Calendars and Elves: Counting the Days Until Christmas

Last year, in what we thought was a stroke of parenting genius, Aaron and I bought our three boys a LEGO Star Wars advent calendar.  Each door opened to reveal a different mini figure: a star fighter, a droid, a Christmas tree, etc. and, eventually, the coveted Yoda Santa Claus, available only in the advent calendar. If parenting coolness could be measured in little primary colored bricks, we were the coolest. I tucked it away in my closet so excited to get it out for the boys on December first. Unfortunately, they freaked out, but not at all in the way we were anticipating. My normally kind and considerate 7 year old, became conniving and selfish, scheming his way to opening that last door so he would be the one to keep the Yoda.  Crying fits and ugly fights ensued and at the end of the month I was more than ready to join the dark side just to destroy that stupid Yoda. Happy Birthday, Jesus!!

Judging by the amount and variety of advent products I've seen, we're not the only parents who go to extreme, and sometimes weird lengths help our children count down the days until Christmas.  A certain Elf comes to mind... The commercialization of the anticipation of Christmas is a relatively new phenomenon, I think.  When I was a kid, we had a cardboard advent calendar that came from who knows where, and usually made it through at least two or three Christmases before retiring.  Each door held a verse or a picture.  That's it. There wasn't a coordinating activity or special surprise.  Whatever was behind the flap was what you got.  (And yes, I walked through the snow, uphill both ways to school, too! Smarty pants.)  Point is, there is a desire in our world, now, it seems, more than ever, for Christmas to mean something, to be anticipated.  The problem is, none of us, even the Christians (especially the non-liturgical ones), quite know how to go about it.  So, at our best, we do "adventy" activities to help our children understand why Jesus was born and that the world does not revolve around their blessed little selves. But at our worst, we perpetuate a cycle of greed and dissatisfaction and emptiness by reinforcing the idea that Christmas is about good behavior and the stockpile of toys that it brings.  Two or three years ago this would have been my response to that sentence:

Does it really matter what we do to count down the days until Christmas as long as, ultimately, my sweet progeny know whose birthday it is?  Yes!! Yes, it does matter, and it matters a great deal.

The anticipation of Christmas is the anticipation of our redemption.  As New Testament believers, we adhere to the idea that without Jesus we are mired in sin, slaves to the most impenetrable darkness.  Scripture teaches that only because Jesus entered the world in all of His perfect divinity and chose to redeem us through His sacrifice, can we be free. Christmas is the celebration of that amazing and awesome gift and yet, we (and I'm meaning me) almost never anticipate it as such.

In Deuteronomy, after the Israelites entered the Promised Land, they were to take some of the first fruits of the land and present it to the LORD at the altar.  Then, they were to stand before the LORD and recite their history, i.e. their entrance into Egypt via Jacob, their oppression under the Egyptians, their miraculous exodus and eventual entrance in to their land.  The thing is, they were to recite it in the first person, regardless of the fact that, in the whole nation of Israel, only two people were actual participants in any of the aforementioned events.  This, like everything God ordains, has a purpose.  One commentator says the following: "The rhetoric works so that the speaker, who is a belated rememberer of an old event, becomes a present tense participant.  In liturgical time, the gap between past time and present time is overcome, and present tense characters become involved in past events."  Basically, even though the responder was not there, by reciting it in the first person, he becomes and an active participant in that event. An identification is made and ownership is taken.

Perhaps, that is the key. How can we direct our children through the season of advent, when we, ourselves, have never participated in it?  We decorate for it, wrap it up, and party through it, but have we participated. in. it? I know that if I were to strip away all the flashy elements of the Christmas preparation, and become a participant in the nativity story I would be terrified. Terrified of the desperate, inherent, human need that I have for a savior. Terrified of the enormity of my sin and the fact that there is absolutely nothing on heaven or earth I can do to rectify or justify it.  Terrified of the holy God, that has the absolute right to condemn me for my sinfulness and, yet, chose not to.  Terrified of that amazing and stupendous grace that came in the form of a baby. Perhaps that's why, in so many ways, we choose to fill the time of advent with so many things that have little to do with the anticipation of His arrival, because to fully engage and participate in the Christmas story means that we come face to face with the living Christ. Just like the actual nativity characters, our lives would be altered irrevocably.  We would begin to see the possible in the impossible, the humble poor as those with the keys to the Kingdom, and those who seek the Christ as wise.  Most importantly, our children would see our anticipation and participation, and know Jesus because they see Him in us. We wouldn't have to concoct awkward attempts to explain "the reason for the season," because the memory of our time at the manger would compel us to share it with such enthusiasm that they would want to be a part of it.

So this year, we've left the LEGOs behind and are attempting to bring the boys with us to the stable.  There will be pitfalls and untold parenting failures, but I think we've made a start and that, my friend, is better than all the Yodas in the entire galaxy.

How do you create an air of anticipation of Jesus' birth in your house?

What I Learned From Not Watching the Debates

I didn't watch the debate last night or the one before it.  In fact, I didn't watch the VP debate either.  (Well, technically I watched 9 minutes of that one, but I don't think that really counts. ) Instead, I watched Acts of Valor, Downton Abbey, and, Shadowlands, respectively.  Before you condemn me as a card carrying member of the apathetic set, let me assure you that I read the transcripts the next day and thoroughly examined my facebook and twitter account for all pertinent information. :)  What did I learn? AMERICA IS AWESOME.  Seriously.  I know there are lots of things that are very, very, very imperfect and even downright wrong about our country, but, on the whole, this entire election process shows that we've still got it.

When the band of patriots launched our revolution in 1776, the idea of a republic by the people and for the people wasn't a new one, necessarily, but it sure wasn't a popular one.  Not to put too sentimental a face on it, but our forefathers, facing horrible odds, did a bang up job creating a government that would attempt to balance man's natural tendencies toward greed, power and violence and create an atmosphere of peaceful political discourse.  (side note: I think the inclusion of this line in the Declaration of Independence is genius: that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new governement, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.  It effectively allows for revolution, therefore taking it off the table.  Somehow, when something is legal its a lot less appealing.  Nice reverse psychology TJ! )  Anyway... despite the name calling and ugly, negative campaign ads, our process is most definitely a peaceful one.  Our debates, while testy and heated, don't result in bloodshed.  You can publish, tweet, FB, or yell from the rooftops how horrid you think our president or wanna be president is, and no one will come to take you away.  Want to stand outside the Supreme Court or the White House and protest for months on end? Go for it. Feel like making angry phone calls or sending disgruntled letters wishing a pox on Congress and all their household. Knock yourself out. (Just don't send any literal pox.) In fact, wallowing in our freedom and mocking our elected, or possibly elected officials, has become an art form and, in true American style, a big business.

Are there parts of our system that need tweaking? (Read: Electoral College.) Absolutely. The beautiful thing is we can do it without fear of retribution, intimidation, or imprisonment.  As Mr. Jefferson stated, its our right to alter the system. We are the system. That is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

This January, when the president, whoever he may be, is sworn in on the steps of the Capitol, a united group of Americans (some happier than others) will stand peacefully behind and in front of him as a testament to over 200 years of this noble experiment.  I, for one, will be watching.

It Was Necessary

I can count the number of times I've heard the literal voice of God on two, maybe, three fingers, but that morning was most definitely one of them.  Micah was asleep in his car seat and in an effort to keep him that way, I drove over to the cemetery near the preschool.  Elizabeth had been gone two years, but due to the proximity to the school, it wasn't uncommon for me to stop by for a quiet moment or two with my baby girl.  I quietly wondered around the infant plots for a few minutes and got back in the van. As I drove out of the cemetery, the still small voice spoke loudly:

It was necessary.

This is going to sound odd, crazy and slightly cold even, but I've often thought of Elizabeth not just as our only daughter but also as a very significant chapter in our lives. An it, as it were.  I knew when God spoke that morning he wasn't specifically referring to her, but to the chapter of her, the experience of her.  Everything, from the moment of her conception, to her diagnosis, to her birth, was necessary.


It was necessary to feel paralyzing fear and helplessness, so that I could know Who my strength and help come from.

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'" -Psalm 91:1

 It was necessary to know abject loneliness, so that I could feel the constancy of His companionship.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me."  -Psalm 23:4

It was necessary to wallow in hopelessness, so that I could dwell in the hope that is only from Him.

"May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD, even as we put our hope in you." -Psalm 33:22

It was necessary to see the darkness creep in and surround me, so that His light could break through.

"...even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you." -Psalm 139:12

It was necessary to cry out for mercy, so that I could hear His voice and know my redemption.

"Praise be to the LORD, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.  Our God is a God who saves; from the Sovereign LORD comes escape from death."  -Psalm 68:19-20

It was necessary to express despair, grief, hurt, anger with my whole being, so that I could sing of His comfort, His grace, His peace, and His joy with my whole soul.

"But as for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteousness, of your salvation all day long, though I know not its measure.  I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, O Sovereign LORD; I will proclaim your righteousness, yours alone." -Psalm 71:14-16

All of it was necessary.  Did I like it? No.  Do I "count it all joy?" Not yet. Did it suck? You bet. But was it necessary? Absolutely. During the two weeks in between the initial sonogram and the amnio results, I was talking to a friend of mine about how I was begging God for positive results. Without skipping a beat, she told me that only during the awful times in her life did she really learn the most and maybe that's what God had in store for me.  That wasn't what I wanted to hear, but it was exactly what I needed to hear, and exactly what happened.  Only through that kind of suffering could I have possibly drawn that close to my Sustainer, could I have learned lessons so life altering, and could I have changed so much.  James says, "you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." Five years later, I am lacking less, but I know that God continues to chip away at those areas that need the most work, sometimes with a chisel and sometimes with dynamite, but all of it necessary.

*Happy 5th Birthday, Elizabeth Tanner Henry!*

Waylon Jennings Says Goodnight...

Ahhh... the bed time ritual....it is, unequivocally, the most mom guilt inducing time of my day. My mom brain says "Take the time, cherish these snuggly, sleepy moments. They'll be gone before you know it...." Monica brain says "Hustle it up, lady. Parks and Rec starts in 5 minutes and there's a bowl of ice cream with your name on it." I like Monica brain...Benjamin, however, likes mom brain and he knows how to work it.

My older sons go to bed fairly easily.  Prayer. Same song every night. Hug. Kiss. Bam. Lights out.  Benjamin, on the other hand, likes to make bed time into some weird version of name that tune, where the only prize you win is the right to leave the room.  Somewhere along the line this became acceptable. He is a curly headed evil genius, I tell you. So, here's how it works...first, we pray. This always goes smoothly, except now, he has taken to repeating the last two words of every sentence I say, making it somewhat awkward, but endearing none the less. Kind of like praying into a tin can.

Second, I ask what song he would like me to sing. Here's where it gets dicey.  Six months ago, his vocabulary was seriously limited so he would say one or two words trying to indicate what song he wanted me to sing.  In the beginning this worked well.  Bible = B-I-B-L-E.  Jesus = Jesus Loves Me. Love = I Love You Lord (Samuel's go to number).   Then, randomly, one night, he says "mama." Oh, you want mama to sing? How sweet. Ok, "Jesus loves me...." No. MA-MA. You want a mama song? He smiles. Alright...hmmmm.....Honest to goodness, people, the only song I could think of was....Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys.  Good 'ole Waylon Jennings saved the day.  He loved it.  For the next two months that is how my two year old fell asleep.

Somewhere along the line that got old.  So, as his vocabulary improved, so did his requests....Daddy = Hey Daddy by Ann Murray, which led to Animals Crackers in My Soup also known as Roar because of its reference to lions....there was a brief Adele phase followed by Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog by Credence Clearwater Revival (this was Micah's doing), and now, he has taken to giving me absolutely random words just to see what I can come up with.  In the last few weeks, I've made up songs about children's church using the tune of We Go Together from Grease and Blue Christmas.  The kid eats it up. 

(cue moral of the story music)

I know for Benjamin its not really about the song. I know he's trying to wring out every last drop of time with me before he goes to bed and I'm cool with that...most nights.  It does help me to slow down and enjoy those snuggly, bedtime moments. It also reminds me that Scripture tells us that our Heavenly Father sings over us, too.  He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing. -Zephaniah 3:17b.  I love that. He will quiet me with his love and rejoice over me with singing.  My Father tenderly takes the worries and burdens that I carry and replaces them with the warm lullaby of His love. Ultimately, that's what the bedtime song is about.  At the end of our day, my baby and I get a few moments together and I can quiet him with my love through song.  Whatever that song may be. :)

What I know...and its not much...

My older sister is pregnant! Yea! This is fabulous for lots of reasons, not the least of which was that I was able to take trip to Arizona for her baby shower.  Double yea! For said baby shower, she asked if I would give the devotional. I said I would, but only if we could call it something else. Giving the devotional implies you have wisdom, and lots of it, from years of hard fought parenting.  I have parented for barely 8 years.  There are shoes in my closet that have seen more action.  My boys are young and most of my parenting consists of reminding them that pants are necessary and that, yes, you may wrestle with his brother, but, no, you may not sit on his head.  While physically tiring and oftentimes mentally draining,  I know the emotionally taxing parenting is still to come. Read: Middle School and girls and "the talk."  So when I agreed to speak about what I know about parenting, I insisted we call it a spiel (a Yiddish word that means to persuade, like a sales pitch).  I'm not sure I persuaded anyone of anything, except, perhaps, how much I have to learn, but I think I was able to persuade my sister that parenting is awesome and tough and, in the end, she'll be great at it.

Here is what I know....

1. Start as you mean to continue, but have the flexibility to change if necessary.

When the baby is born, there are a few things you know you want to do.  In our house, those things included eating dinner together at the table, reading before bed, insisting on good manners, and, most importantly, showing Jesus and His love in every way possible.  Outside of these things, its been a parenting grab bag.   Shortly after Benjamin was born, a friend of mine, who had her first baby at the same time, asked what kind of parenting method we use.  My response was "survival parenting." We do the best we can for that individual child with the information, knowledge, and wisdom we have at that time.  If, at the end of the day, he's fed, safe, and happy, then we've done an ok job. (Notice I did not say clothed.) There are a lot of fantastic parenting philosophies out there, but the most important thing to remember, is that your child is an individual with an amazingly designed personality.  Be a student of him, know his likes and dislikes, what his fears are, what kind of positive attention he responds to and parent accordingly. Flexibility equals sanity.

2.  Make the time to be by yourself. 

This is so cliche, but worth emphasizing.  Make sure that you make (not find) the time to be by yourself both for spiritual nourishment and mental/ emotional nourishment.  The Bible says Jesus went to a solitary place to pray and be with the Father.  If God incarnate needed time to be by Himself with the Father, you most certainly will need it. (This also shows how stressful the disciples were, apparently.)  Figuring out ways to get that time, however, can be tricky.  Gone are the days of sitting serenely in your "quiet time spot" with your cup of coffee lingering over God's Word.  In her book, Still, Lauren Winner describes what a friend called "dislocated exegesis."  "That is the practice of reading scripture in unexpected places, in places that might unsettle the assumptions you were likely to bring to the text." In other words, take it on the road and you might just be surprised at what you learn.  Read a bit in the kitchen while you're making dinner, keep a Bible app on your phone and sneak in a few verses at the stop light or read while you nurse (you're not going anywhere).  Pray everywhere.  I've learned to pray for my boys as I sit with them while they watch tv or rub their back before bed. I pray for my husband while I'm ironing or throwing a load in the laundry.  You must be creative.
Second, make the time to be by yourself just to be by yourself.  For tips on how to accomplish this, I turn to my current parenting muse, Tina Fey...

Any expert will tell you, the best thing a mom can do to be a better mom is to carve out a little time for herself. Here are some great “me time” activities you can do.
 

*Go to the bathroom a lot.
*Offer to empty the dishwasher.
*Take ninety-minute showers. (If you only shower every three or four days, it will be easier to get away with this.)
*Say you’re going to look for the diaper crème, then go into your child’s room and just stand there until your spouse comes in and curtly says, “What are you doing?”
*Stand over the sink and eat the rest of your child’s dinner while he or she pulls at your pant leg asking or it back.
*Try to establish that you’re the only one in your family allowed to go to the post office.
*“Sleep when your baby sleeps.” Everyone knows this classic tip, but I say why stop there? Scream when your baby screams. Take Benadryl when your baby takes Benadryl. And walk around pantless when your baby walks around pantless.  

*Read! When your baby is finally down for the night, pick up a juicy book like Eat, Pray, Love or Pride and Prejudice or my personal favorite, Understanding Sleep Disorders: Narcolepsy and Apnea; A Clinical Study. Taking some time to read each night really taught me how to feign narcolepsy when my husband asked me what my “plan” was for taking down the Christmas tree.
 

Just implementing four or five of these little techniques will prove restorative and give you the
energy you need to not drink until nighttime. 

3.  You are standard by which your son will judge all other women.
 

This scares me. A lot.  I try to think of it as a honor and a privilege, but, really its downright terrifying.  Right now, my three boys are loved and cared for by lots of outstanding women, but I am the only one they see on an up-close, day to day, hour by hour basis.  How I treat myself (my relationship with food, how I treat my body), my relationship with their dad, how I interact with others that I come into contact with, and my relationship with Jesus are all being soaked in. One day, hopefully, a long time from now, when they begin to see girls as something more than cootie carriers, they will take what they saw and decide if it was worth seeking out in a potential mate.  Dear Jesus, please let me set a standard worthy of you!  Of course, if they choose a wife who is nothing like me, then I guess I'll know how well I've done my job!


4.  Never underestimate the value of overvaluing your child.

I read this spectacular book this summer called The Middle Place by Kelly Corrigan.  In it, she describes her dad....

"I think people like him because his default setting is open delight.  He's prepared to be wowed - by your humor, your smarts, your white teeth, even your handshake - guaranteed, something you do is going to thrill him...People walk away from him feeling like they're on their game, even if they suspect that he put them there.  He does that for me too.  He makes me feel smart, funny, and beautiful, which has become the job of the few men who have loved me since.  He told me once that I was a great talker.  And so I was.  I was a conversationalist, along with "creative," a notion he put in my head when I was in grade school and used to make huge, intricate collages from his old magazines.  He defined me first, as parents do.  Those early characterizations can become the shimmering self-image we embrace or the limited, stifling perception we rail against for a lifetime.  In my case, he sees me as I would like to be seen.  In fact, I'm not even sure what's true about me, since I have always chosen to believe his version."

My parents were like this, and my mom is still my go to person when I need to know that I'm the best mom ever, or that I am, indeed, capable of writing the great American novel if my kids would just let me be. :)  My mom and dad disciplined me to be sure, but I always felt valued, important, and somehow special.  The world is a big and scary place, and it is not going to give your child the sense of love and value he desperately needs to face it.  So, overdo it.  Let him know what a fantastic lego builder he is, how much you appreciate him not peeing all over the bathroom floor even if the seat is soaked, show him how funny you think he is when he does the running man in the hallway when he's supposed to be in bed, or tell him how sweet his freckles are.  Be excited about him and praise him for anything and everything.

5.  Grant yourself grace.

You will fail at all of the other four things at some point and, some times, in one day.  It will happen.  You know what? Its ok. For realz.  Trust me.  Some days, just washing your hair and shaving your legs in the same day is enough to call yourself Wonder Woman. Parenting is crazy intense work and it is not for the faint of heart or the perfectionist. As I was thinking about this, it came to mind that when Jesus came, he chose to come to a first time mom. I'm sure there were lots of other God-fearing women who were more experienced mothers than Mary, and, yet, God picked her.  He picked her because she was willing and available.  He handled the rest.  As much as we love our kids, God loves them more, and knows them better than we will ever know them.  Happily for us, He freely grants wisdom to parent them, minute by insane minute.   My mom used to tell me there were things that she did that she knew were going to scar us for life and, yet, we hardly remember them. On the flip side, however, there are things that were turning points in our lives or things that made a huge impact on us, that she doesn't remember. Bottom line is: you never know what is going to put your kids in therapy or what will propel them to achieve greatness. You just have to do your best and pray. A lot. 

My sister and my nephew!

 So that's what I know. What advice would you give first time moms?

Champions of Summer

In June, I pinned a great list entitled "100 things to do with your kids during the summer."  Including today, I think we've accomplished...um....let's just say, if these were the Pinterest Olympics, we'd be Albania. Nice people, good effort, just not much production. So, to prove we are worthy of our American birthright as champions of the summer, here is a list of the ten things we did that made our summer gold medal worthy.


1. Vacation Bible School!  Micah made his "big church" singing debut this year at Parent's Night. Did he really love VBS? Yes, yes he did. 

Be strong! Don't be afraid! God is with you always!

2.  MAX!!!  Sweet baby, Max showed our family, especially our kids, how mighty the prayers of the saints really are.  Thank you, Brooke, Richard, Ada, and Max for allowing our kids to be apart of your journey.

3. The Library.  I love the library year round, but the library during the summer has a certain magical quality to it. It says, "Come, find a book you are not required to read. Envelope yourself in a great story that you will be loathe to leave." (Yes, the library uses words like "loathe" and rhymes because it is a l-i-b-r-a-r-y. Sheesh.)

4.  The Beach. Sunscreen, lunchables, and family. Ahhhh.....

Really. Don't forget the sunscreen.

5.  Theme Parks!! Who doesn't love a theme park in Florida, in the summer?! Ok, probably lots of people, but not us! We were fortunate enough to go to two this summer: Legoland and Busch Gardens. Both were awesome and receive the "fall asleep in the stroller" seal of approval from Benjamin.

6. The Fourth of July.  We dig blowing stuff up. (and freedom)

Not sure why Benjamin looks like he just walked out of Compassion International commercial. We feed him.  I promise. Of course, if you want to send us $20 month to help....

7.  The Zoo.  We Our kids love the zoo. Even if just for a few hours, its fun to get out and see what the animals are up to.

8.  The Civil War I love that our kids are getting old enough to grasp history. Or grasp guns that are related to history.

Micah's Summation of the Civil War: "There were Americans and there were the bad guys."

9. New Fort!!  Thank you to the Liner family for outgrowing this amazing piece of outdoor play equipment and generously sharing it with us!

10.  Birthdays!!  Our family has three birthdays in July, which means loads of cake and ice cream and three special dinners. This year, Micah got to spend his birthday with grandma and grandpa in a hotel, no less. You can't ask for much more than that.

 What was your favorite part of your summer?

There is More to This Life

Tonight is the seventh anniversary of my dad's passing.  He suffered from a disease called Scleroderma, which, over a period of nine years, slowly hardened the tissue surrounding his lungs until they could no longer expand. When he was diagnosed in the summer of 1996, he and my mom prayed that he would be healed but if that wasn't to be, that he would live to see his grandchildren. God honored that request and he lived long enough to see Samuel's first year.  Thank you, Jesus. As time passed, a large part of the grieving process for me was tied up in Samuel.  It was my job to represent the grandpa he would never know. What aspects of his legacy did I want to emphasize?

My dad was a police officer with the city of Phoenix for almost 30 years, but he would have been the first to tell you that his position on the department did not define him. It was his job and one he loved and was good at, but it wasn't who he was. He was a deacon and Sunday School president, but that couldn't begin to measure his love for the Savior he chose to follow when he was 32.  He loved music, especially Johnny Cash, movie musicals, and history. He had dry sense of humor and the ability to tell the truth in love just when it was needed.  He taught us to understand and respect the political system and our duty as a responsible citizen. (I was seriously busted for not voting in a gubernatorial election right after I turned 18.) He wanted us to understand Scripture and why we believed the way we did. To ask the tough questions and not be afraid to dig deep into the mystery of faith. He married his high school sweetheart and stayed faithful to her for just shy of 31 years, teaching us the value of marriage vows fulfilled. He was wise, compassionate, and kind.  How could I begin to tell Samuel (and, later, his brothers) who their Grandpa Brad was?

A couple of months ago, I was asked to write something that would preface a song about Heaven for an upcoming church service.  I tried a few things, but, eventually, I wrote, for the first time, about my dad's last night.

The room was dimly lit and cold. Emanating from the machines and monitors was a droning mechanical symphony.  My dad’s body was still, but not at rest, his mind and heart fighting hard to remain, despite the mounting desire to go home.  Most of the family had left the ICU for a much needed respite, leaving myself and a family friend to witness the struggle. In the air was the anticipation of the inevitable. Even with assistance, his breathing was labored and raspy and, because of the apparatus pushing air in and out of his lungs, he hadn’t spoken in hours.  It was too much work just to breathe. Yet, in a brief moment of clarity and purpose, his hand reached up and removed the mask from his face.  Looking straight at the two of us and yet at no one, he said. “There’s more than this life.”  His hand, shaking with effort, placed the mask back over his face and he closed his eyes.

The last words I heard my dad speak were an encouragement and a reminder.  There’s more than this life. There’s more than the grief, the struggle, the pain. More than the joy, the ecstasy, or the adventure of living.  More than this life, because this life is but a shadow of things to come. This life is just the beginning.   Hebrews says that “people who say such things show they are looking for a country of their own....they [are] looking for a better country - a heavenly one.  Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.”  A city “prepared like a bride adorned for her husband,” where “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes” and “death will no longer exist.” A city illuminated by God’s glory and whose lamp is the Lamb. Heaven.

This is my dad's legacy.  A unrelenting focus on Jesus and what that meant for him here and, more importantly, there.  A belief, that no matter what life brought, it couldn't compare to the glory of the Savior, to the mercy of the cross, and the hope of eternity.  This is the grandpa I want my kids to know. This is the legacy I hope they see lived in me.

Mom and Dad with Samuel on his first Christmas morning.

New Name, New Look, New Post

Summer vacation is drawing to a close, which means that, in our house, its time to buy new things in preparation for the coming school year. I love this time of year, but it has little to do with leaves changing or impending cooler weather. I grew up in Arizona and live in Florida, so the idea of Fall as an actual season is abstract at best. Fall means less hot. What I love so desperately is that the beginning of the school year signals the start of something new and fresh. Its kind of a New Year's Day in the middle of the year.  I love buying school supplies and the oh so important first day of school outfit. That particular outing, however, is far less exciting with boys, one of whom is wearing a uniform, but, still, a new polo is a new polo and that makes me happy.
 

          I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.         

                                                  -You've Got Mail *sigh*

Alas, I'm not starting school again, so my brain has decided to start fresh in its own way.  When I started this blog almost two years ago, I thought the name was decidedly clever. Unfortunately, about a week after I started, it didn't seem so cute and after a month, it kind of annoyed me. I'd like to blame my lack of posting on the fact that my blog name struck me as silly, but really I'm just sort of lazy busy with three kids.  :) Somehow, though, things are settling down as the kids grow more independent of me (Benjamin got his own glass of water last night, which means he's practically in college), so I'm going to give it another go, as the Brits say, and a new name seemed appropriate.   Note for those who might choose to follow, (i.e. my mom): the address has changed as well...http://assemblethemins.blogspot.com (assembletheminions was taken so I had to get creative).

So, here's my new school year resolution, as it were: I promise to do my best to post with some form of regularity. To post things that are interesting to more people than just my family.  To not change my blog title again even if, after a week or so,  I find myself to be a lot less witty than I thought (high probability of this happening).  There you have it. You are now my blog accountability partners.  I thank you in advance! What about you? How do you celebrate the start of the new school year?

The Rest of the Story

I had the opportunity to be a guest blogger on a friend's blog yesterday.  By the way, that was super cool of you, Rebecca, to ask me.  I am very humbled that you would let me have some of your coveted blog space! If you didn't catch it, head to http://tabforthesoul.blogspot.com/ and take a gander.  Essentially, its the story of my first experience on Thunder Mountain Railroad and how it relates to the Christian life. What I didn't include in the post was the story of the first time I took our oldest son, Samuel, on Thunder Mountain Railroad two summers ago....

Samuel is seven and as of two years ago, was tall enough to ride the roller coasters at Magic Kingdom in Disneyworld.  This made Aaron and I very happy.  We love roller coasters and, having done our time in Fantasyland, we were ready to introduce our oldest to Space Mountain and Thunder Mountain Railroad.  He rode Space Mountain with Aaron and bravely declared it was fun, and then graciously declined a repeat ride. It was dark, he said, and he couldn't see where he was going.  I really wanted him to try Thunder Mountain, so after lunch,  I used all my motherly persuasion to get him in line with me. It will be fun! Its outside. You can see where you're going and there's no surprises.  There are dinosaur bones....  He reluctantly agreed. We made it through the line, chatting about the day at the park and where we would go next, all the while Samuel kept a nervous eye on our progress.  As we approached the front of the line, I realized we were headed for the front car.  My sweet boy was still a coaster novice and didn't know what that meant.  I didn't explain.  We sat down and the lap bar lowered.  I'm considerably bigger than my skinny little boy, so it wasn't even close to touching his lap. Samuel squeezed in close, my arm tight around his shoulder.  The train moved forward and then...it started....the rain.  Florida has odd weather.  Hot one day, cold the next.  Bright and sunny one minute, downpour immediately following.  It didn't just sprinkle either, it RAINED.  Pelting, driving, summer rain.  By the time we flew down the first hill I could barely keep my eyes open. The seat was so wet, that with each turn Samuel and I slid from side to side across the vinyl.  I laughed and laughed hard, but Samuel, ummm...not so much.  Above the screams from the other passengers and the roar of the coaster, I could here my first born yelling "YOU SAID THIS WOULD BE FUN!!  YOU SAID IT WASN'T SCARY!! YOU LIED!!"  This made me laugh harder. I don't know why; it just did. The absurdity of the situation was overwhelming and, knowing I couldn't do anything about it, it just made me laugh.  My poor son. We got off the ride, and as it often does in the Sunshine State, the clouds parted and the sun came out, ending the momentary cloudburst.  He didn't ride it again with me that day, but he did a few months later at Christmastime.  That ride was rain free and finally enjoyable.

I'm sure there's a parable in there somewhere. Something about how in the midst of a storm, God's still holding us tight and that, in the end, the rain is just a momentary burst, quickly dissipated by the light of the Son (clever, huh?).  Or, how we can yell and yell at God and He can take it because He's God and can see the big picture (I'd like to think He doesn't laugh at me, though. At least not regularly.).   Or, maybe its just a story relating the fact that I'm a terrible parent for conning my almost 6 year old onto an amusement theme park ride I knew there was a high chance he would scream through, just on the slim chance he might enjoy it.  Anyway you choose to see it, its the rest of my story (and I'm sticking to it).