Two in One

Only a Peacemaker would be thoughtful and considerate enough to lose two teeth in the same day. That's just how she is.

Five...

I realize that it is entirely too cliche to begin a blog post with the phrase "where has the time gone?", but that is exactly what I'm asking myself today as my sweet baby boy turns five. FIVE!! To me, there is something so significant about five. It's like saying goodbye to babyhood and hello to boyhood with a single turning of the calendar page.

While he'll always be our little Davy Crockett and still sports his coonskin cap on a regular basis, he now aspires to the likes of Red Ryder. He straps his holster on, dons his cowboy boots and hat, tightens his red bandanna and with a twinkle in his eye, asks "Do I look him, Mom?"

He painstakingly writes pages and pages of words, carefully forming each letter, making sure he has perfectly printed the names of each and every member of his family. He loves memorizing Bible verses and answering questions during family devotions. He is not intimidated by being the youngest of the older pack; he is driven and motivated, desiring to prove he 'can' to himself more than to anyone else.

This little-big boy who began life so precariously is a daily reminder of the hugeness of God and the days He numbers.

This past week, we celebrated his 'last fours': the last time he would go to church as a four year old, his last bike ride as a four year old, his last bowl of cereal as a four year old, the last time I would kiss him goodnight as a four year old, and on and on. Though he was excited by the showering of attention, I'm quite certain the significance was lost on him.

He was looking ahead to five, while I wanted to stay in the land of four forever.

The land where matchbox cars are lined up by the mile, where exuberance and high-pitched squeals seem never ending, where l's and r's still sound like w's when he asks me to tie his shoes 'wee-wee tight', and where he still says 'Mommy, will you hold me?' Oh, I know these events will still occur; I know he won't stop immediately just because he's a day older than he was yesterday. But it's changing. He's changing.

He's growing, maturing, and coming into his own. There are moments when he's doing something inane like standing at the piano pounding at keys, but when I catch his profile, I see him in my mind's eye 10 years down the road: almost a man.

And it makes me want to savor every moment.

It reminds me that rather than telling him it's time to get off my lap so we can get our day started, I should deeply breathe his sweaty little boy morning smell; that when he asks me how to make a 'P' for the twentieth time this week, I should sit down with him while he makes rows and rows of 'Ps'; and that when he tracks in mud with his yellow rain boots, I should take a picture instead of telling him to go back outside. Because someday I'm going to wish it all back. And I have a feeling that some day isn't very far away.

Happy Birthday, Davy Crockett!! We are so blessed by the gift of you!!

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you... Jeremiah 1:5

A Week In Pictures

Sometimes pictures are worth a thousand words (although I'm pretty good at coming up with 1000 words...just ask my husband!!)

Ode to My Life...

If You Give a Mom a Muffin

Written by Kathy Fictorie
Based on If You Give a Moose a Cookie by Laura Numeroff

If you give a mom a muffin,

She'll want a cup of coffee to go with it.

So she'll pour herself some.

The coffee will get spilled by her three year old.

She'll wipe it up.

Wiping the floor, she will find some dirty socks.

She'll remember she has to do some laundry.

When she puts the laundry in the washer,

She'll trip over some snow boots and bump into the freezer.

Bumping into the freezer will remind her she has to plan supper for tonight.

She will get out a pound of hamburger.

She'll look for her cookbook. (101 Things To Make With a Pound of

Hamburger.)

The cookbook is sitting under a pile of mail.

She will see the phone bill which is due tomorrow.

She will look for the checkbook.

The checkbook is in her purse that is being dumped out by her two year old.

She'll smell something funny.

She'll change the two year old.

While she is changing the two year old the phone will ring. (Of course!)

Her five year old will answer it and hang up.

She remembers that she wants to phone a friend to come over for coffee on Friday.

Thinking of coffee will remind her that she was going to have a cup.

She will pour herself some.

And chances are,

If she has a cup of coffee,

Her kids will have eaten the muffin that went with it.

A New Model

We have a sad, sick baby at our house...
Unfortunately, our sad, sick baby doesn't like baths, in fact she loathes them. I'm pretty sure the whole neighborhood knows when Spider-Girl is taking a bath because the rafters of our house rattle with her screams of terror and anguish. Needless to say, baths are not at all soothing and mostly counterproductive, even in illness.

Yesterday, I was attempting to feed our sad, sick baby some watermelon chunks. I mortgaged the house and bought it out of season for my sweet girl (sweet being relative amidst the sad and sick), thinking it would brighten her day and keep her hydrated. Instead of loving it, however, she threw her head back in agony, clamped her teeth shut and wriggled as far to the corner of her high chair as possible. She wanted nothing to do with it. Seriously, what child doesn't like watermelon?!

Tongue-in-cheek, I implored her, "You don't like baths, you don't like watermelon. That is so un-Somma. Did we bring the wrong baby home from the hospital?!"

Her four-year-old brother and three-year-old sister were observing the scene:

Davy Crockett piped up: "Hooray!! Maybe we can get a new baby!!"

To which Giggles replied: "Yeah, one that doesn't CRY!!"

Their summations came a little too quickly and sounded a little too rehearsed.

Poor sad, sick baby.

Until We Meet Again...

We're just home from a glorious 10 days in Florida with Mr. Right's family. It was long overdue and went by entirely too fast. In fact, there are several in this house who would hop back on the plane tomorrow if it were really an option...

Here is my hands-down favorite picture...
Living in Florida, New Jersey and Washington State, they hadn't all been together since November of 2006 (the bottom three hadn't even made their appearance at that point!!). Heart-warmingly, it seemed like yesterday as they picked up right where they'd left off. Fifteen years to 7 months, the cousin-love was AMAZING!!

I think this pic is pretty swell too; it's worth a thousand words...A full day at Disney and all this girl wanted was a balloon. Her uncle indulged her as we left the park and you'd have thought he'd lassoed the moon...

I wish the U.S. didn't have four corners. I wish there was no such thing as opposites like northwest and southeast and northeast. And I wish there was some way to shrink the distance...

Thankful for the Thorns

This week, as I am reflecting on all the ways God has blessed me, and all the obvious reasons to be thankful, I am compelled to thank Him also for the trials. The thorns in my flesh that have stretched me, that have challenged me, that have sanctified me, that have ultimately crowded me to Christ.

So, Happy Thanksgiving from our house to yours. May you take a moment to reflect on the thorns in your life and see the beauty that they have brought.

The Thanksgiving Special
Author Unknown

Sandra felt as low as the heels of her Birkenstocks as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door. Her life had been easy, like a spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, an automobile accident had stolen her ease. During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss. As if that weren’t enough, her husband’s company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come. What’s worse, Sandra’s friend infuriated her by suggesting her grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer.

Has she lost a child?—No. She has no idea what I’m feeling. Sandra shuddered. Thanksgiving? Thankful for what?—she wondered. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life but took that of her child?

“Good afternoon. Can I help you?” The flower shop clerk’s approach startled her. “Sorry,” said the clerk, whose name was Jenny. “I just didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.”

“I need an arrangement.”

“For Thanksgiving?”

Sandra nodded.

“Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the Thanksgiving Special?” Jenny saw Sandra’s curiosity and continued. “I’m convinced that flowers tell stories, that each arrangement suggests a particular feeling. Are you looking for something that conveys gratitude this Thanksgiving?”

“Not exactly!” Sandra blurted. “Sorry, but in the last five months, everything that could have gone wrong has.”

Sandra regretted her outburst but was surprised when Jenny said, “I have the perfect arrangement for you.” The door’s small bell suddenly rang.

“Barbara! Hi,” Jenny said. “I have your order ready. Just a moment.” She politely excused herself from Sandra and walked toward a small workroom. She quickly reappeared carrying a massive arrangement of greenery, bows, and long-stemmed thorny roses. Only, the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped, no flowers. “Want this in a box?” Jenny asked.

Sandra watched for Barbara’s response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems and no flowers! She waited for laughter, for someone to notice the absence of flowers atop the thorny stems, but neither woman did.

“Yes, please. It’s exquisite,” said Barbara. “You’d think after three years of getting the Special, I’d not be so moved by its significance, but it’s happening again. My family will love this one. Thanks.”

Sandra stared. Why so normal a conversation about so strange an arrangement? she wondered. Sandra pointed and blurted out, “That lady just left with, uh…”

“Yes?”

“Well, she had no flowers!”

“Right, I cut off the flowers.”

“Off?”

“Off. Yep. That’s the special. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet.”

“But, why do people pay for that?” In spite of herself, Sandra chuckled.

“Do you really want to know?”

“I couldn’t leave this shop without knowing. I’d think about nothing else!”

“Barbara came into the shop three years ago feeling very much like you feel today,” Jenny explained. “She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was taking drugs, and she faced major surgery.”

“Ouch!” said Sandra.

“That same year,” Jenny explained, “I had lost my husband. I assumed complete responsibility for the shop and for the first time, spent the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel.”

“What did you do?”

“I learned to be thankful for thorns.”

Sandra’s eyebrows lifted. “Thorns?”

“I’m a Christian. I’ve always thanked God for good things in life and I never thought to ask Him why good things happened to me. But when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask! It took time to learn that dark times are important. I had always enjoyed the ‘flowers’ of life but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God’s comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we’re afflicted and from His consolation we learn to comfort others.”

Sandra gasped. “A friend read that passage to me and I was furious! I guess the truth is I don’t want comfort. I’ve lost a baby and I’m angry with God.” She started to ask Jenny to go on when the door’s bell diverted their attention.

“Hey, Phil!” shouted Jenny as a balding, rotund man entered the shop. She softly touched Sandra’s arm and moved to welcome him. He pulled her to his side for a warm hug. “I’m here for twelve thorny long-stemmed stems!” Phil laughed, heartily.

“I figured as much,” said Jenny. “I’ve got them ready.” She lifted a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerated cabinet.

“Beautiful,” said Phil. “My wife will love them.”

Sandra could not resist asking. “These are for your wife?” Phil saw that Sandra’s curiosity matched his when he first heard of a thorn bouquet. “If you don’t mind my asking, why thorns?”

“I don’t mind. In fact, I’m glad you asked,” he said. “Four years ago my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but we slogged through, problem by rotten problem. God rescued our marriage—our love, really. Last Thanksgiving I stopped in here for flowers. I must have mentioned surviving a tough process because Jenny told me that for a long time she had kept a vase of rose stems—stems! —as a reminder of what she had learned from thorny times. That was good enough for me. I took home stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific thorny situation and give thanks for what the problem taught us. I’m pretty sure this stem review is becoming a tradition.”

Phil paid Jenny, thanked her again, and as he left, said to Sandra, “I highly recommend the Special!”

“I don’t know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life,” Sandra said to Jenny.

“Well, my experience says that the thorns make the roses more precious. We treasure God’s providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, Jesus wore a crown of thorns so that we might know His love. Do not resent thorns.”

Tears rolled down Sandra’s cheeks. For the first time since the accident she loosened her grip on resentment. “I’ll take twelve long-stemmed thorns, please.”

“I was hoping you would,” Jenny said. “I’ll have them ready in a minute. Then, every time you see them, remember to appreciate both good and hard times. We grow through both.”

“Thank you. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Nothing but a pledge to work toward allowing God to heal your heart. The first year’s arrangement is always on me.” Jenny handed a card to Sandra. “I’ll attach a card like this to your arrangement, but maybe you’d like to read it first. It’s a prayer that was written by a man who was blind. Go ahead, read it.”

My God, I have never thanked Thee for my thorn! I have thanked Thee a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorn. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear. Teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed to Thee by the path of pain. Show me that my tears have made my rainbow.
—George Matheson (1842–1906)

Jenny said, "Happy Thanksgiving, Sandra," handing her the Special. "I look forward to our knowing each other better."

Sandra smiled. She turned, opened the door, and walked toward hope.

… a thorn was given me in the flesh …Three times I pleaded to the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
II Cor 12:7-11 (ESV)