In the summer of 2002, my wife Martha gave me a surprise gift. It wasn’t for any particular day or event. It was just a gift, out of the blue. Based on its size, shape, and weight, I was pretty confident my present was a new music CD. I’d recently purchased a new car with a sweet sound system and thought Martha was giving me a gift to listen to at an irresponsible volume. Was it The Who, The Police, Rush, Pearl Jam? I was excited. So I unwrapped the gift and it was immediately confirmed that I was being given a CD. As as I looked at the front cover, there, staring back at me, was someone I didn’t recognize, holding an infant. My eyes darted around trying to find who the heck this person was when they finally settled on the name Twila Paris. No idea. But look, one of my love languages is gifts and I really was grateful for Martha’s gesture, whatever the heck it was, and tried to conjure up a look of satisfaction and gratitude. So I told her “thank you” but apparently did a lousy job of selling it because she asked if I knew why she was giving me the gift. I apologetically confessed that I didn’t so she told me to look at the title of the album. It was named “Bedtime Prayers: Lullabies and Peaceful Worship”. No idea. I mean, I’d been sleeping just fine. I didn’t need any musical help. And now she’s looking at me like I’m an idiot. (Kind of like some of you are right now.) But I’m a guy so I once again try to show her that I know exactly why she’s giving me this CD. But she sees right through it and says, “Hey dummy. We’re having a baby.” It all made a lot of sense after that.