Chicago for 9 years, some branches have been pruned off the further I have grown from my east coast roots. Calling soda ‘pop’ does not bother me anymore. The fact that people are clueless and even insulting towards WaWa is wearing off. The ignorance surrounding thin crust pizza, hoagies and Philly pretzels still is staggering at times, but at least not surprising anymore.

But I find, I cannot get Philly out of my blood. I have realized that Philly is a disorganized, dirty, conjested, smog-filled city and that the east coast tolerates its lack of class because they have Newark and Camden to help them feel better. I live now on the outskirts of a city whose landscape, attractions, parks, cleanliness and architecture make my previous urban sprawl look like a 3^rd world city

And yet … somehow I feel proud writing even her errors. Because even though Chicago may have world class, they will never have Philly personality. They will know us for the liberty bell or the art museum … which few of us even care about. But, they will never boo at Santa Claus. While they make speak in sarcasm, it will never be their mother tongue. They will settle for fake cheesesteaks, which would make William Penn himself vomit in his grave. They will never have serious suspicion based on the tallest (almost) building downtown. They wont know what it means to see Brian Dawkins lead the fight song. They may love Rocky, but never really understand why he is a legitimate art form and should be displayed by the museum. They may see Bill Cosby as funny, but will never know what he truly represents to the people in the city.

Ah Chicago… I will still cheer for the Cubs (because I am mad at Philadelphia to suddenly switching to the Phillies). I will eat your pizza and admit your landscape is better and love your people. I will become a good Chicago suburbanite and will complain about Rod and enjoy Chipotle and drink from the Starbucks on every corner.

But, I cant give up Philly, no matter how proud I am for recognizing the buildings in the new Batman movies.

the robe

I wrote this a long time ago. Shame is and has - as long as I can remember - been a very real part of my life. As I remember, this was in the midst of the shame that I wrote this. Special shout out to many of you that have in my life reminded a proud spiritually perfectionistic dude about the reality of grace. I put it on facebook a while back, so some of you may have already read it.


Grace. I see grace as a beautiful robe I have been given. A robe of pure white, pure warmth, pure wonder. I am given this gift and feel as if I will ever enjoy its purity and comfort. Each time I receive it – which is often – I think that Surely, I will honor the grace given me. Never will I go to the places I have been before, for fear of blemishing my priceless prize. I am full with gratitude and my heart beams with pride in the grace I have received. I am Forgiven and given … this is true pleasure. Yet, as I take that robe around, I find that I gradually start to mistreat it once again. I start to get lazy with what I consume, and it isn’t long before careless stains and marks show up on my garment. Then, once dirty, I get less cautious because I am discouraged. I feel the shame of my careless ingratitude. Yet, the shame doesn’t call me to greater care. I have already messed it up and it is so hard to keep clean. Whats the point? I start to go to the places that I have gone before, and my robe begins to drag, rub and splash through the mire of where I love and hate to go all at the same time. I hate the filth of compromise, but I feel like it is impossible to avoid. Something in me tells me that it is who I am, and that I am a fake to ever have something clean, pure and beautiful.

About this time, I awake and see the mess. I really see. I look at the stains, the spills, the tears and the poor patch jobs I have tried to do. I sit their in my dirty robe. Sure, I know what I could do. I could go explain myself, ask forgiveness and be given a brilliant new robe again. It is not very difficult for me to admit my failure, my carelessness, lethargy and subsequent mess. I can explain the dirt on the old one. It is just hard for me to accept the new. Why? Why would I be given a new white perfect robe again? I have a closet full of different robes I have abused in my passion for self. The marks are different. The tears are in different places and have accumulated by different means … but the result is also near the same.

As I stand in the line to receive the new brilliance of grace that can only baffle at its breadth, depth, length and height … I remember my closets of failures. But, my heart is lifted from that for a few moments. In this epiphany … With all my heart, I wish my life would stay in the perspective that I now see. I close my eyes to see this new thought clearer. I close my eyes as if to say that this is all I want to see ever again. I am enlightened again, the story is not about the closet full of painful failures. The story is about the gift. The story is that in spite a mess, Jesus gives me the clean. My closet is so full, but I have heard of others that even have a few more. Others less. Yet, as I stand in line, no one questions the gaurentee of the robe. Why? Is this some Mary Poppins never ending always replentishing freebie mart? I would never consider it something so cheap! Why? Because we all have something in common more than our failures and dirty robes. We all know the gift Giver. We all realize that all our failure is not near as strong as His grace. We all begin to see that His wonder is what this story is about. It is not about the abuse we put on His robes. It is about the grace of robes that He puts on us.
So, I once again gain my perfect robe. And I realize that this story is not about me. This gift is not about me. It is about the one who painfully made it for me through the drops of his blood and the heaving of his breast, the streaks on His back and the holes in His hands. That’s how He made them. And, somehow He still delights to give them out.

Now, the story that started in the discouragement and failure of self yet again ends in the freedom and success of Christ. I leave so full and grateful. I also leave knowing that I will soon forget. I will try with help to keep myself honoring the gift I have been given. Yet, at the same time I know that my abuse will not eradicate His grace.
I know I will come again …

That 20s Group - take 2

Thank you for your comments on the last post. They very much helped me as I am mulling over the milieu of this whole issue. My brain has been churning very much on culture/role of church questions. Poor Audi has had to listen to much of my questions/thoughts/rants.

While I am still in the midst of the conversation very much, here are some conclusions I have come towards.

1. I believe that the local church is God’s intended change agent in every generation. I believe Bible says it. I believe history affirms it. To abandon the organism (thanks Lisa for your post on this!) would be similar to getting rid of doctors and hospitals if many were getting sick, or to remove teachers and schools when tests scores are down.

2. I DO think we should emulate the trend of the boomers in our upcoming generation.

This conclusion surprised me. Yet, I have come to believe that God used the baby boomers as much as any generation in American history to continue His Name and cause. I have done some more research into the baby boomers and it is amazing how far God has moved the church through their generation. Bible reading is higher than it has ever been. Evangelical statistics on life, discipline and holiness are improving in a myriad of ways. 90 years ago the American church was at danger of becoming something of the past. The many truths we hold strong to now were threatened. Few held on. Then more. Then, with the boomers, it appears that God really established – anew – His church in America.

Also - with caveat - I believe many baby boomers have sought to understand and serve their culture in the way they do church. I believe this is the way that Paul helped the world and that Jesus Himself entered the world. It was in the idioms, vernacular, communication style and culture of the people. My generation needs to learn and apply this very much.

3. I DO NOT think we should emulate the trend of the boomers in upcoming generation.

While I think the boomers have done so much good upholding truth and engaging culture, I think they have created such a strong “church culture” which deifies tradition over truth (at times). Have you noticed that we call many things “biblical” which are not?

For example.
Smoking cigarettes is sin. Gun control is stupid. Caring for our environment is unimportant. Capitalism is God’s form of government. Perpetuating consumerism in the church is fine. Drinking alcohol is for less committed Christians. Taking care of the poor is not that important. Style of music is more important than content of music in worship. The bigger the church, the more it honors God.

I think that the reason many in the 20s-30s group are disenfranchised is because we have seen the baby boomers do/say/dogmatize these and other things. Something that I am really pondering is “how to avoid the mistakes I already see, feel, rationalize that are characteristic of my generation in the church?”. I believe among these are pride, entitlement, hybrid hypocriticalness, reactionism and criticalness.

4. I think change is necessary.
I dont know exactly what that means. But, as our generation and the generation of youth is coming up, I believe the church will be called to change. Now, that does not mean I believe that we have to throw out truth, Bible, etc. I do believe it will mean throwing off some of the tradition of the generations before us. I know many have thoughts and I do as well which I prolly will toss out there soon, but this entry is long and would rather here others talk now.

us 20 somethings: 'that group'

Audi and I talked with some friends over Thanksgiving break. We tossed around pleasantries and eventually started talking about church. They were - like us - in their 20s and we together contemplated our generation, life stage and passions. We are "that group". The group that is the most unchurched for dozens of reasons. It seems that most of current Christian leaders are talking about "that group" discussing how to understand us, our needs and frustrations. Bill Hybels says that the local church is the hope for the world. In fact, for the baby boomers, the church has been an incredibly powerful organism. Yet, us up-and-comings simply haven't been interested. Luce says that 4% of upcoming generation will live for Christ. Barna talks about how the church will no longer be the agent of change for the Gospel in years to come.

I have a passion for the local church. Yet, so many have been disenfranchised. So many love Jesus but hate church. Why? So many want Christ but want very little to do with Christians. What happened?

So, Bill, us to? Or has the church become a machine of our parents and a function of fundamentalism? Has it become a relic of religiousity? My friends and I are asking. We live with a desire to live in relationship and to make a difference ... but what about the disconnect we have seen? Why so many leaving the church?
I believe that God has assigned the church the duty of being the agent of change in the world. But, how? ... how?

Do we bite the bullet, call our questions and frustrations arrogance and go the way of our parents?

or ... ?

my basement

When I enter the basement of who I am, some things never seem to change. I feel like I have changed the lightbulbs down here a million times.Yet, somehow the old dingy lightbulbs are back.I thought I cleaned out that corner of shame, bleaching it with the blood of Christ. Yet, somehow the mire has built up again like gangrene suffocating the atmosphere down here. The floor is dirty with irresponsibility. What? I thought ... oh, yeah I haven't taken care of this stuff yet. I left bills everywhere. I forgot to turn in that assignment and neglected to get that email out of here on time. I left my lesson half worked on. I see all those prayer requests tossed to the floor that I wanted to take to Jesus but ran out of time. All this is strewn around reminding me of what I haven't done.

There is the solid spiritual discipline weight set in the corner. I use it every day. Yet, my work outs are often cheap and completed just so I can feel strong. The weights are older than they should be. I should be continually developing and building my set, but it looks familiar and bland. It feels that there is no adventure, scandal or push to my workout. It seems I tell myself that I will always clean this basement soon. I even buy the tools, plan free time and pysche myself up about it. Right now, I just want to go grab something from upstairs. Surely, I will be down in a minute...

Yet, as I get to the first floor, I have to clean my living room, for my wife is missing time with me in my busyness. I dirtied it this morning as I rushed around to get to my next responsibility, leaving my wife in the wake of my frenzy, weariness and frustration. I plan on getting back on this floor, too. I just had to run upstairs real quick because I have to do something up there real quick, because tonight is Bible Study night!

On the second floor I find myself very overwhelmed. The bedroom could use some remodeling for the administration of ministry is far too taxing. The bathroom is sloppy with the lack of organization in pursuing students. I have to tidy up the rec room for we have 3 events in the next 4 days that need to be planned. I have to get this together!
I trip over the missions trip in the hall. Oh, I have to talk to people about what we are doing and when. I have to get parents information. Oh, I have to make that phone call, too. Er, make that three phone calls real quick. I quickly throw some things in the grad school closet, closing it quickly so as to not face how I have not invested enough time to organize and work on this.I spend hours if not days running around trying to help the various things left opened, unkempt and dirty. I realize that there is no way I can adequately handle working on this.I hear a window break on the first floor because a tree branch called neglect has shattered in the living room where my wife is waiting for me. I run down to clean that up and to mend the hurt that it has done to our home.

I start to scramble.

I rush back to the basement to work on my muscles quickly ... as I come down I notice the gangrene of shame has grown. The lightbulbs are changed again, dark and dingy with those annoying flickers and buzzes. The weights look wimpy and rusty. My heart sinks. I feel like all I do is housework. Basement. 1st floor. 2nd floor. Sometimes, I love them all. Love them. Yet, today they all feel hard and guilty. I feel lonely and helpless. The task is bigger than I am able to handle.

I pick up the phone of Prayer and call the number of Grace and ask for the King of Kings. He, of course says He would be right in and was waiting outside...
I start to tell Him about the disaster going on. He says that He knew and knows just how to help. He brings me a feast. I didn't realize how hungry I was. We hang out, laugh at the disaster of self, again. We finish and He tells me He was going to work on the the lights, the shame, the closets, the rec room and the kitchen. He tells me to go work out, hug my wife and pray for students. He says it with a smile not a frown.

I tell Him that I love it when He comes over. He smiles and says He's been knocking for a while.

over an egg sandwich ...

I had a breakfast appointment (yes, I feel very important as I say that) this morning. It was strangely moving. I have meetings all the time. Meetings for programs. Meetings with students or families. Meetings with staff or church leadership groups. Meetings for my scrabble team (just kidding). I like the synergy and camaraderie of meetings.

But, this meeting was different.

This meeting touched my heart in a place where meetings don’t. It impacted me in a place where “breakfast appointments” are not usually allowed.

I met today with 2 great men. Men who were willing to make themselves vulnerable and open for the sake of furthering one another on in faith, family and life. There was so little pride or pretense at the table. The normal menu for meetings (in addition to my tasty runny egg sandwich) includes a dash of guardedness, tact and self preservation/presentation. That was not served today. The special today was humility, love and authenticity. My palate was hungrier for the taste of these more than I knew.

I walked out of our breakfast restaurant with my spirits as elevated as my cholesterol. I saw Jesus, today. I haven’t read my Bible yet. But, I have seen God. And as I run on to my next thing on this Tuesday, my gait is quickened and my energy is up, because God matters. I know. I saw Him this morning in 2 great men. How I want with my life to give a taste of the Lord to others! I desire to grant them the impression of Jesus that I had this morning over eggs and coffee. I only hope and pray that my life’s menu includes the flavor I had an hour ago.

“Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.”
Psalm 34:8

ever know anyone like that?