Deep Thoughts by Ali and Spencer

Disclaimer: This post is in no way meant to ignite any religious fervors. It is meant to make you smile at a conversation between my son and me. If you do not agree with the religious views of my family, feel free to pray for us... silently. You know what? Go ahead and pray for us anyway. We can use all of 'em we can get!



I started laughing at this tailgate. And I took a picture of it.

Spencer was in the car with me and said, "What are you taking a picture of?"
I said, "That truck."
"Why?"
"He's just got a lot of things happening there on his tailgate... He's advertising his business and he's saying 'Heaven or Hell? Time is running out! Do you know Jesus?'"
"What does that mean?"
"Well, babe. There are some people who think you either believe in Jesus and go to Heaven, or you don't and you go to Hell. But, I think that's judging people a lot more than I'm comfortable judging them. It's not our job to say who's going to Hell. That's God's."
"Hell. Is that where the Devil lives?"
"Yep. Where the Devil lives. It's a really terrible place. And, I know me and my family are going to Heaven because we believe Jesus died for our sins so we wouldn't be separated from God. But, if someone else tells me that in their heart they feel right about what they believe in, I think we're supposed to love them and not judge them and tell them they're going to Hell...
Now. If someone's worried that they won't go to Heaven, I'll tell them all about Jesus! Because I know that Jesus will get you into Heaven. He's a get-into-Heaven-free-card."
"So, Jesus lets you go to Heaven for free?!"
"Yep. Anyone who believes that Jesus died for our sins gets to go to Heaven - no questions asked."
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"What's a deli?"
"A place where they sell meat and cheeses and sandwiches."
"Can we eat at McDonald's tonight?"
"No."

Sometimes it feels like I'm being punk'd.

Whatcha been up to? Well, funny you should ask.

It's been busy around here. What's new, right?

Well, for starters, Spencer had a project due the week before Thanksgiving. It was the student's choice for a subject of Thanksgiving, Indians^★, or Pilgrims. But, it had to include a visual project, a written report, a cover page and an oral report. Parental help was encouraged. Because the teachers hate parents.

Also? I'm pretty sure I didn't do a project with so many components until I was in college.

But, we got it done. We're diorama-making fools around this house.

And, although I didn't get a picture of it (because I was exhausted), Spence's cover page was a Comanche Indian with yarn braids down each side of his head, tied with leather straps and a feather. And the part in his hair was even colored with white "clay." Oh, yeah. We brought it.

But, I think Shawn and I were both most proud of how many times our shy boy practiced his oral presentation until a) he knew it by heart; b) he could speak up; and c) he could look up and make eye-contact occasionally while speaking. Quite an improvement for the boy who hid his face two-inches behind his paper for the entire oral report he presented last year in first grade.

I made a Thanksgiving treat for the kids' classmates. I mean. We all knew I would, didn't we?

That's just a mini Reese's peanut butter cup upside down on a
fudge-striped cookie, stuck down and decorated with frosting.

There was Grandparents' Day at the kids' school. My mom and step-dad drove up. And, Shawn's mom had to jump through hoops to get time away from work. But, she did. So, the kids had two of their three sets of grandparents there. They got to show them around the school, and take them to a reception. And, there was a special chapel service. It was all very sweet and special to the kids.

*We found Lulu's lost splint. In the Barbie basket. Duh. Where else would it be? So now we have a spare (that the darling Occupational Therapist made us for no charge)! This is a good thing. The original splint has been lost again on no less than four other occasions for varying amounts of time on each occurrence.

Speaking of that broken finger and splint: we had a check-up last week on that little ol' bone. It's healing well, the doctor said. But, there is still a missing bit in the center of the bone that needs time to knit itself back together. One more week in the splint. She's such a responsible little trooper about it, though. She's the first one to say, "I don't have my splint on!"

There was Thanksgiving. But, in order to keep this post under a thousand words, that post will have to wait until tomorrow.

And, then there was church yesterday.

Here's what's funny. I can drive myself insane worrying about where we should go to church. We've tried going to a mega-church. But, all of our friends that are members there are a part of a "small group/Bible study" that is "closed." So, we never could figure out how to feel "plugged in" - not that the church doesn't try. They really encourage you to come to a once-a-month "Get Plugged In" meet and greet where they'll match you up with like-minded people so you can start your own "small group." Shawn and I just couldn't do it. It felt like a weird speed-dating session to make church friends. And, Lulu straight-up didn't like Sunday School there. I don't think they did anything wrong. I think it was just huge - four classes for Lulu's grade alone. We never knew who her teacher would be or who would be in her class. She would see some friends she knew... but then they would be assigned to a different room. And she told us she didn't know the songs they sang. But, when Little Miss Congeniality with the most confidence in our family is uncomfortable somewhere... it might not be the right fit for our family. Spence liked it. But, Spence liked it because he had a friend from school who was in his Sunday School class - a security blanket.

And, then my great friend Springer sent me a book by Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies. It was interesting. Clearly Springer thinks I'm a whole lot deeper than the usually fluff I read (Note to self: Send Springer a copy of The Hunger Games). But, it was worth the read for even just this one concept I took away from it. I'm sure I will paraphrase this badly, but Lamott said she was told, when praying to God for the answer to a problem, don't look for the big billboard announcing the final answer. Look at the small spotlight He's shining for you to take to the next step. Then, once there, look for the next spotlight. Just keep stepping from spotlight to spotlight until, the next thing you know, you've arrived at the solution.

So. I took a step into the spotlight yesterday.

We have other friends. (I know. Shocker.) They go to the lost-my-child-church (which we didn't know at the time of the "Lost Child" incident). They were talking about their awesome Adult Sunday school (that's open to new-comers)! They helped us figure out where it was, what time it started and were excited that we were there. And, y'all? The Director of Young Adult Ministry that teaches the class? Amazing. A-maz-ing.

We dropped Lulu off at the playroom - where there is an extensive new check-in procedure complete with sticker identification for each child. Holla! (All of our friends really do say to us, though, "Ummm. So. We hear we have you to thank for this." They don't seem so thankful, though... ;) After Sunday School, we went to ask Lulu if she wanted to leave the playroom to come sing songs with us in Big Church. She did not. She wanted to stay and keep working on crafts.

Spencer has one classmate who goes to church there that he knew of before we arrived. He wasn't there yesterday. But, lo and behold, his very best playmates from down the street go to church there! And, they did go to church yesterday, much to Spence's delight. Then, during the Children's Service portion of Big Church, Spence realized that one of his buddies from flag football goes to church there, too.

The church service was just non-liturgical enough to remind Shawn of the Bible Church in which he grew up, but just traditional enough to feel "like church" to him, too. Shawn does not like "rock bands" in church. I don't mind them. This church has a guitarist with singers. Shawn is okay with that. We both agree that the service really is a perfect mix for us.

As we drove home yesterday, Spence said, "I want this to be our church."

You know what, son? I think I do, too.

^★It seems that we can say Indian again instead of Native American. Who knew?

Judge Thy Neighbor?

I saw this on Pinterest the other day:

Source: notebooknumberfour.tumblr.com via Ali on Pinterest

The caption read:

A group of Christians showed up at a Chicago [gay] Pride Parade in July. They were holding up signs saying “I’m sorry that Christians judge you," “I’m sorry for how the churches treated you,” and “I used to be a bible-banging homophobe, I’m sorry.” THIS IS LOVE.

This spoke to me like it was using a bullhorn.

I feel like everywhere I look these days someone is judging someone else. Someone is trying to inflict the life God has called them to live on someone else. And, I'll be honest. Sometimes that person is me. I have to constantly remind myself that just because someone else's life is not the life that I am called to live, doesn't make the other person's life wrong.

God never called us to judge anyone. And, we as Christians may call it "holding each other accountable" (just like we don't "gossip" - we have "prayer chains"), but let's call a spade a spade. We're judging each other. And, I personally would love to shake the hand of the person who is able to pick the speck out of their brother's eye because they don't have a plank in their own.

Go ahead. Throw that first stone.

Me? I'm going to try really hard to just love.

"Mom? Can we get him some food?"

"Mom? Can we get him some food?"

I have to be honest. My first thought was "Oh yeah. Spence can read now." That meant he had seen the guy sitting by the mall entrance with the handwritten sheet of paper that said, "Hungry. Please help."

I, too, had seen the sign. But, the guy looked well fed. And, I had a thousand errands to do - with two kids who were slowly losing patience.

But, I answered, "Of course we can."

I pulled into the Fazoli's drive-thru. I ordered a sandwich and a Coke. I was still having every cynical thought possible:

"That guy doesn't want food. It's just a scam to get people to give him money."

"I've heard of people who just throw away the food people bring them because they just want cash."

"He probably won't even be there when we get back."

But, I kept my mouth shut. I don't want to ruin Spencer's innocent view of the world. I don't want him to learn, just yet, that sometimes people don't tell the truth. And, anyway, Spence was concerned with how slow the drive-thru was being. And, he kept asking me where the guy was. And, where was the mall entrance because he couldn't see it.

We got the food. We headed back toward the mall. As we turned toward the entrance, I saw the guy get up from his spot and cross into the Dairy Queen parking lot. I pulled up to him with my car, rolled down the window, held out the food, smiled and said, "We got you this."

It's then, when he began to speak, that I realized he was mentally challenged. He said, "Oh, wow. Thanks." He held out a wad of what looked like one dollar bills to me and said cheerfully, "A guy just gave me this. Do you want it?"

I told him to keep it for later. I told him to have a great day.

We pulled away and I could only say, "Spencer. I am so proud of you," before I choked up. Later, I told him, "That's exactly the way God wants us to treat each other. You made God so happy today."

"Let the little children come to me," indeed.

There is more Christ-like love in one little child's heart than all of we world-weary adults combined.

Walking, Anyone?

You all must be tired of hearing about this. Because I know I'm tired of talking about it.

So, looooong story short(er).

I don't know if I'm a fabulous healer or if you all have been praying. (Well, I know you've been praying because you've told me. Thank you. Truly.) But...

I'm walking!

Shawn and I used all the patience we had with this "wait and see" thing. So, we went back to the old home town (remember how the surgeon in our new town was on vacation for three weeks?), took full advantage of some of our friends, and got in to see the orthopedic surgeon. (This was an even easier decision to make since our kids are on their annual lake trip with their cousins, Shawn's folks and his aunt & uncle this week. Hol-la!)

The surgeon looked at the MRI and examined me. (*ahem* I might be the jumpiest patient that ever existed. He would touch my foot. I would fly three feet in the air. He would say, "Does that hurt?!" And, I would say, "Um... no." Seriously. Even I was embarrassed for myself.) He asked about my reconstruction when I was a twelve-year-old. (Turns out that business was cutting edge twenty-five years ago. Oh. That just made me sad to think I was twelve twenty. five. years. ago.), and said this:

The tendon is where it should be and is healing well. (That was my misunderstanding. The tendon probably *snappped* around the bone when I fell... but popped back. Or who knows what popped in there. I'm not working with a paragon of body parts here. It could have been anything.) I have an unusual amount of bruising (I just like all the pretty purple, blues and greens - and I think more is better!) and I am feeling nerve pain in places where I shouldn't. (Seriously, Ali? Must you always be unique?) So, what I need to do is this-kind-of-therapy and that-kind-of-therapy, wear the air splint (that I loathe), and come back in two weeks.

We left, I confirmed with Shawn that the only precaution/babying that the doctor suggested was the splint. Things might hurt a bit, but I wasn't going to damage it further by trying to use it or put weight on it (which, to add to my own personal brand of anxiety, is exactly what caused the extensive damage when I was a kid). Shawn agreed and I spent the afternoon trying to walk on it.

It's ugly and lurching. I kind of look like Frankenstein. But, it's walking!

Now. How long to you think it will take Shawn before he realizes I've been faking this whole thing just to get out of doing laundry?

The Differences are Gifts from God

The weekly school newsletter arrived. Our chaplain described the services planned for this Holy Week before Easter. The Maundy Thursday service was to include the eighth graders washing the feet of the younger children who wished to participate.

I sent this email to the chaplain and Spencer's teacher:

April 14, 2011 Hi Mother J* and AB*,

I was reading through the Holy Week services that are planned for next week. What wonderful things you have planned for the kids, Mother J!

I just wanted to give you both a quick note about Spencer. He was born with fused bones in his feet and webbed toes. It doesn't affect his mobility at all, and we rarely think of or notice it at our house - he even wears flip flops with pride. But, it does make his feet look different. The couple of times in his life he's ever even mentioned it, we just tell him his feet are that way because that's exactly how God wanted them to be made and we think they're even better than everybody else's feet because they're 100% unique.

Shawn and I wish he could go through his whole life as confident and unconcerned about his feet as he is today. But, we're not naive enough to believe that being "different" doesn't get to be an issue the older kids get; or that another child's reaction to his feet won't hurt him someday.

So, just in case he chooses to participate in the feet washing during the Maundy Thursday service, I felt better making you both aware. Thanks for listening to this overly sensitive mom. :) -ali

Spencer's teacher and I received this response:

Dear Ali, Thank you for this information. I agree that being given special gifts by God is a blessing, but I also know that children can be unaware of how hurtful they can be if someone’s blessing is different from theirs. A, I can easily take Spencer to a station for foot washing where the older child is sensitive and understanding. I will be “floating“ that morning and will be aware of when and if Spencer gets up to have his feet washed. I will stand in your section of the nave until your children have had their feet washed. Ali, thank you for contacting us. You’re a precious Mama. Much love, J

Touched? Wouldn't even begin to describe it. When I sent her a thanks, I told her I had tears in my eyes. That wasn't the truth. They were rolling down my face.

The tears?

They were partly for the frustration that we do live in a world where kids can be cruel to each other; and I can't protect my child from it; and to learn to get along in this great big ol' world, he's going to have to learn to endure the injustices of it. I will be able to do nothing more than sit on the sidelines while my heart breaks.

But, mostly? The tears were overwhelming gratitude for the reminder that there are angels that surround my children and love them when I'm not there.

*Names have been abbreviated to protect the angels. ;)

Sí, Yo Estoy Aprendiendo Español

Yes, I'm learning Spanish because, well, duh. Why wouldn't I be learning Spanish?

Actually, I'm learning Spanish for Lent. I don't usually like to talk about what I'm doing for Lent*, but I realized it was a little odd to announce that I was learning Spanish without a bit of an explanation.

Anyway, I stole my mom's Rosetta Stone. And... I'm off.

I've finished Lesson 1. So, pretty much, if you need me say "hello," "goodbye," or tell you that he/she/they are eating/drinking/running/reading/or cooking... I might be able. If you gave me some time to think about it.

And, that Spanish title for this post?

I had to use Google Translator.

*(DISCLAIMER: The following expressed views, opinions, positions or strategies are Ali's alone and do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions, positions or strategies of any other religious and/or reasonable person in this universe.) I think Lent is our time to think about the sacrifice and gift God gave to each of us, personally, on Easter. Therefore, whatever we sacrifice or dedicate as a penitence to God should probably be kept between us and God, don't you think? I mean, I know someone might ask, or you might have to explain why you're passing on that glass of wine (so people don't accuse you of being pregnant and then you're all mad and that's not what God intended for his children...) - I mean, I don't hold it as closely a guarded secret as I would, say, my cherry pie recipe. But I don't know. For me, it's personal.

But, don't even get me started on the people who use Lent as their own personal kick-start to a diet every year... But, I'm not judging. Nope. I gave that up for Lent, too. Oh. Wait. Damn...

She's Just a Small Town Girl, Living in a Lonely World

{I don't know if I'll even post this, or if I'm just doing some therapeutic writing.}

I noticed last night that I only posted nine times in the entire month of January. NINE. That's terrible. I think my creative juices are blocked because of what I'm trying not to say.

I hate to get too "heavy" on this here little, ol' blog. Life is "heavy" enough without dwelling on it. I prefer to find the things to laugh about. I survive finding the things to laugh about.

But, we're officially moved in. Life is in a routine. I clean. I run errands. I cook dinner. Shawn goes to work. The kids go to school. The four of us have never gotten along so well together or had so much fun with each other.

And, I'm lonely.

Now, here's the primary reason I will hesitate to publish this post: I don't want all of my friends from the old hometown calling everyone they know up here, putting out a APB on the lonely girl. I don't want to be set up on a million blind dates.

I also don't want to be pitied. I will be fine. I will make friends. I'm not at all worried about that. I just want all of that to have happened yesterday. We've discussed my complete lack of patience before, haven't we?

I just want time to move faster. I want to go to those events; help out at that school function; go to dinner with Shawn's associates; and, get to know people. And, I want it to happen now. I want to have my place in this space.

That all takes time.

{I just re-read this. "I want. I want. I want." I can almost hear God saying, "Yeah, Al. But, that's not what you need. I got this. Relax." (But, I don't literally hear Him. I promise. I don't hear voices. Yet.) Have you ever heard that saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." I like that. I am that.}

Ok. I just needed to say it type it out loud. I feel better. The first one of you to pity me or call "because you're worried about me," is going to get kicked in the crotch.

Let the sarcasm resume.

{What do you know? I decided to post it...}

Moving Update: Peaceful

So. I must be coming across as such a basket case that people have begun praying for me. (Which is good. Because I am a basket case and I do need you to pray for me.)

But, people, I have felt the prayers. I awoke this morning, so overcome with sadness. Today would be filled with so many "lasts." And, Shawn didn't make that last flight home (although, the mediation was successful - can I have an "HALLELUJAH!"?), so he would miss the kids' last day at school. I was so overwhelmed that it felt like my arms were floating. That's about the time the first person told me they were praying for me.

The kids and I got in the car to drive to school. (Here's the part where I would like to be able to tell you that I lovingly herded them through our morning routine without shouting and snapping their heads off, but that would be a lie. I was stressed out, we were running late and I took it out on the innocents in my path. Parenting Fail. *clink clink - coins in the therapy fund.* I did apologize to them. *taking some coins out for a Starbucks*)

In the car, Elizabeth was holding her stuffed poodle and Spencer was holding his nutcracker. This is the conversation I overheard:

"Nutcracker, do you want to go on a date night?"

"No."

"Ok. Do you want to have a sleepover?"

"Yes."

"Ok. Come on. Let's go to my room."

Ok. That's just funny. I don't care who you are. That poodle is a Good Time Girl!

I smiled.

I got to school and there was a letter labeled "Ali Johnson" in Elizabeth's cubby. It was quite a few pages. I opened it and read:

"Oh! The Places You'll Go!

by the incomparable Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You're off to Great Places!

You're off and away!..."

It was the poem Oh! The Places You'll Go! with a note written at the end. I gulped and crammed it back into the envelope from which it had come. I gulped. I gulped. I blinked. I smiled and blurted out a goodbye to Elizabeth. I walked out and thought, "Who DID that?!" I went to the last page and saw the signature. I sought out my friend, Elizabeth's teacher from last year, Lindl and yelled at her for trying to make me cry on the last day of school.

We both laughed.

It was only moments ago that I finally felt like I would be able to read the note she added at the end of the poem without crying. It was so undeservedly kind. And, she asked me at the end if I needed to go potty (a reference to the little Ali that was in Elizabeth's pre-3 class last year. Every time Lindl asked, "Ali, do you need to go potty?" I thought, "Did she really just ask me that?" It took a good two weeks before I stopped being confused every single morning at drop-off).

I laughed.

The 1st graders had a Going-Away Party for Spence. They each told him something they liked about him or a memory they had of him. One little girl said she liked Spencer "because sometimes he really looked cute."

I smiled.

Then this happened on Twitter:

I laughed.

Our darling, sweet chaplain said a prayer specifically for our family during the Lessons and Carols service. It brought me peace.

Priscilla sat with me at Lessons and Carols. She reminded me that I accidentally groped her the other night and my finger got hung in her bra.

I laughed. hard.

It's so easy to be tough when the kids are around. If they saw me sad about this move, they would think, "Wait. What? You're taking us to a SAD place?!" So, I put on a smile. I say we're off on our new adventure. I tell them to tell the people who love us that we'll be back to visit! And, I ignore the ache in my chest.

But, now I'm sitting here alone. The kids are off playing with friends down the street. Movers are packing all around me. And, you. You are praying for my family and me.

There's still the ache in my chest. But, things keep making me smile and laugh.

I am at peace.

Faith is Belief in Things Not Seen

Ever since I was a girl, I've thought of sunbeams as a visible sign of God. Like He's reaching down from Heaven to touch the face of His creation.

But, I only ever see sunbeams shining down through cloud, or trees.

I sat in my car yesterday on a perfectly ordinary day, at a perfectly ordinary stop light. Everything I saw with my eyes was perfectly ordinary.

I turned on my phone. It was still on the camera function. This is what I saw.

I lowered the phone. I looked around. Nothing. I raised the phone. Sunbeams. I lowered it. Nothing. I raised it. Sunbeams.

"Whaddup, God? Message received. Thanks."

May God grant you always...

a sunbeam to warm you,

a moonbeam to charm you,

a sheltering Angel

so nothing can harm you.

Laughter to cheer you.

Faithful friends near you.

And whenever you pray,

Heaven to hear you.

                       -Irish Blessing

Just as there comes a warm sunbeam into every cottage window, so comes a love - born of God’s care for every need.

                       -Nathaniel Hawthorne

Love Thy Neighbor and all that stuff

[this soapbox is motivated by a friend's spirited Facebook thread yesterday...]

I'm fighting mad. I have NO tolerance for ignorance or hate. That's just about it. Those are my hot-buttons. I am as passive and non-confrontational as they come. But, you wanna "go"?  Just be an ignorant hate-monger. Then, you will see every ounce of shaky-teary-trembly-voiced-angry that is in me.

Well, I'm riled up. About the "Ground Zero Mosque".

First of all, way to go main-stream media for whipping the country into a frothy lather over this one with the title alone. It's a Muslim community center that includes a mosque. And, it is two blocks from Ground Zero (which is a hundred establishments and a world apart in lower Manhattan).

But, let's put it in perspective. Can you imagine if some fringe-whack-jobs did something deplorable in the name of Christianity? (Not hard to do: think Nazis, think Waco, think Jim Jones, think Warren Jeffs. Oh geez. That list was too easy to make...) How would we "normal", respectful Christians feel later if we weren't allowed to build a church because of it?

Mosques are not evil, people. They are places of worship. What those whack-jobs did on 9/11 was evil. It's apples and oranges.

If you're interested in people's "rights", here were some great comments from yesterday:

Mike: "Like the Alamo, Normandy, Auschwitz, Abu Ghraib, and countless other places, the World Trade site is sacred ground because it's a reminder of the best and worst in humans. Religious freedom is no less sacred. In a free nation, a mosque, cathedral, church or synagogue doesn't disrespect sacred ground - it confirms it."

Rob: "This is a private landowner deciding what to do with his own land. There's nothing illegal about opening up a mosque, so there's nothing we can do about it. Don't like it? Make the guy an offer and buy the land from him. "

And, before any of you make my blood boil by saying anything about the evil that is the Muslim faith, please read the book The Faith Club and then get back with me.

Soapbox, out.

I'm scared to post this because I don't want you to know how deep my issues run

Sometimes I can tell God is forcing me to become the person I'm meant to be. I usually don't like it.  I usually stomp my feel like a little girl who doesn't get candy for dinner.  But, when this has happened in the past, it has always, always, always worked for good - just as soon as I stopped the tug-of-war and turned over control to Him.  It has all led to the beautiful life I have.

I have healthy and (usually) happy children. My husband makes it clear that he adores me (and, surprisingly, this has much less to do with love notes and roses than it does with helping to put the kids to bed; and doing the dishes; and, hearing - no LISTENING to - me when I have something to say.)  I am healthy. I have friends who love me. I get to be the stay-at-home mom I always hoped to be.

It's not the perfect life for everyone, but it's the perfect life for me.

Yet, even with history on His side, I still resist.  I want things my way - the way I envision them.  But, just like Peter, every time I take my eyes off Jesus and focus instead on the storm around me, I start to sink. Every time. I start to think I'm not good enough and never will be.  I start to wonder why in the world people would want to be friends with such a freak as me.  I forget that I am perfectly the person He made me to be.

Sometimes I think I'm a little slow.

Does anyone else do this?  The Magic 8 Ball of your life says "Outlook good [if you would just shut up and trust]", but the devil on your shoulder tells you you're still not good enough to deserve your blessings; tells you to work a little bit harder to do it your way?

The Horses are Teaching Everyone

Spence won a week at Equestrian Camp as a door prize at our school's Spring Fling fundraiser.  It's at our university's Equestrian Center and it's really quite amazing.  He started yesterday and has already ridden "his" horse, Scarlett, "all by himself - without a teacher touching the ropes or anything."  (He says he went "medium".  But, he's going to learn to go "fast" and then "super fast".) Wow.  You go, Buffalo Bill.

The Equestrian Center also has a program that is near and dear to our hearts - The Therapeutic Riding Center.  A few years back, it came to the attention of Shawn and his co-workers that this unbelievable program was having to haul its horses (and these aren't just any horses - these are the cream of the crop, gentle, patient, smart) in an old, dilapidated trailer.  The floor actually broke out from under one of the horses and his leg fell through (luckily the horse was okay).  So, Shawn's office single-handedly pooled their individual resources and bought them a top-of-the-line horse trailer.  Then, realizing that the school didn't have a pickup that could easily pull it - they bought them one of those, too!  Truly, it is an amazing group of people with whom Shawn works.

Fast forward to yesterday and I showed Spence the trailer. This morning we started talking about The Therapeutic Riding Center.  I told him how riding horses could teach kids who learn differently than he does.  I told him I didn't know if his "teachers" from camp are the same "teachers" that the kids at the TRC have.  Those teachers are amazingly skilled and help the kids learn even more than just how to ride a horse. "They're just as smart as your teachers at school, but they use horses instead of chalkboards!" (Picture me feeling smug and proud of my analogy.)

He looked at me thoughtfully.  I thought we were going to continue our deep, philosophical discussion about how God has made us all differently, but perfectly the people we are supposed to be...

And, he said to me, "Mom...  What's a chalkboard?"

Ouch.  The horses have now even taught me - that I'm old.  Does anyone have an abacus I could borrow?  I seem to have misplaced mine.

Hey, Man at McDonald's:

What's the story behind all of those hideous homemade tattoos on your forearms?  With your clean shaven head and your non-descript work shirt, I have to assume that you're on your lunch break from some kind of gainful employment.  You ate your food so quickly, you got back in line for your dessert, cleaned up your table and headed out the door.  Your face seemed sweet.  But, your tattoos were scary.  They tell a story.  And, I wonder if it's a story you want told anymore.

The Mother Bear in me wanted you to stop looking at me and my children. But, the Mommy in me wondered if anyone ever let you choose where you wanted to eat lunch when you were four- or six-years old; and if anyone ever made you feel like the king of the world by granting your request to eat inside the McDonald's.

I don't know.  And, you're gone now.  And, I won't lie and say that I didn't check to make sure you weren't lingering anywhere near my car when we left, too.  But, I did say a prayer for you, Man at McDonald's.  You'll never know that.  But, I prayed that, no matter where you've come from, from here on out you'll find happiness, kindness, peace and opportunity.

And, I prayed for myself.  I asked forgiveness because I still judge people for their outward appearance.

I pray that I can be one of the people that show you kindness, Man at McDonald's.

Pentecost

Ok.  There has not been one moment to take a breath since Shawn's birthday.  The end of the school year is a blur of activity!  Who knew?!  Well, I guess every grade school parent who's ever gone before me - I, clearly, just wasn't listening very closely.

Anyhoo...  Sunday was Pentecost.  And, I know it's a little bit sad that a lot (okay, most) of the things I learn in church, I learn when the pastor is teaching the kids.  But, hey.  At least I'm learning something, right?  And what I learned on Sunday was that Pentecost is the third most important holiday in the Christian church after (Oh, come on.  You know this...) Christmas and Easter.  It's the seventh Sunday after Easter and commemorates the descent of the Holy Spirit on Jesus' disciples.  When it happened, they were able to speak in all the different languages of the people assembled with them in Jerusalem.  (Acts 2:1-47)  And, it also gave them the ability to go out to all the world and spread the story of Christ.  Therefore, it is commonly considered the "birth day" of the Church.

So there.  Now you know, too.

But, I'd be lying if I didn't say that one of the things I like about Pentecost is that everyone wears red (and God would know if I was lying).  But, my God is a pretty cool guy, so I can't figure that He minds too much.  Red symbolizes joy and the fire of the Holy Spirit.  And, that brings me to this: The sweet picture of me and the kids with my step-dad, Bill (aka "Pop").

Happy Pentecost!

Meeting Ashley

We took a road trip to Garden City, Kansas this weekend to meet our new great-niece, Ashley Alexandra (I somehow feel adamantly opposed to be being called a great-aunt, though...)  Shawn's brother's daughter, Kristen had her two and a half weeks ago (and, I continued to marvel that she didn't sit in a corner, rock and cry at any point during our visit - unlike me two and a half weeks after giving birth).  Ashley wasn't in anyone's plans, but she is darling and precious and sweet and wonderful - and clearly a gift from God.  So, just like all the times life throws curve balls, our family will keep putting one foot in front of the other and doing what needs to be done. We'll say loads of prayers for each other and put all our faith in the fact that God has only the best in mind for all of us.  And we will be oh so thankful for the beautiful gift of Ashley.  We couldn't adore her more.

I asked Spence if I could leave him in Kansas and take Ashley home with us - kind of like a trade.  He said no.  So, I came home with the same two kids I left with.  And, I won't be facing any federal charges of kidnapping and crossing state lines.  I guess that's probably a good thing.

The Johnson clan

Elizabeth, G'Pa (David), Kristen, G'Ma (Marie), Little David, Spencer, Will, Shawn and Ashley!

It always amazes me to see newborn babies anymore, now that mine are so very far removed from newborns. Without fail I think, "This might be the tiniest baby I've ever seen." And, without fail, they always weigh somewhere around three pounds more than Spencer did at his smallest. Three pounds isn't that much... unless it's half your body weight. Case in point: Ashley weighs 7 lbs. 11 oz. - while looking like the tiniest baby I've ever seen. There was a point in Spencer's life when he weighed 4 lbs. 11 oz.  I think it must fall under "selective memory".

On the way back we hit the Liberal, Kansas Mid-America Air Museum.  It was cool.  There is a plane just like the one Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens went down in "The Day the Music Died".  There is the only remaining Osprey airplane that was one of three experimental planes built during the Vietnam War.  There are helicopters and bombers and so many more planes than I have the knowledge or vocabulary to describe to you.  It's unbelievable that they're all just sitting there in Liberal, Kansas.

However, this is our second stop in Liberal to visit the Air Museum and it is not passing my attention that Shawn is refusing to take me to Dorothy's House (from the Wizard of Oz), also located in Liberal.  Rude.

Watch out world.  If these two ever get some rotor blades on their helicopter, they'll be a force to be reckoned with.

Anyhoo... Home again, home again, jiggity jog...  And another week has begun.

Lent

I keep being reminded it's Lent in big ways and in small ways  (but those are between me and God so mind your own business... ;).

It's been years since I've come to understand that God loves us so much He allowed His son to die for us, but it never ceases to leave me dumbstruck.  He didn't have to, but our sins - my sins - would have always kept us separated from Him if He didn't. That's an incomprehensible gift (I can promise you I don't love any of you enough to give my darling boy on your behalf - not even all of you put together).

I don't think 40 days of reflection is asking too much.  So, I'll keep being reminded, Lord.  And, I'll try to do it joyfully and thankfully.  And, when it's over, I'll try to appreciate the gift of Easter a little more.

The Gift of an Ordinary Day

I think God often gives us little shout-outs if we just take the time to notice.  So, on a day when I'm trying to do laundry and every garment seems to be inside-out and I forgot to turn the crock-pot on for dinner, I'm glad I slowed down just enough to pay attention to this.

Thanks, Lane.  I'm off to enjoy my "perfectly ordinary day".

Happy Epiphany

Epiphany is the day that the wisemen finally made their way from their far off lands in the east, following the star, to find the baby Jesus.  Happy Epiphany!  It's today and our church had an Epiphany pageant.

Elizabeth was an angel.  And, such a sassy angel you have never seen.  I'm pretty sure I saw her giving a wiseman the "what for".  May she have this much confidence all her life long.

And, Spencer (who you might remember is NOT our performer) froze as we walked into the fellowship hall only to announce, "I don't want to be in the play!"  Our rector's wife, Renee, in all her infinite kindness and compassion told him, "You know what, Spence?  That's ok, you can be my helper!"  And, help he did.  He was in charge of the bell ringing anytime Renee needed to get everyone's attention, he handed out programs and generally followed Renee around like a shadow "just in case she needed anything."

I was reminded of the Danish proverb, "Who takes the child by the hand takes the mother by the heart."  Because watching how important Spencer felt, and how included he felt, melted my heart and made me so grateful for angels that walk among us - like Renee.  God bless her and her true fruit of the Spirit (those would be: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control, if you don't want to have to Google it like I did...).

And, one last thing.  We ran short on kids (well, no kidding, the Johnsons brought a production assistant instead of an actor...), so some of the dads had to step in as shepherds.

I'm sorry.  Did I say shepherds or Al Qaeda?