Bring The Box

Molly smiled and breathed in deeply. She whispered to me, "Bring the box."

I grinned at her satisfied expression and asked what she meant. She nonchalantly bent down and picked up a small stone. "When I really like a place and its smell, I want to catch it all in a box." She held up the stone and examined it. I pondered that one for a moment. Yes, there are many places where I'd like to "box up" the deliciousness my senses are taking in. In a way, my camera does that for me, and it was delightful to hear my quiet girl absorbing her surroundings with appreciation.

A few days later, as we strolled the aisles of our favourite thrift store, Molly grabbed the cart, leaned over and whispered again, "Leave the box." as she covered her nose and scowled. I laughed out loud and I understood this time.

"Okay," I replied, "let's not box up this smell, but perhaps we'll box up a few items to take home?"

We chuckled together and I knew we had a new inside joke between us for future sensational experiences.

 

Did God Forget?

He's snuggled in his jammies on the couch, with a bowl in front of him and I bring him toast to take the "ickies" away. He's staring out the window but he says, "Mommy, did God forget to feed the poor people?"
I'm stopped in my tracks and I search for words. He's still deep in thought but finally turns his eyes toward me.

"No, Babe," I reply, "God didn't forget. He loves people so very much. He has asked us to take care of the poor people. It's a command to us and we actually can't please God if we don't." (James 1:27)

He turns away again and is quiet. I stand waiting for the next profound thought. Finally, he responds, "Then why am I the only one giving to them!?" Oh, precious kid! He can't understand why there is still poverty if people are really giving. He certainly knows he's giving! He's purging his toys and things constantly and telling me he wants to share them with the poor people. I assure him that I know many, many other children and adults who are taking care of the less fortunate and he's still looking at me with wonder in his eyes. I silently pray that my boy finds his calling in caring for the needy. God places these passions in our hearts while we're young.

I stroll out of the room and reassess my own giving. Am I sharing, loving, giving what is required of me--not what is required of my friend and neighbour, but of me? When so many intelligent but misinformed people are blaming God for forgetting the needs of this world, how am I contributing to that notion? As Christians, we must share His love by providing for the basic needs of others. My son understands this well because I've trained him to think this way, but I need to be sure my words match my actions. May the world see that God has not forgotten His people because I am obeying His command to care for them. I am His hands and feet.

Please visit this momma (my friend) who is passionate about teaching her children about giving.

http://myeverythoughtcaptive.blogspot.com/2011/12/heart-shaping-and-kingdom-building.html

Peely Eggs and Mud Bikes

He rubs his sleepy eyes and pulls up a stool to the kitchen counter. I ask him what kind of egg he would like this morning and he dozily replies, "Peely egg... no, melty egg, please." I smile and turn to the frying pan to make an egg for my boy that drips just right, not too squishy, not a peely egg, which is hard-boiled. I think about prayer time last night when I stroked his stubbly buzz cut and listened to his words as he began, "Dear Jesus-God-Lord..." I love this boy's terminology for things and I never correct them (although he's quite correct in his prayer address :) I want them to last and last.

A few days ago, my husband took him down to the nursery parking lot and showed him how to ride his two-wheeler, which is a "dirt bike" given by his grandparents. Terry had barely a minute holding onto the back of that seat before that boy took off at high-speed, as though he'd always known how. His face was beaming and he happily declared to me that now he can ride his mud bike :)

Thoughts Of A Prince

He slides one leg into his hockey pyjama bottoms and stops. He looks up at me thoughtfully and asks, "Mommy, are there balls in this world?" It seems an odd question, coming from my ball-loving boy.

"Of course there are, Oliver." My memory tracks through all the possible playground places with ball pits that he might have in mind.

"Which way do we go to get to them? If I drive in a car, you'll have to show me how to get there." He slides the other leg in.

"I'm not sure what you are thinking about," I probe, pulling his shirt over his head. "You'll have to help me imagine it."

"Mommy," he croons, "I need to go to a ball if I'm a prince!"

Oh, that kind of ball! Why ever did I not imagine that kind of ball? He's nearly four, after all!

I need to hear more of this tiny boy's desire but I begin to search my mind's files for fairy tales or movies or anything that might give me a clue as to where this is coming from. Nothing. I can't figure it out. So I ask, "Why do you want to go to a ball? What will you do there?"

He smooths his "hockey guy" on the front of his pyjama top. "Pictures," he states, matter-of-factly.

"Pictures?"

"Yeah, you know, pictures of marrying."

Ah, wedding photos. Wow. I'm taken off guard but I smile. "Who are you going to marry, my boy?"

He grins and pokes his finger into my arm, "I'm going to marry you!"

Emily enters the scene and catches onto the discourse quickly. Immediately, she shares her two cents, "You can't marry Mommy, she's already married to daddy." A few seconds passes and my two little ones stare blankly at each other. She finishes, "But you can marry me."

He sighs, "Oh, okay, I'll marry you."

Oliver turns back to me, all jammied, and shrugs. "Mommy, you can just drop us off at the ball then."

My days of chauffeuring have begun :)

She's A Thinker

I turned my van round and round escarpment curves and sighed relief that we were finally headed home. Suddenly, a distressed, backseat Emily cried out, "My brain is so full of thinking that my head hurts! For another thought, my mind doesn't have room! Oh, I don't know what to do. There's just too much thoughts in my head!"

Folks, that one's a thinker :) What a five year-old could possibly have all squished in that little brain of hers, she couldn't explain. But it was definitely too full in there.

These are the moments that keep me sane in the daily grind. When I feel like complaining, God always reminds me in small and profound ways that I am so very, very blessed. I live alongside five of the most amazing people on the planet and I must count--I mean it--count those precious humans as gifts. Not to mention all else I've been given.

Adding just a few more to my 1000 Blessings Count (even though it's not Monday :)...

541. for seriously funny sayings spoken by little ones

542. for Christmas program practices

543. for the hockey season (yes, speaking words of life here :)

544. for making it to the final Ladies' Bible Study at church before the new year

545. for the homeschool table set up at the back for those kids whose moms needed Bible Study this week!

546. for a gracious bride-client

547. for an encouraging word that was planted by the Holy Spirit

548. for the Light which is now revealed to dear friends who've been in dark tunnels

549. for a sister who is patient, easy-going and calm during her bone scan testing in recent days

550. for healthy meals when others have so very little

551. for every tiny little precious interaction between me and each one of you... I cherish you all and am so grateful you're in my life!

Day Twenty-Seven (of 31 Days)

"Don't stop Mommy!" Oliver calls from the backseat, "roads are for races!" He's quite bothered that I'm slowing down to stop at a light. I explain that I have to obey the law for the safety of everyone on the road and he mumbles, "Oh, why do we have to have stoplights in this world?"

Sometimes I don't want to stop and draw close to God. I want to keep going and pull off this thing called life on my own. In the back of my mind, wisdom whispers gently that for the safety of all involved, I'd better get on my knees. Many stupid mistakes have led me to know that unless I'm approaching His throne for advice, wisdom, rest and empowerment, I'm headed down a path that seems good to me but at a moment's notice, it can turn ugly. Worse yet, over time, it can turn ugly.

Stoplights are for our own good and for allowing us to wait on opposite traffic to take it's turn. When I barrel through those amber lights, which are warnings that the red is inevitable, I don't always see the oncoming danger. Stopping to hear God's voice gives me a better view of my day, my life and essentially where I'm going and what's in the way. Drawing close this month has had it's amber-light-fly-bys and I want that to be more consistent. Have you been able to stop at the lights to listen and assess?

Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path. (Psalm 119:105)

A Boy Lives Here

"Mommy, can you just smash into that car up there in front of us?" Oliver questions from the back seat. We're sitting in our van at the Tim Horton's drive-thru and I'm searching for words to respond to my son's aggressive request.

"Well, Sweetie," I begin, "first of all, that would really hurt the person in that car and it would hurt us too. It would also destroy his car and it would wreck our van, so we don't want to do that, do we?"

It's silent for several seconds. I glance at his thoughtful face in my rear view mirror and I'm guessing that my words of wisdom are sinking in and that he's reassessing. I edge forward in the line-up and he finally replies, "But it would be so much fun!"

Yep, a boy lives here.

Oliver-isms

"I'm playing with God and Jesus and Lord," he mentions to me as we sit amidst the laundry, "I'm going to take them for a ride on the back of my bike, Mommy."

( Photo by Meghan)