I will try to make this more of a "short" story, but it's going to be hard. Lot's to say today!
Last week going back to work was not quite so harsh with a "Teacher Work Day." Getting back in the routine slowly; having time to catch up on all the paperwork that was neglected for candy cane kisses and gingerbread hugs; and sharing holiday happenings with co-workers made it a tad bit easier.
In my conversations with my boss I kidded her that I deserved a "finder's fee" for wooing my college friend to work with us. Who is an awesome find! I encouraged my employer for the terrific boss that she is and just wanted her to know how great it is to work for someone so pleasant and ethical.
The week got back into the swing of things by Tuesday and it was wonderful to see all the kiddo's. It was also wonderful to have a paycheck. Tuesday was payday, and although the check was to be a lot less because of all my days off, every little bit helps!
You can imagine my surprise as I opened the envelope and noticed a typo. Too much money here! I scanned the check stub... in black and white it read: Finder's Fee 100.00
Unbelievable! I was absolutely amazed! A finder's fee, are you kidding me? I am amazed at my God! He just NEVER ceases to amaze me.
I called and thanked my incredible boss and the next day, left a cute pink and brown polka dot pen holder on her desk. What a sweetie! See what I mean? Who has a boss like this? I am so blessed!
Push ahead to this past week, in fact, just yesterday. The start of the day, not so great. I wanted to put my car in reverse, back out of the parking lot and just go home! I did not have the energy to treat students. I had to, though. Prayer. Conversation. Prayer. Phone died. I'm going in!
I got out of my car and went into the school. It would be fine. I said my "good mornings," gave away some smiles, treated my first student. This would be fine. The day is going to be okay. Oops! It is 11:02, I better go get *Sammy. Off I go. He is such a sweet kid. He loves to do bubbles and always wants a sticker.
We made it back to my room. We usually work outside in the courtyard, but it was cold today. I even closed my door. I almost always leave the door open. Pretty cold today. Oops again. I was supposed to go get *George. It's too cold. I will see him tomorrow. We are here and settled. Me and *Sammy will just make a day of it.
I pulled *Sammy's wheelchair over to the table. I wanted him to do an activity that required cutting, coloring, gluing and utilizing his visual perceptual skills. While we were setting up shop *Sammy said, "I love you Ms. Bev. You are my best friend."
It was then I noted 2 things in my spirit. Number one, I am glad I didn't drive away this morning and number 2, I knew what the Lord wanted me to say next.
"I love you, too, sweetie, but you know who wants to be your best friend?"
"Who?" *Sammy inquired.
"Jesus."
And with that one awesome word... a new name was written down in the Lamb's Book of Life.
I can't even tell you what an incredible experience it was and how the posture and timing was perfectly divine. That will have to be a whole other post. I can tell you, though, when we are faithful in the little, He is faithful in the big! If I could have had a video camera to catch that moment! In my family I am famous for saying, "That's a Kodak moment." Well, friends, that was a Kodak moment if I ever saw one!
As I bounced home, well, it sure felt like bouncing or flying, one... I called a few friends to tell God's glory story. I told the girls as soon as I picked them up and we were all celebrating with the angels.
Now every good celebration deserves a treat. Our treat was going to the local thrift store. My dad has a special name for it. He calls it the "Goodwill Boutique." So, off we went to the "Goodwill Boutique."
We sat down and went through stacks of children's books. We found a brand new "Love you Forever" book that Lily has wanted for quite some time. We found some treasure! Our last stop was to try on my jeans in the fitting room. As we were all squished in the dressing room like sardines I reminded the girls of the incredible miracle that I got to be a part of earlier that morning. They were smiling and just taking in the wonder of it all when Reagan got that look.
"Don't you get something, Mommy?"
I laughed and said, "No. *Sammy gets something. He gets to go to heaven forever."
And my sweet precious girl says, "I know! You get a finder's fee from God! It's like He was giving you a hint last week when your boss gave you that finder's fee in your paycheck!"
We laughed so hard!
It may not sound high class or upscale. It may not even sound plausible to some. But I promise, it doesn't get any better than trying on designer jeans for 80% of the price, being with your gals, celebrating a new life in Christ and having a 10 year old wrap it up using timing like a seasoned comedic veteran! I mean, who but God could weave all those details together?
I love my God.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Not 1 Bloom
I know I wrote that I would come back to the “new beginnings,” but the Lord impressed upon me that I had to go back and start the “birth” stories with the beginning…
So, this is the beginning. This is how we came to be blessed, beyond comprehension, with 5 miracles from the Lord.
January 4th of 1992 marked the beginning of our marriage, but the beginning and ending of our family began November or December of 1989. I was attending college, transferring from Orlando to Ft. Lauderdale because I could not take the long distance relationship anymore. What I did not know that Christmas was I had 2 babies growing inside me. I thought that queasy, nauseating feeling was the stress from moving, having my parents find out how much the phone bill was or the fact that I was getting ready to “live in sin” officially.
I will spare you from the details, but I did ring in the new year of 1990 with “pink.” A pink line that meant I was pregnant at 19. Unmarried, reasonably poor, still in college, and extremely immature. This left me with the most reasonable explanation, “I can’t be pregnant.” But I was. And, what you do when you live in denial, you take care of the “problem.” Reality has no place.
See, what I mean, you label the babies a non-human object, the “problem.”
You rationalize why the timing would not work, “I am in school, I have 2 more years until graduation!”
You legitimize it, “I will go to an OB/GYN, not one of those clinic places!”
You find an idol, “I can’t loose this man over a pregnancy!”
Fast forward to "living in sin" from December 1989 to a Wednesday night prayer meeting in August 1993. I was at my wit’s end with longing to be pregnant with every thing in me. In 4 years, I had peed on hundred’s of pregnancy tests, noticed every pregnant woman within Broward and Palm Beach county, babysat every chance I could get, taught swimming lessons, taught a 2 year old Sunday school, took a ministry training to volunteer in a Crisis Pregnancy Center, attended a 13 week Bible Study about abortion and God’s forgiveness and healing, had procedure after procedure, did the basal body temperature thing, took infertility drugs and had surgery … you get the picture. Well, at that prayer meeting, the Pastor’s wife and the women in my “circle” that knew I was praying for children, anointed me with oil, laid hands on me and said sweet prayer.
“Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.” James 5:14
By the end of the month I had a doctor’s appointment with an infertility specialist at Cleveland Clinic in Ft. Lauderdale, never mind his long waiting list, and was scheduled for a 2nd surgical procedure.
Surgery went well. I braved the IV with Philippians’ Flash Cards in my hand and squeezing the poor nurses arm into oblivion. (Little known fact about me; I can have a baby with no medication or epidural, but I practically faint with IV’s!) Recovery went fast and Dr. Hickox said I should be pregnant after the next monthly cycle.
It was a Friday night in October. I was speaking to the Youth at church, about purity and giving my abortion story. I was out the door, with the car keys in my hand, on my way. I had to go back in before backing out of the driveway… I had started my period. No time for tears. I have to go tell the Youth about God’s love, grace, forgiveness and mercy.
Sunday morning at church was rather somber, but a good preach. As I was leaving, RoseMarie, an older woman who knew my struggle and had laid hands on me that Wednesday night, came to talk. She got right to the point. She said, “Beverley, the Lord wanted me to tell you, you are pregnant.” And she walked off.
“Good thing,” I thought. “She wasn’t hearing from God. I am on my period! What kind of sick person is this! This can not be happening. No way!”
As I passed Eckerd Drugs, I thought about what she said.
“Why not? What’s 10 dollars? I’ve already invested a small fortune in these ‘sticks!’. I will just run in real quick and get one.”
Negative. No pink line. Okay. It was official. NOT PREGNANT!
Monday morning, getting ready for work, about to head out the door. I went back to grab something in the kitchen. When I did, I noticed something unusual on my window sill. I had a clay flower pot with an African Violet in it. A wedding present from someone, it might have been from my mother-in-law. Anyway, it had been there on that ledge for almost a year, and not one bloom! Something was different that morning.
Not one bloom! 4 blooms!
It was the Lord, He was telling me not to believe the negative reports. The sun shining on those blooms gave me hope. I knew the Lord was urging me to go take a blood test at the doctor’s office.
Now, this is highly unusual, I was early to work that morning. So, after dropping off all my stuff at the office, I went next door to the lab downstairs. I had them call up to Dr. Hickox’s secretary, Suzie, to get the orders for a blood draw. She sent it down within a few minutes, STAT. The nurse in the lab said they would have the results by this afternoon.
The morning went by rather uneventful. It was time for lunch. I went back to my office to grab my purse to go grab a bite down the street. I sat down at the desk to get my purse out of the drawer. My phone started ringing. Who could this be?
“Hello, this is Beverley at the Bridge, how may I help you?”
“Hey, it’s Suzie…congratulations MOMMY!”
“Are you kidding?! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Are you serious?”
“Yes. You are pregnant. When can you come in? Dr. Hickox wants to just take a quick look at you.”
We took care of all the formalities, I was crying like a baby and after trying to call everyone on the planet, no-one was answering! I had to tell someone! I walked out of my office and literally, grabbed the first person walking down the hallway. It was the Physical Therapist down the hall, Sue Dumas. I pulled her into my office and started freaking out with the good news! We hugged, she told me congratulations and I can honestly say my life has never been the same since that phone call! So, now, the 5, yes, 5 birth stories might have a different meaning.
So, this is the beginning. This is how we came to be blessed, beyond comprehension, with 5 miracles from the Lord.
January 4th of 1992 marked the beginning of our marriage, but the beginning and ending of our family began November or December of 1989. I was attending college, transferring from Orlando to Ft. Lauderdale because I could not take the long distance relationship anymore. What I did not know that Christmas was I had 2 babies growing inside me. I thought that queasy, nauseating feeling was the stress from moving, having my parents find out how much the phone bill was or the fact that I was getting ready to “live in sin” officially.
I will spare you from the details, but I did ring in the new year of 1990 with “pink.” A pink line that meant I was pregnant at 19. Unmarried, reasonably poor, still in college, and extremely immature. This left me with the most reasonable explanation, “I can’t be pregnant.” But I was. And, what you do when you live in denial, you take care of the “problem.” Reality has no place.
See, what I mean, you label the babies a non-human object, the “problem.”
You rationalize why the timing would not work, “I am in school, I have 2 more years until graduation!”
You legitimize it, “I will go to an OB/GYN, not one of those clinic places!”
You find an idol, “I can’t loose this man over a pregnancy!”
Fast forward to "living in sin" from December 1989 to a Wednesday night prayer meeting in August 1993. I was at my wit’s end with longing to be pregnant with every thing in me. In 4 years, I had peed on hundred’s of pregnancy tests, noticed every pregnant woman within Broward and Palm Beach county, babysat every chance I could get, taught swimming lessons, taught a 2 year old Sunday school, took a ministry training to volunteer in a Crisis Pregnancy Center, attended a 13 week Bible Study about abortion and God’s forgiveness and healing, had procedure after procedure, did the basal body temperature thing, took infertility drugs and had surgery … you get the picture. Well, at that prayer meeting, the Pastor’s wife and the women in my “circle” that knew I was praying for children, anointed me with oil, laid hands on me and said sweet prayer.
“Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.” James 5:14
By the end of the month I had a doctor’s appointment with an infertility specialist at Cleveland Clinic in Ft. Lauderdale, never mind his long waiting list, and was scheduled for a 2nd surgical procedure.
Surgery went well. I braved the IV with Philippians’ Flash Cards in my hand and squeezing the poor nurses arm into oblivion. (Little known fact about me; I can have a baby with no medication or epidural, but I practically faint with IV’s!) Recovery went fast and Dr. Hickox said I should be pregnant after the next monthly cycle.
It was a Friday night in October. I was speaking to the Youth at church, about purity and giving my abortion story. I was out the door, with the car keys in my hand, on my way. I had to go back in before backing out of the driveway… I had started my period. No time for tears. I have to go tell the Youth about God’s love, grace, forgiveness and mercy.
Sunday morning at church was rather somber, but a good preach. As I was leaving, RoseMarie, an older woman who knew my struggle and had laid hands on me that Wednesday night, came to talk. She got right to the point. She said, “Beverley, the Lord wanted me to tell you, you are pregnant.” And she walked off.
“Good thing,” I thought. “She wasn’t hearing from God. I am on my period! What kind of sick person is this! This can not be happening. No way!”
As I passed Eckerd Drugs, I thought about what she said.
“Why not? What’s 10 dollars? I’ve already invested a small fortune in these ‘sticks!’. I will just run in real quick and get one.”
Negative. No pink line. Okay. It was official. NOT PREGNANT!
Monday morning, getting ready for work, about to head out the door. I went back to grab something in the kitchen. When I did, I noticed something unusual on my window sill. I had a clay flower pot with an African Violet in it. A wedding present from someone, it might have been from my mother-in-law. Anyway, it had been there on that ledge for almost a year, and not one bloom! Something was different that morning.
Not one bloom! 4 blooms!
It was the Lord, He was telling me not to believe the negative reports. The sun shining on those blooms gave me hope. I knew the Lord was urging me to go take a blood test at the doctor’s office.
Now, this is highly unusual, I was early to work that morning. So, after dropping off all my stuff at the office, I went next door to the lab downstairs. I had them call up to Dr. Hickox’s secretary, Suzie, to get the orders for a blood draw. She sent it down within a few minutes, STAT. The nurse in the lab said they would have the results by this afternoon.
The morning went by rather uneventful. It was time for lunch. I went back to my office to grab my purse to go grab a bite down the street. I sat down at the desk to get my purse out of the drawer. My phone started ringing. Who could this be?
“Hello, this is Beverley at the Bridge, how may I help you?”
“Hey, it’s Suzie…congratulations MOMMY!”
“Are you kidding?! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Are you serious?”
“Yes. You are pregnant. When can you come in? Dr. Hickox wants to just take a quick look at you.”
We took care of all the formalities, I was crying like a baby and after trying to call everyone on the planet, no-one was answering! I had to tell someone! I walked out of my office and literally, grabbed the first person walking down the hallway. It was the Physical Therapist down the hall, Sue Dumas. I pulled her into my office and started freaking out with the good news! We hugged, she told me congratulations and I can honestly say my life has never been the same since that phone call! So, now, the 5, yes, 5 birth stories might have a different meaning.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
#1 in a series of 5
The number 8 is supposed to represent "New Beginnings." The number 9 is representative of "When Things Are Birthed." I really believe that my 2008 was a year for "New Beginnings." I could do a post about all the "New Beginnings" in my life last year, and I probably will. I know I will. Just not tonight. Tonight I am going to start with the first in a series of 5. I am going to write about "When Things Are Birthed." And how better than to start with the actual birth stories as they relate to my 5 children?
The first birth story is about my son, Jeb.
I had quite the notions regarding birth. Fears, expectations, hopes, excitement, the list goes on. I was probably a typical first timer. I was armed with a birth plan that included no epidural, ironed pajamas with a matching robe, yes, I ironed them, a stack of "relaxing" cd's, a boom box, a baby journal and a new pair of socks.
I never listened to the music and I was hooked up to the epidural within the 2nd hour of labor. I did wear the nicely "starched" pj's and the new socks felt wonderful.
Jeb made Daddy cry when he was born...the ultrasound had been wrong, she was he!
I had to send my mom to the store to buy a boy outfit. The Gymboree diaper bag was filled with pink, lace and ruffles. Nothing could even pass for neutral in this new mommy's bag.
After 24 hours of labor I was exhausted but more than relieved to say goodbye to "morning" sickness and have a beautiful, healthy, real live baby boy.
The next morning, after falling in love with the new man in my life, I had the first..."you are NOT talking about my kid that way" experience.
They had put me in a semi-private room and I did not know the neighbors. I had just been privy to all her labor and delivery TMI details. The new parenting couple were very talkative with lots of opinions and very loud ones. I guess they thought I was out of ear shot, but I was not. The husband made a comment that floored this new mommy. He made fun of Jeb's name! I have successfully blocked out his exact word usage, but needless to say, I was quite upset.
I don't know what it is about someone saying something about your kid, but it rocks you. I am sure that is how our Father feels. "Is that my Katie you are talking about?" "Did you just say Greg had weird shaped, what?" "You have a problem with how smart Joe is?" "Janet did what on Saturday night?" "You think he talks to slow?"
It's different when you think of it that way. But it is that way. We are His children. He is in love with us. He made us and created us with His love. He wants to spend time with us. He wants a relationship with us. He wants us to walk with Him. He doesn't want others to talk negatively about us.
That's what we do when we talk about each other. That's what it feels like. We can not stand it when someone talks badly about our kids. The Lord can't stand it when we talk badly about His children.
Remember that the next time you want to spew a negative comment about the cashier's make-up, the dry cleaner's hair style, the clerk's clothing choice or even your spouse's bad breath. We are all children of God and no one likes to hear someone talking about their baby!
The first birth story is about my son, Jeb.
I had quite the notions regarding birth. Fears, expectations, hopes, excitement, the list goes on. I was probably a typical first timer. I was armed with a birth plan that included no epidural, ironed pajamas with a matching robe, yes, I ironed them, a stack of "relaxing" cd's, a boom box, a baby journal and a new pair of socks.
I never listened to the music and I was hooked up to the epidural within the 2nd hour of labor. I did wear the nicely "starched" pj's and the new socks felt wonderful.
Jeb made Daddy cry when he was born...the ultrasound had been wrong, she was he!
I had to send my mom to the store to buy a boy outfit. The Gymboree diaper bag was filled with pink, lace and ruffles. Nothing could even pass for neutral in this new mommy's bag.
After 24 hours of labor I was exhausted but more than relieved to say goodbye to "morning" sickness and have a beautiful, healthy, real live baby boy.
The next morning, after falling in love with the new man in my life, I had the first..."you are NOT talking about my kid that way" experience.
They had put me in a semi-private room and I did not know the neighbors. I had just been privy to all her labor and delivery TMI details. The new parenting couple were very talkative with lots of opinions and very loud ones. I guess they thought I was out of ear shot, but I was not. The husband made a comment that floored this new mommy. He made fun of Jeb's name! I have successfully blocked out his exact word usage, but needless to say, I was quite upset.
I don't know what it is about someone saying something about your kid, but it rocks you. I am sure that is how our Father feels. "Is that my Katie you are talking about?" "Did you just say Greg had weird shaped, what?" "You have a problem with how smart Joe is?" "Janet did what on Saturday night?" "You think he talks to slow?"
It's different when you think of it that way. But it is that way. We are His children. He is in love with us. He made us and created us with His love. He wants to spend time with us. He wants a relationship with us. He wants us to walk with Him. He doesn't want others to talk negatively about us.
That's what we do when we talk about each other. That's what it feels like. We can not stand it when someone talks badly about our kids. The Lord can't stand it when we talk badly about His children.
Remember that the next time you want to spew a negative comment about the cashier's make-up, the dry cleaner's hair style, the clerk's clothing choice or even your spouse's bad breath. We are all children of God and no one likes to hear someone talking about their baby!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
"T.P." Troubles
Many of my close friends will remember this story...but for those that have never heard it...it is too good to pass up...
Me and the 4 girls were all coming home from a Clyde, North Carolina visit . It was a 2 hour trip, with stops and all, from our Spartanburg, South Carolina home. We had only been on the road about 20 minutes when I had to take a food break just south of Asheville. It was late and I was trying to be somewhat healthy in an unhealthy drive thru. The final pick resulted in apples with caramel sauce. Everyone seemed satisfied for about another 20 minutes.
I put the potty break off for as long as I could. We ended up at the rest area at the South Carolina state line. I would have preferred a restaurant or gas station, I am not a fan of rest area's. The potty break could not wait, however, so, in we go.
My oldest daughter decided to stay in the car...she was either texting, listening to her i-pod or using some other electronic device. Reagan, Sarah, Lily and Mommy all went to the bathroom.
On our way to the ladies room, a man started walking near by and as I scanned the parking lot, I didn't see the car he belonged to. Quick thinking on my part, I opted to stay outside the bathroom door while the girls went on in. Who knew who this man was. I decided, "better safe than sorry."
The gentleman turned out to be fine. He came out of the restroom, walked to his car, I had not identified, and drove off. Whew! Everything was cool. I could go in and utilize the facilities now.
Little did I know the scene on the inside I was about to encounter.
I venture inside to see Sarah washing her hands, Reagan in the handicap stall with the door wide open and Lily sitting on the potty.
Nothing out of the ordinary so far.
The part that will bring you to tears is the condition Lily's hands were in. And her big sister, Reagan, was diligent to help.
I am going to attempt to explain the view I encountered.
Lily was having problems because both of her hands looked like they were tarred and feathered in toilet paper. Poor thing, was just trying to unroll the toilet paper but her hands were so sticky from the caramel sauce the toilet paper was sticking to it.
She had grabbed the paper with her left hand and when it stuck to that hand she took her right hand to pull it off and ended up with pieces of toilet paper stuck on both hands. It was so funny. She was sitting the on the potty with these sticky, toilet paper hands looking like, "Well, what do I do now?"
We laughed in the bathroom, out of the bathroom, on our way to the car, and in the car. Every time we gained some sort of composure, the image would flash up like a picture on a movie screen and we would get hysterical again. We laughed on and off all the way to Spartanburg.
I really wish I could have caught it on film. If there was ever a "Kodak moment", that would have been it.
No deep theological tapestry to weave into this post. Just a funny moment between gals, at one of the pit stops of life.
Me and the 4 girls were all coming home from a Clyde, North Carolina visit . It was a 2 hour trip, with stops and all, from our Spartanburg, South Carolina home. We had only been on the road about 20 minutes when I had to take a food break just south of Asheville. It was late and I was trying to be somewhat healthy in an unhealthy drive thru. The final pick resulted in apples with caramel sauce. Everyone seemed satisfied for about another 20 minutes.
I put the potty break off for as long as I could. We ended up at the rest area at the South Carolina state line. I would have preferred a restaurant or gas station, I am not a fan of rest area's. The potty break could not wait, however, so, in we go.
My oldest daughter decided to stay in the car...she was either texting, listening to her i-pod or using some other electronic device. Reagan, Sarah, Lily and Mommy all went to the bathroom.
On our way to the ladies room, a man started walking near by and as I scanned the parking lot, I didn't see the car he belonged to. Quick thinking on my part, I opted to stay outside the bathroom door while the girls went on in. Who knew who this man was. I decided, "better safe than sorry."
The gentleman turned out to be fine. He came out of the restroom, walked to his car, I had not identified, and drove off. Whew! Everything was cool. I could go in and utilize the facilities now.
Little did I know the scene on the inside I was about to encounter.
I venture inside to see Sarah washing her hands, Reagan in the handicap stall with the door wide open and Lily sitting on the potty.
Nothing out of the ordinary so far.
The part that will bring you to tears is the condition Lily's hands were in. And her big sister, Reagan, was diligent to help.
I am going to attempt to explain the view I encountered.
Lily was having problems because both of her hands looked like they were tarred and feathered in toilet paper. Poor thing, was just trying to unroll the toilet paper but her hands were so sticky from the caramel sauce the toilet paper was sticking to it.
She had grabbed the paper with her left hand and when it stuck to that hand she took her right hand to pull it off and ended up with pieces of toilet paper stuck on both hands. It was so funny. She was sitting the on the potty with these sticky, toilet paper hands looking like, "Well, what do I do now?"
We laughed in the bathroom, out of the bathroom, on our way to the car, and in the car. Every time we gained some sort of composure, the image would flash up like a picture on a movie screen and we would get hysterical again. We laughed on and off all the way to Spartanburg.
I really wish I could have caught it on film. If there was ever a "Kodak moment", that would have been it.
No deep theological tapestry to weave into this post. Just a funny moment between gals, at one of the pit stops of life.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Ruby Red Slippers
I don't know about you, but ruby red slippers sound divine.
For some of you who don't know me, I have been blessed with 4 girls. Right now their ages are from 4 to 12. Wow?! I know. Anyway, back to the red slippers. I wish I had a nickel for every time we were even near red shoes of any kind, that someone in the crew wanted them. Not only wanted them; it's been more than a few occassions I thought we might get escorted out of the "Baby Gap" over a complete melt down over a "no" to the red shoes.
There is just something about girls, teens, women, in general, and red shoes.
Do you have a pair?
I do. A gorgeous candy apple red, high heel, strappy number.
I won't even tell you, I would be way too embarassed, how many the girls have together.
What is it about red shoes?
Was it "The Wizard of Oz?"
Well, my girls have never even watched it!
Then, what is it?
I really don't have the answer. I know it has brought down sisters in this house. Just a week ago, Sarah, my 6 year old got a new pair. Cute little Mary Jane type, with the strap cut low across the toe with tiny white polka dots. Lily, the 4 year old, did not get a pair. This pure and simple fact put both of the girls into a knock down, drag out, type struggle. Lily wanted to wear them. Sarah did not want her to. A fight broke out.
It was a pair of red shoes!
Exactly!
It was a pair of red shoes!
Don't think this is a story about getting to the why of it all.
I don't know!
I do know little girls want 'em.
Big girls, too.
Over the holidays we watched "Christmas Shoes." (If you have never see it, Hallmark Channel, highly recommend it! The song, "Christmas Shoes" by Newsong, also highly recommend it!)
The entire movie was heartwarming and captured the true meaning of the Christmas season. Especially moving for me, though, was the part where the mom and dad danced.
The mom, played by Kimberly Williams Paisley, was dying of cancer and she was saying her goodbyes to her husband. The little boy had already given her the ruby red slippers, and they looked fabulous. Her husband scooped her weak, pale and next to lifeless body up and started dancing around the room with her.
(Hallmark and Kleenex have to be sister companies.)
Quite a moving scene for anybody.
It reminded me of Jesus and our own humanity.
The part that reminded me of Jesus was the way the husband held her.
Like a precious jewel that was so valuable it had to be cradled in his arms. Like he would never put her down. The way my Sarah Grace holds her "baby" at night. "Baby" was a Reagan, my 10 year old, reject and looked brand new, so I put it in the crib when we brought Sarah Grace home. She has carried it around ever since! "Baby" gives the loved look a whole new dimension! Ratty, smelly, dishelveled, worn, a bit pathetic. Not to Sarah Grace. She is the love of her life. She even LIKES the way she smells.
I guess that's what moved me about the scene in the story.
Reality of someone dying isn't a romantic picture.
I don't mean to be offensive and please understand me when I say this. Hair and make-up probably isn't where you might want it. Breath would not be described as minty fresh. Perfectly pedicured toes, probably not. I may be the only person on the planet that wonders about these things, but I do. I am just being honest.
I bet Jesus holds us like the husband did in that scene.
I bet Jesus holds us like Sarah Grace holds "baby."
And even if we are lucky enough to go right after a trip to the salon, with make-up and a cute outfit and a new "do" to boot....
What about the insides?
Coming from the beauty shop might not be so wise. Lots of gossip usually goes on there!
Jesus can see our spiritual filth, our judgemental rot, our critical cancer...
He still scoops us up in His arms, cradles us like His most prized possession and delivers us straight into His Father's arms!
Glory! Glory! Glory!
The 1st part that reminds me of our own humanity is the part where she isn't healed here on earth.
You want the little boy to come home, give his momma the ruby red slippers and instantly watch strength flow into her and watch her get up and dance a jig across the room.
That's what I wanted.
It's not what happened.
That's the part that reminded me of our own humanity.
We all die.
The other part that touched on this humanity of ours was the fact she had on ruby red slippers.
Do you all get that?
The little girl inside her was wearing ruby red slippers.
She was safe in her Daddy's arms,
being his princess
and
still playing dress-up in her ruby red slippers.
Every girls dream come true.
I bet she even clicked her heels together and said, "I want to go home."
The song has a line that goes something like this:
"I want her to look beautiful if she meets Jesus tonight."
She did look beautiful in her ruby red slippers.
Maybe when we are scooped up in the arms of Jesus,
when it's our time to go home,
all the gals,
get a pair of shiny new ruby red slippers.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Robe
I have this image in my head, of a robe.
We have been privileged to stay, too many times to count, at a very posh hotel in Florida. It is called The Jupiter Beach Resort. Very nice. Marble in the bathroom, luxurious bedding, over sized furniture, superb pampering and the whitest, softest, most glamorous robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. That image to me says privilege. I am not sure why, but it does. It seems extravagant and luscious and delightful, a bit spoiled.
Luke 15:22-24 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring out the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet. And bring the fatted calf here and kill it, and let us eat and be merry: for this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ and they began to be merry,”
Have you ever seen those Intervention shows about addictions? They are pretty intense. I don’t remember any scenes that read like that Bible verse. We tend to view rebellion in 2 extreme ways. A type of Tough Love, which really has translated to mean and condemning, or Co-dependant Enabling. Neither choice is good.
Mean and Condemning might read like this:
…But the dad said to his wife, “Bring the bank statements, where I can add up all he owes me for the last 18 stinking years! Bring those filthy, smoke filled clothes out of his closet that he left the last time he spent the night here because he was so wasted he couldn’t drive. Oh, yea, honey, his flip flops are in my trunk by the gas tank. Remember when I had to go fill his tank up when he ran out of gas on that old dead end road at 1 in the morning? You can look in the refrigerator for some leftovers, me and the misses are going to Olive Garden, we get a senior discount on Tuesdays. You can sleep on the couch tonight but you have to be gone by morning! You will never quit this nonsense and me and your mother wash our hands of it!”
Co-dependent Enabler might say:
“Sweet heart, I know it is hard for you. I will go pay all those bad checks. They don’t understand how desperate and sick you were. I will then call Daddy and have him go down and talk to Mr. Bank President to see about letting all this slide. We have been loyal customers for 25 years. I have all your clothes ironed and color coded in your old room. It looks just like it did in high school. Remember when you made that touchdown in 88? You had such the flu the next morning. You got sick awfully fast dear. And Mommy will put a roast in the oven with yeast rolls and I made you a chocolate cake, your favorite. Now, go lay down, you must be exhausted from your little experience downtown today.”
We may laugh at the absurdity. If we examine our hearts, however, it’s reality for a lot of us, either personally or in our families.
What would Jesus’ response be?
Bring the best robe…
Therefore now there is no condemnation in Christ Jesus…
I believe in true Tough Love, Interventions and Boundaries with Accountability. I believe Jesus provided us His example for all of these. I just think we err on the side of one extreme or the other most of the time.
I can’t give you the words to say or the actions to take for your situation. Only Jesus can do that. He is the One who knows a repentant heart from a foolish heart. He knows when to throw a party to celebrate true recovery or whether to keep the doors closed and the wallets zipped.
No man can know without the guidance of the One who searches our hearts.
I do know the model in the Prodigal son is the example He shows us.
I see a model of
forgiveness,
mercy,
grace,
love,
and
compassion.
We can’t get or give those on our own.
We have to get those from the same person the woman at the well got hers from.
His name was and is JESUS.
I struggle with this model everyday. I think we all do. It’s just the right balance. We can not get it right on our own. It’s like those gourmet chefs that cook without measuring. A dash of this, a sprinkle of that…
How do they know? They just know. We don’t just know. We know the One who does know!
So, the next time you discipline an unruly child, make a rather weighty decision regarding a family member or look on at a stressed out mom with a freaked out toddler or teenager, grab that image…
The Robe.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Rigamortus Prayer Pig
This is a really funny but true story. Get ready to laugh. Okay, here goes...
It was probably January or February 2000 around 3pm. I had 3 children at that point in my life. Jeb was 6, Meghan was 4 and Reagan had just turned 2. It was raining and we were all headed to visit Daddy. We were driving to Bradenton from Okeechobee. ( If you are unfamiliar with Florida I will give a brief geography lesson. Bradenton is on the west coast between Tampa and Sarasota, and Okeechobee is 2 hours drive time straight across the state right above Lake Okeechobee. Rural, middle of nowhere, palmetto bushes, cows and wild hogs!)
The road conditions were a bit hazardous with the country 2 lane and the heavy downpour. The vehicle we were traveling in was probably even more dangerous. A burgundy Ford Explorer I lovingly referred to as the "Exploder." I am positive the tires were bald, the windshield wipers were shotty, at best, the right passenger window was held in place with duct tape, and when you went over a bump it would sometimes fall. My driver side door was held shut with a bungy cord. You had to get out by rolling down the window and opening it with the handle from the outside, after disconnecting the bungy cord. I could have pulled a "Dukes of Hazzard" move and just jump in and out of the window, but.... Explorer's are a bit high for petite moms that have a maximum height of 5'2'' with heels.
Can you say, "You know you are a redneck if..."
I promise I am telling the truth.
Now, back to the road. We were in a questionable vehicle and the road a bit "iffy." I could explain the atmosphere inside the vehicle, with a 6, 4 and 2 year old... but I am going to skip ahead and let your wild imagination just fill in the details. Whatever you come up with multiply it by 2 and you will probably get close to what was going on! I am also quite sure the decibel level was way above OSHA safety regulations. Huh? what did you say?
About 30 minutes into the ride, Meghan, my sweet little prayer warrior who was sitting up front with Mommy (before airbags people) she spots a dead hog on the road. He was rather large, black and white and just nasty looking. He was also dead as a doornail because he was stiff as a board. Hence, the word rigamortas.
"Mommy, look, it's a piggy on the side of the road. What is he doing?"
I could have lied to this blue eyed, blonde little angel...but, the pig was stiff! His legs were just sticking out there. He was so dead! I just didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to see her cry. she was so excited about the pig.
Mommy went with, "Honey, I don't think he is very well. I think he is sick, very sick. He may already be dead. Let's just not think about it."
"OH NO! He needs us to pray. Can we pray for the pig, Mommy?"
Not exactly the response I was expecting, but sweet. Alright, I will pray for the pig with her and she won't think about the pig and it will be fine. Yes, this will work. This will be just fine. Let's pray.
So, as I am driving in the pouring down rain, in a rolling health hazard with 3 children under 6 I started praying for a dead wild boar on the side of the road! I don't remember exactly how I worded the prayer. I had so many things spinning around in my brain and honestly,
roadkill wasn't exactly what I would have chosen to pray about. Knowing that this was one of those "teachable" moments you read about in those parenting books, I knew I had no other choice. Pray for the pig.
The prayer was said, and we continued on our journey. We visited with Daddy and headed back to Okeechobee the next afternoon. I never thought about the pig again. I slept just fine that night. I didn't pace the floor or worry about porky on the side of the road. Teachable moment, I seized it, sweet prayer we said it. Closure had occurred in my mind.
Little did I realize, the piggy story wasn't over.
Normal drive home. Well, normal for us. No major spills, no-one had thrown up, all body parts were intact and no rain on the horizon. Meghan was her cheerful little self. Things were going along just fine. We were about 30 minutes from our final destination. And that's when she noticed it.
The pig was gone!
Meghan started screaming at the top of her lungs. "He's gone, he's gone, Jesus made him all better. The pig got better. He's not sick anymore, Mommy!"
Sure enough, the pig was gone. No pig. We were in the exact place where we met Mr. Rigamortas. He wasn't there anymore.
Now I know what some of you may be thinking...wild animals could have run off with him, some crazy person could have snapped him up, no offense, I grew up in Okeechobee, it happens. There were a few scenerios that could have happened. Someone could have hit him with their car and he could have rolled down the hill!
In my heart of hearts I know what happened. The prayer and faith of my 4 year old had tapped into Jesus' power and that pig was raised from the dead!
So, that is how we came upon the Rigamortas Prayer Pig. I refer to it often with my friends. We have had so many laughs over that pig, but we have also increased our faith and seen how God works through prayer in a way we could never dreamed or imagined.
I mean, if you just could have seen how stiff his legs were............................................................
It was probably January or February 2000 around 3pm. I had 3 children at that point in my life. Jeb was 6, Meghan was 4 and Reagan had just turned 2. It was raining and we were all headed to visit Daddy. We were driving to Bradenton from Okeechobee. ( If you are unfamiliar with Florida I will give a brief geography lesson. Bradenton is on the west coast between Tampa and Sarasota, and Okeechobee is 2 hours drive time straight across the state right above Lake Okeechobee. Rural, middle of nowhere, palmetto bushes, cows and wild hogs!)
The road conditions were a bit hazardous with the country 2 lane and the heavy downpour. The vehicle we were traveling in was probably even more dangerous. A burgundy Ford Explorer I lovingly referred to as the "Exploder." I am positive the tires were bald, the windshield wipers were shotty, at best, the right passenger window was held in place with duct tape, and when you went over a bump it would sometimes fall. My driver side door was held shut with a bungy cord. You had to get out by rolling down the window and opening it with the handle from the outside, after disconnecting the bungy cord. I could have pulled a "Dukes of Hazzard" move and just jump in and out of the window, but.... Explorer's are a bit high for petite moms that have a maximum height of 5'2'' with heels.
Can you say, "You know you are a redneck if..."
I promise I am telling the truth.
Now, back to the road. We were in a questionable vehicle and the road a bit "iffy." I could explain the atmosphere inside the vehicle, with a 6, 4 and 2 year old... but I am going to skip ahead and let your wild imagination just fill in the details. Whatever you come up with multiply it by 2 and you will probably get close to what was going on! I am also quite sure the decibel level was way above OSHA safety regulations. Huh? what did you say?
About 30 minutes into the ride, Meghan, my sweet little prayer warrior who was sitting up front with Mommy (before airbags people) she spots a dead hog on the road. He was rather large, black and white and just nasty looking. He was also dead as a doornail because he was stiff as a board. Hence, the word rigamortas.
"Mommy, look, it's a piggy on the side of the road. What is he doing?"
I could have lied to this blue eyed, blonde little angel...but, the pig was stiff! His legs were just sticking out there. He was so dead! I just didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to see her cry. she was so excited about the pig.
Mommy went with, "Honey, I don't think he is very well. I think he is sick, very sick. He may already be dead. Let's just not think about it."
"OH NO! He needs us to pray. Can we pray for the pig, Mommy?"
Not exactly the response I was expecting, but sweet. Alright, I will pray for the pig with her and she won't think about the pig and it will be fine. Yes, this will work. This will be just fine. Let's pray.
So, as I am driving in the pouring down rain, in a rolling health hazard with 3 children under 6 I started praying for a dead wild boar on the side of the road! I don't remember exactly how I worded the prayer. I had so many things spinning around in my brain and honestly,
roadkill wasn't exactly what I would have chosen to pray about. Knowing that this was one of those "teachable" moments you read about in those parenting books, I knew I had no other choice. Pray for the pig.
The prayer was said, and we continued on our journey. We visited with Daddy and headed back to Okeechobee the next afternoon. I never thought about the pig again. I slept just fine that night. I didn't pace the floor or worry about porky on the side of the road. Teachable moment, I seized it, sweet prayer we said it. Closure had occurred in my mind.
Little did I realize, the piggy story wasn't over.
Normal drive home. Well, normal for us. No major spills, no-one had thrown up, all body parts were intact and no rain on the horizon. Meghan was her cheerful little self. Things were going along just fine. We were about 30 minutes from our final destination. And that's when she noticed it.
The pig was gone!
Meghan started screaming at the top of her lungs. "He's gone, he's gone, Jesus made him all better. The pig got better. He's not sick anymore, Mommy!"
Sure enough, the pig was gone. No pig. We were in the exact place where we met Mr. Rigamortas. He wasn't there anymore.
Now I know what some of you may be thinking...wild animals could have run off with him, some crazy person could have snapped him up, no offense, I grew up in Okeechobee, it happens. There were a few scenerios that could have happened. Someone could have hit him with their car and he could have rolled down the hill!
In my heart of hearts I know what happened. The prayer and faith of my 4 year old had tapped into Jesus' power and that pig was raised from the dead!
So, that is how we came upon the Rigamortas Prayer Pig. I refer to it often with my friends. We have had so many laughs over that pig, but we have also increased our faith and seen how God works through prayer in a way we could never dreamed or imagined.
I mean, if you just could have seen how stiff his legs were............................................................
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