gifts

I have fought it these six years. The “you are center of the universe” birthday celebrations that spew gifts, cake, wrapping, singing, games, and more gifts in so many different directions and days that your head hurts. I will spare you the list of “trial and failure” celebrations – that did anything but keep the extravagance small – just spread it over weeks and made the grandparents subversive. And tonight I sit, on the verge of a grand celebration of Jude's sixth birthday party. This coming after a weekend with Jarod's parents where they visited his aunt – who took them to meet a herd of new friends, took a trip to a zoo, the theater, and then to Chuckie Cheese. This coming after an afternoon of rainbow cupcake decorating to share with his class and Monday night dinner. This after a week of trickle in gifts from every last international student who caught wind of the Big News. After legos, and glow in the dark sticker and pens, mugs and power rangers. Only slightly before the big sleepover with best friend at Grammee's new house.
No, tomorrow our son will be surrounded by over fifty people. From the men on the B team of the Buffalo's special olympics team, to his blind great grandmother, and grandparent's co-workers, to his best friends, and his friends that happen to be his friends' mothers, to whatever troop of world representatives want to roast a few hot dogs with us on that night. There will be games, and laughter and cake, and extra sugar. And there will be gifts. Oh so many gifts. And I cannot stop them. Because he is loved. My reserve over his abundance does not benefit another child who lacks. My stress over slippery slope materialism does nothing to assure a safe landing. Greed is found in the slums and jungle villages as deeply embedded as in a palace. We want nothing more for our children than to learn to love well – to give unconditionally – to know deeply the needs of others and to love in word and deed and truth. But, we missed something somewhere. In our endeavor to avoid greed we missed gratitude, and in our endeavor to teach them to love we missed using every moment to teach them that they are loved. That love begets love. To live a life surrounded by people, means not only an opportunity to love but to be loved in return. And that if God is infinite then we are all each – loved by that God – at the center of the universe each day. And for that – each day – our first job is to teach our children to say “Thank you”.

Dear Jesus,
Thank you for my son... and all the good gifts.

the photo shoot

Jude got school pictures so I thought I better keep things even betwixt the two:

Lucy, can you come inside? Mama wants to take your picture.

Kay, on my bike Kay? On my bike - here.

No Honey, it's too bright.

No, on my bike mommy.... PLEAZZE.

Ok, one on your bike then we go inside.

Ok. CHEEEEEEZZZEE...


Here, let's try here. on this chair.

I don't like it here.... CHaesa


Honey, your panties are showing. Put your legs down.

SO?? Chaese


Ok, stand up then.

I stand on chair? Ok mommy. cheese. Cheese. cheese. i like stand on chair mommy.





Lucy, Look here.

No - look over here mommy - chaese



Outside mommy. Please. Out on porch, mommy.

No, it's so bright.

I sit good mommy. Outside, PLEASE.

OK.

Like this mommy.


CHEESE.


CHAESSSSEE


CHEEASSSSSEE


CHAAAEEZZE

Ok. i done mommy.

Ok Lucy. Thank you. thank you. Thank you for being you. I like you. really. just. like. that.

Not free things

On most days I am a big proponent of the “best things in life are free” cliché. But today... I'm loving the things money can buy. For example – Emergency rooms and hospital stays and laproscopic surgeries aren't free. But I love them. I love that they successfully cure my husband.
I also love my pot rack. I feel shallow to say this. Domesticated beyond my wildest dreams. But with the amount I cook – the NOT having to reach on top of the refrigerator and shuffle through pans – makes me giddy. So giddy, my husband had to get my dad's help to hang it – the instant it came in the mail – or I would have made him use power tools while on codeine.
And speaking of cooking.
I didn't today. Really. At lunch we went to the annual pancake feed. YUM - as I eat sausage and watch small children have pancakes thrown on to their waiting plates. And for dinner, Saad is buying us all KFC - YUM (You have to love Saudi sympathy gestures). That, added to the pounds of candy, gourmet chips, and homemade steak Jarod has received in trade for his appendix, him getting sick is the best procurement of yummy food we have found in a long time. Yeah, I'd pay money for this life. Oh wait – we do... just not as much as we should :). Because gifts are good - and the people who give them... well - you just can't buy these people.

1000 Gifts: A Book Review

I have three reasons you should not read 1000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp and only one reason you should.

The first reason you should not read the book is because it is written by a homemade-bread-making-domestic-goddess who classically educates her six children while simultaneously traveling the world with a non-profit to fight hunger and homelessness where it reigns, OH and authoring books.
That is just annoying.
It makes the rest of us look bad.
Just pick one.
Your kids can learn Latin but either the bread baking or do-gooding has to go.

Number 2. Her writing style is as halting and complicated as her Canadian farm life is fluid and simple. I like to read. I don't particularly like to re-read and re-read a simple phrase just to make sure I got the hang of it. Maybe Canadians don't speak American- but I have never encountered this problem before. This forced meditation upon the daily tasks and attitudes that brim my own domestic life was a bit much. Must we dwell there? Really, haven't we all got better things to do than read about a housewife's journal of thankfulness. Haven't we all got better things to do than make a journal of our own?

And finally, this book is bothersome because this woman is a literalist. One who molds her life around cliches – builds life upon such principles as, “pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” 1 Thessalonians 5:17-18. She takes that stuff seriously. And a million other little phrases tucked deep within the Bible that I am sure were meant for greeting cards and hall plaques only – not to be lived – surely not to be meditated upon during an entire 9 months of potty training.

But the reason, that perhaps you should consider picking up this book, is that from the conviction between it's pages I feel a warmth in my heart that is starting to melt the ice cold heart of the 3 reasons to put the book down. The freezing self-loathing and not-measuring-up/never-good-enough hatred of everyone who “is” - the frosty judgment of others and hurry of my own life – the deadly cold to the Word of God and the God of His Word – the fear – the discontent. They have melted a little as I turned one slow page after another. It isn't the quick thaw that I would like – the 65 degree day of today that vanished 4 inches of snow before lunch. But rather that .5 degree overall global warmth of a soul. The small difference that they say will melt icebergs and glaciers – and change our world. Like the sacred Work of Worship that Ann's own book is based on, there is a power in the Truth that can transform our lives. The truth that God loves me and is loving me in every moment of my life has the power to warm my frozen soul. .5 degrees ... one thanksgiving at a time.

Thank you Andrea for the book – thank you for the grace. Always.

NOTE: Please do not assume I agree with or am even comfortable with everything in this book (or any other book I recommend)... I sift as I read...

gift 42: Friday afternoon dress up:


gift 45: New finality to an old love/ a picture of a chosen son/ Jonah's adoption


gift 44: the five year old behind the camera


gift 46: The genius of a museum with an indoor sandbox in winter

King Abdullah's snow ice cream

How we spend our days is truly how we spend our lives. We eat my life every night – at least 1 hour of my day. We eat it. We tramp our snow dripping boots all over my life today. We will again tomorrow. My life is wiped away on a kleenex, with snot, with a tear, with saliva from my niece's tooth that she has been “loosing” since 2010. My life is typed and printed, one Bible study sheet at a time, one basic English assignment at a time – two pages of sentences using the word “enough”.
It's never enough.
There is never enough life to be lived – time to be shared – experiences to be had – when you share your life with so many... who speak SO slowly. And the days that you truly know you have “sucked the marrow out of life” - you feel more deeply that life has sucked the marrow out of you. There is little time for contemplation in this life – this “new normal.” I am learning to contemplate during morning Yoga with Seonjin, between phrases with Saad, and rocking Lucy for 2 minutes before her nap (if she doesn't fall asleep in the car) but rarely does it translate itself onto a page or into my memory. And I find I have spiritual amnesia and EQ of a two year old.
Lessons relearned for the first time tomorrow, I guarantee it.
But I sit here tonight in peace – with my life eaten today, printed today, vanished to everyone but this page. These days make for a good life.
We threw a party for the return of King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia. An 89 year old man in failing health, returns to his country after months of recuperation abroad. And Salah says, “The whole country is in celebration. It is good he returns.”
“Yes,” I say, “It is good he returns for now Bahrian and Yemen look unsettled too... maybe your country will have some trouble.”
“No,” he is firm, “no trouble in my country – all the people happy – all the people love the king.”
Saad stands in salute – more passionate than I have seen him, “I love YOU king Abdullah!”
I responded that we should celebrate too – for this king I know nothing of – who I am sure I would not love as a covered and hidden woman in his country – but I am moved my their sincere adoration of this man. That somewhere in the world people are actually happy to have their king return – and someday in this world – I know a righteous king will return. They move me.
Now I have been thanked a hundred times over for the falafel, the hummus, the homemade pita, the red velvet cake with the photo of King Abdullah. And the homemade snow ice cream in Abdullah's honor, and the Chinese vs. Jarod ping-pong game that followed. Yes, this is how we spend our days – they are special. I venture to guess we are the only people on planet earth who made snow ice cream and played ping pong in hour of the return of an old Middle Eastern King tonight. This smashed between Junie B. Jones and a beautiful Bible Study. What a day. What a life.

Tomorrow we venture to teach Zumba to 11 Asians and 4 Baptist. I just don't know when to stop.

Full house

Here it is folks.... 10 months - and ten thousand hours of prayers and work. AND....
We have a full house.
Let's see how this experiment goes!



(Left to right, back: Salah, Saudi Arabian ESL student; Jarod :); Lucy; Saad, Saudi Arabian ESL student; Tony, Chinese MBA; Jude.
Front: Marrina, Chinese MBA; Amanda; Jessie, Chinese Political Science and LSAT studier; Seonjin, Korean English major.)

Interesting side note - two years ago today I posted a blog called "introductions" where I introduced you to friends in Honduras... today we got a mail package from Honduras and I am thinking my next blog should be "introductions at 703 Fort."
My life is full of amazing people!

On total disasters

Today has not been kind to my daughter. Breakfast for the children was supposed to be an independent activity while I took a quick shower. And while I had been forewarned by Jude, mid-shower, that things weren't going so well, i.e. Lucy was dumping the milk from her spoon onto her forehead to see if she could get any in her mouth, I was not expecting the entire table and floor to be covered with what I thought was a small bowl of cereal and cup of strawberry milk. Nor was I expecting the exuberant exclamation of her accomplishment followed by a cheerful pumping of the fists, “I made a mess, I made a mess, I made a BIG mess.” And while a spanking at 8:30 is not an unusual way for her to start the day it still does not set a good tone.
The morning's activities included bed making (in which the blankets baffle her and the exorbitant amount of stuffed animals that she INSISTS on sleeping with – daunts even me in the task of arrangement) and room cleaning, which, more often than not, finds her on the floor searching for lint and stray hairs to bring my way, “There ya go mommy,” rather than doing anything useful – like say – picking up one of a million polly pocket pieces. Why did I ever think THAT would be a good toy for my child? After the chores we busied ourselves making thank you and birthday cards – which found her more covered with marker than anything – and me frustrated that I hadn't thought to allow 45 minutes to find and replace the marker lids. So, running late, I thought an apple, PB&J, and a Chinese push-up jelly desert in the car sounded like a good idea (because, did I mention it is REALLY windy? - bad for errands – bad for the poor girl's hair). Poor Lucy – she hadn't a chance. After struggling with the apple through the first 3 errands she was 4 tiny scrapped bites in and moved on to the sandwich. I wasn't able to see her from the drivers position but from the exuberant sounds coming from her seat I could tell I had made a bad choice. Pulling into the parking lot I calmly said, “Lucy are you a TOTAL disaster?”
“NO,” Came the confident response.
And Jude, the ever loving brother – whose day had been going considerably better than hers, with all tasks fully within his ability, looked at her with amusement and arrogance and smirked, “Yes, Lucy, you are a TOTAL DISASTER.”
And from the bask seat with a cry of desperation one would think possible only from a fully grown woman on the brink of a complete life collapse came a little voice, “NO, I don't WANT to be a total disaster. I don't want to be a TOTAL disaster.” Smeared from rumpled head to backward shoed toes with her her sticky lunch my daughter sat sobbing, “I don't want to be a total disaster.”

Yeah. I know. Me either.
But some of us are just born that way – and life (and people) just keep handing you things to make you disaster-er. Sorry, I didn't help you out today. I promise – no more PB&J in the car – and those chinese push-up things – we'll stop trying to teach you how to push up from the bottom and this summer I won't even bother with the cheapo push-up Popsicles either. Other than that, I'll probably keep handing you difficult things that fluster you to no end. But before I do, I want to take this quick moment to give you some advice - from one total disaster to another:

1.Look in the mirror each day and say, “Jesus loves you. Really. Just the way you are.”
2.Ignore people like your brother who think they have it all together – he's a disaster too – just kind of a “closet” disaster, if you will.
3.It might be a good idea to marry someone who loves you very much just the way you are but who is a little more of a “closet” disaster person – it's working for me. I recommend finding someone who can at least balance the check book without crying and can light a fire without burning the house down (On a side note – it might be a good idea if you never try to light a fire. Ever.)
4.I think it would be a ok, if you want, (once you are out of your father's house) to just shave your head. I never got the hang of hair and I am doubting you will either. It's just kind of a pain and you are going to have way bigger things to worry about.
5.Finally, other than these few things – you should probably just ignore me – I am going to drive you nuts because when two total disasters collide it is dangerous (I think there is some kind of mathematical equation proving that – about momentum or something.) But speaking of momentum, just know I am not at all worried about you really. Overwhelmed, but not worried – you have the momentum to keep you a float. You will grab life by the horns and the bull will never know what hit her. You are ONE joyful disaster – and you bring joy in your whirlwind.



After everything that happened this morning – and the melt down over her natural state – and her wipe down from her physical sate - she was up and running – through Wal-mart and she then even did a couple of laps around the house for good measure before sitting down to read her nap time story. I took this lovely photo of her right before she went to sleep – to remind me of the day – she reminded me that she felt too – just like me. The day we bonded over our brokenness. What you don't see here – and what I didn't notice at the time – is that somehow I missed a big chunk of grape jelly on her butt and now it on the couch. So here is my advice for anyone else out there. Love us – my daughter and I – but you might want to protect anything easily harmed from our direct contact.

P.S. I think I just put her down for a nap without taking her potty first.