Kids, Round Two

I married a man whose kids were grown. Who lived alone with a dog and could walk around naked whenever he desired. Where a calendar didn't exist and "let's go..." meant the luxury of now.

Where vacationing half a year on his other island was possible. And laundry was nothing more than one load. Where toilet paper was bought in rolls instead of bulk packages. And the doors were never shut.

Sticky globs of I don't know what were rare and toothpaste spit didn't litter the sink. When rides in the car involved loud music just because and to not drown out the backseat fight. Where Disney did not hinder the Braves game.

Where colored out of love pictures did not adorn the walls and the counting of the ribs laughter was long gone. Where sparkle rainbows never appeared. When lazy days meant rest.

Where "uh-oh" shouts were not heard and the only mess made was by Goddess. Where shoes were never left out and the sock monster never existed. When ketchup was not a staple in the house.

When marsh mellows were not cooked in the chimanea and the cabinets were not full of sweets. Where napping meant not waking up to painted toenails.

Where Barbies, and Furby's and Polly Pockets never existed and bikes were always put away. Where the pool was to give Goddess a bath in and the outdoor shower never lacked soap.

When snuggling to watch a movie was not common and knock-knock jokes were not told. Where books stayed on the shelf and were not read out loud. Where ponytail holders came in only one color.

When conversations did not involve interruptions and bodily noises were rare. Where food prepared was always eaten and a dishwasher was not needed.

Where I love you and kisses were not heard daily and a house lost the lackluster of home. Where goodnight hugs didn't exist. When a man once lived alone.

Where we now share three more blessings, creating a blended six. When every day I am reminded just how special this man is- Happy Father's Day honey!

Lessons from a Third Grader

Sandy blond hair askew, he stood there just to the left of the classroom door. Stationed on the end of the second of three rows, he fixated on the back classroom wall at some obscure spot. It seemed as though he was oblivious to the babbling of voices creating a singsong echo around him.

He waited.

As part of the third grade historical wax museum he stood wearing his "press my button to hear my story" button. Each time your button was pushed you were to recite your story.

I stood in front him wishing I hadn't stopped. The blue of his eyes glistened behind the pools of tears they held as he averted my gaze. His nose ran adding more tear streams to his cheeks.

I looked at the teacher and asked, "Does he want me to push his button?" 

"We are encouraging him to participate," she said. 

Hesitantly, I reached out and gently touched his left shoulder where his button was.

Immediately, more tears streamed down his face. He took a deep, deep breath, started shaking, and immediately launched into his story. His gaze never left the back classroom wall. His voice remained a constant tone, even as more and more tears fell from his eyes.

I held back my own tears and smiled.

I have no idea what he said. I was too overcome with emotion to hear anything.

When he finished I bent down and looked at his beautiful face, trying to find him in his blue eyes. I grasped my hands behind my back so I did not wipe his tears away, smiled and said, "wonderful job." He remained wherever he had gone.

I watched others come up to this same boy, press his button, and wait. Through his tears and fear he shared his story. Every single time.

What made this more extraordinary is that this beautiful boy is autistic.

This was not his comfort zone and yet he stood there and participated. He couldn't help but show his fear, but no one minded. I imagine when they day was over he was elated and I hope he was so very proud of himself.

And I pray that those of us who are hindered by our fears, allow ourselves to stand in the midst of uncomfortable and find the courage to participate. When we muster up the strength to take the first step forward. When I will do this tomorrow, becomes today. When this can't work develops into well maybe. 

It is a beautiful thing to witness, an even more beautiful thing to be part of.

For there is a scared holiness touched when we take our "I can't do this..." and try. 

Why I Can't

"Don't touch that!" I heard a woman exclaim as I sat in my office. "Don't touch that!" she said again. I got up from my chair and went to see what she was talking about. Our waiting room is pretty basic and there isn't much that I would consider not kid friendly.

As I peered around the door I was greeted with a red kool-aid stained lipped smile. She had to be about four. Half of her hair held neon bright colored bow barrettes holding braids in place. The other half was not braided and resembled much of what my hair looks like when I wake up in the morning. Her jean shorts fell off of her and her shirt was definitely a bib for her kool-aid.

Mom quickly replied "sorry" when she saw me and started to go into an explanation about her daughter touching things. I reached out and touched Mom's arm and said "no worries."

She looked at me and started to say something else and I assured her that all was well. "Well, when you have kids you'll know what I mean," she had to say as she looked me over.

I hesitated for a second as I stood there standing in a black business dress, with a gold necklace, rings, bracelet, and shiny heeled shoes. My hair styled and make-up just right. Really I felt fake as I presented an image of being perfectly put together.

"Actually..." I began to say. I wanted to tell her I do have three kids and I am just like any other parent, especially when out in public with my kids. That last night at mini golf my kids ran all over the course and threw their golf balls in the water and bushes. And my kids often bare their own food stained faces and clothes, but somehow I could not say this.

So instead I asked her how I could help her. She went into a sad, sad story and I helped her in every way that I could.

Often I try to be empathetic to those that we serve. Often I feel as though I fail. I remember during my first interview at UMI 11 years ago being told that "You can't save everyone." No I can't save everyone, but that does not mean I cannot try in every way that I can to help as many as I can. There are just too many people in this world who need help and are hurting and too many of us do nothing.

I am reminded of this daily.

And when I watch a little girl and her mom leave and the little girl turns around, looks at me with her deep brown eyes, one hand holding up her shorts and the other waving goodbye, I know I cannot stop trying to save everyone. I just can't.

Friday's Five

Often we tend to forget the good that happens each day. In an effort to combat this, I am going to start a weekly post- Friday's Five. This will (hopefully) help me take time to remember how truly blessed I am.

So today I am thankful for:
1.Matt Pelletier and the college student who pushed my car up the hill when I got stuck in the snow.
2. Coming home to a warm house thanks to the fabulous fire that Ben built.
3. Daughters who want to sleep together, set up their "room" for the night, get ready for bed, and tell us we don't need to come in to do devotions, that they have their own Bible in the room. And then hearing Maddie read devotions to her younger sisters.
4. Friends who send me an e-mail just to see how I am doing... and knowing they really care. Thanks Angela!
5. A God who supplies all my needs long before I even know they exist.