------------
Even though going to and from my son's school every day takes effort, time, and gas, so far I have found it to be a source of pleasure and bonding. Yes, I could carpool with someone else, but since my hindsight as a mother of 20-somethings shows that some of our best talks happened on the road, I consider it an investment in a relationship.
Anyhoo, yesterday I was once again touched and amused by my fourth grader's perspective. He loves school, even though he has been sent to the prinicipal's office a number of times in the first month already. Oy. This Christian school has high standards for conduct and academics, but the teachers and principal have been full of grace, using scripture to counsel the children--and appropriate consequences. For each day they display good behavior all day, they get a stamp. If they don't, they get their stamp taken away.
Me: So how was your day?
Him: Good.
Me: Good?
Him: Yeah, Mom. Every day is good.
Me: Really? Even the days you've gotten in trouble and had your stamp taken away?
Him: Well, yeah. Kinda.
Now, you might find it hard to tell what he meant by that unless you're his mother who knows him very well. The way you know your own child. They can say three simple, vague words, but you know what they mean. My son meant, "Even though I've gotten in trouble, I know the teacher likes me and the principal isn't mean. She encourages me to be more like Jesus." He also means that he loves having a new batch of boys to play football with at recess, and translating Latin paragraphs like it's a secret code. (I've told him that's why I like foreign languages; you're a kind of detective when you decode words that aren't English.)
The other snippet was about math.
Him: Mom? I don't really understand math the way Mrs. Reider teaches.
Me: Oh, really? Singapore Math?
Him: Yeah. I mean, she makes us go through eight steps. I don't need eight steps.
Me: How many do you need?
Him: Just 3. Read the problem. Think about the problem. Do the problem.
Me: (smiling at his succint "guy" way of putting things)
Him: No offense to Mrs. Reider, but I think I can figure out problems faster than she can.
Me: (trying not to giggle) Well, God HAS given you a brain for math, but Mrs. Reider is pretty smart, too. She is teaching other kids how to break math problems down in their head. You think through the problem so fast you don't even realize there are a lot of steps your brain is taking.
Him: What do you mean?
Me: Well, for example. What is 20 times 12?
Him: 240.
Me; Right. How'd you figure that out?
Him: 12 times 2 is 24, and then add a zero. Or 20 times 10 is 200, plus 2 more 20's is 40.
Me: (trying to follow his fast-talk) . Right. See, you just figured out the problem in two ways at once and you broke those two down into steps.
Him: Yeah, I guess so. But it wasn't 8 steps.
Me: I bet if you thought about it, you'd find out there are probably steps you don't count. Plus, you work with money a lot, so you're used to thinking in terms of how a hundred is broken down.
Him: Yep. 100 pennies, or 20 nickels, or 10 dimes, or two half-dollars.
Me: See? That was quick!
Him: But I don't like to carry change. I prefer dollars!
Me: Me, too.
Him: Do you have dollar so we can get a sweet tea at McDonald's?
Me: Yes, but I can save a dollar by going home for some.
Him: Okay,
Linking up at Home Sanctuary today. (Get link from sidebar. My linker is being a stinker today.)
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Hodgepodge: Reminiscing, Roller Skating, and RSVP-ing
Linking up today with Joyce for the Wednesday Hodgepodge.
1. It is officially fall here in North America...I realize not everyone who participates in the Hodgepodge lives in North America but if you do, what's your favorite memory of Summer 2011? If you're not in North America, what's your favorite memory of the season just ending on your side of the world?
You'd think it would have to do with a relaxing vacation instead of a jam-packed schedule and house, but honestly, my favorite memory of the summer of 2011 was our Z family reunion. The funniest part ,of course, was the "cake wreck" for Paul's 50th birthday. It was supposed to say, "Happy Birthday, you old buzzard" (since he's a Ravens fan). But the bakery wrote "you old buzzer" and then "corrected" it finally with "you old buzzrad." The laughs in the house were worth more than the price of the cake.
As I sat around watching and listening to this family, I thought how blessed we are. I recalled the days when these kids who are now parents (some of them) with kids in their laps, used to climb into our laps. I still love to be called "Aunt Zo" by the 30-somethings.It's one notch down from the love of being called "Mom."
I longed for Paul's parents to be there and glory in the joy of their offspring, and wondered for a moment if God lets people "look down from heaven" on beautiful times like these. I thanked him for the marital fidelity in this room, despite the hard times. All the brothers have stay married to the same woman (okay, each to his OWN woman, I mean). Paul and I were the last ones married nearly 25 years ago. I saw those 25 pass before me as I glanced around the room. We enjoy each other's company. We feed off each other's humor. We share a common faith. We love the same teams. Most of us love to talk. (I've always said if there are 12 of us in the room, you'd hear 13 conversations.) We share DNA and history and memories and pains and joys and talents . For a brief afternoon that sped by like a shooting star, I sensed a deep and abiding feeling of belonging. Belonging to a wonderful family. Flawed as it is, as crazy and loud and sometimes obnoxious and offensive as we've been with each other, we truly do love each other and love our times together, stuffing our faces with watermelon, cheeseburgers, deviled eggs...and Buzzrad cake.
2. Your favorite nut? You know I mean the edible kind, right?
Oh, okay. Glad you clarified. In fact, you inspired me to write a little poem.
I really like pecans. I like them in pie .
I like them in ice cream in late July.
I like them in muffins, in cake, and in rolls,
I like when they fill in the gaps and the holes.
I like pecans alone or mixed in with others,
I'd eat them all day if I had my druthers.
3. What activity puts your sense of balance to the test?
If you mean my physical equilibrium, my answer is "walking down a flight of grey cement stairs that either have no marking on the edge or have eye-popping hazard yellow strips painted on the edge that seem to come in rapid succession compared to my slow descent." I hang on for dear life, regardless.
But if you mean my sense of balance emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and otherwise, the test is any big family event I'm helping to host where the expectations are high, but the energy and resources are low. I have two such events coming soon, the first of which has already involved about 79 emails in 3 days between me and my three sisters as we plan my parents' 50th wedding anniversary party. (Heretofore known as the WAP, okay? Teehee.) We have discussed such seemingly petty things as whether to include a self-addressed stamped envelope for the RSVP card. I said no to the stamp. But my opinion was overruled for a number of reasons. Please don't get me started on the whole RSVP thing.
4. How would you describe your sense of humor?
To quote a line from South Pacific, "I'm as corny as Kansas in August." In fact, when I tell a joke, someone in the house mutters, "Kansas humor."
5. September 28th is National Ask a Stupid Question Day...what's your stupid question?
Oh, boy. I have asked so many stupid questions in the past. I could provide an entire night of material for a Bill Engvall's "Here's Your Sign" routine.
One stupid question I ask a lot is, "Is it raining outside?"
Think about it. Rain falls from the sky, and the sky is outside...
I should simply ask, "Is it raining?"
However, this past month has made me think maybe it's not such a stupid question after all to ask, "Is it raining outside?" I think if you'd asked anyone on East Coast, they might just tell you that it's been raining INSIDE, OUTSIDE, UPSIDEDOWN! This September is the wettest in Maryland records. The upside? Our grass is gloriously green.
6. Roller skates~hula hoop~jump rope...which activity would you most enjoy? Yes, you have to choose.
Scroll back to Answer #3. This girl has trouble walking down steps, and you're telling me I have to choose from among an activity on wheels, a spinning motion, and going airborne with a lead butt? This is not easy. I'll say hula hoop. I can still swing my hips, but sadly it's often accompanied by a chiropractic visit. Once upon a time I enjoyed roller skating and --here's a fun bit of romantic trivia for ya-- my hubby and I first announced our engagement to friends at a roller rink. This classy one, to be exact.
7. What's your most sentimental possession?
My wedding rings.
8. Insert your own random thought here.
How do you feel about party favors? Are they nice mementos? Clutter? Okay if practical or edible? A waste of money for the hosts? Unthinkable not to give to guests?
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Shiny New Bike Parable: C- in my Gradebook
I read this parable by Mark Driscoll after reading a Haitian missionary's response to it. The missionary's name is Heather and I follow her blog, though I don't know her personally. Her family sees the poverty in Haiti close-up every single day. She was revolted by his post.
I have read the parable now three times. On first reading, I sided with Heather. I agreed that it seems self-indulgent to keep a shiny new bike for oneself when one could give it to a missionary to reach unreached people groups with the gospel.
On second reading, however, I was starting to think, "Driscoll is right. Why can't God's children just enjoy His provisions even if they're brand spanking new, and worship Him with every gift? Why do some of us feel guilty that we have so much? When we give our own kids new gifts, do we hope they feel guilty and give their gifts away? Of course not! We delight in their smiles and gratitude and their enjoyment of said gifts."
On third reading, I could understand why Driscoll used the word "tragically" to begin his summary paragraph. It is indeed tragic to disobey God, no matter what. So you think it's selfish to keep a shiny new bike and therefore you don't keep and use His gift when He has made it clear that's what He wants? Do you know better than God? Driscoll's tangible object of a shiny new bike in the parable could be a symbol for any gift from God--a musical talent, a leadership ability, a knack for building wealth using biblical principles. One can ostensibly "give away" or "sacrifice" any of those in the name of "not wanting to look proud." A skilled Christian musician whose private life of worship demonstrates he or she has the heart of a worshiper should audition for the worship band if the Lord says ,"Now." A leader should not defer to another if God says, "You're the one for the job even though deference might masquerade as humility. Humility does not mean being wishy-washy or letting others bully you." Someone who has the God-given ability to make wealth (by earning, saving, giving, investing, and spending wisely) should not settle for status quo; that's not humility but stupidity. I used to think the ability to make wealth was a matter of good fortune and selfish ambition. I now see it as the gift that it is from God; some use it to bless His kingdom in practical ways that require money. And of course, some people use it selfishly.
Regardless of our justification for sacrificing our gifts, obedience is better in God's eyes. Who else's eyes matter, really?
First Samuel 15:22:
One only needs to read about the building of God's Temple to see that God not only approves of wealth, but commands the use of it for His glory. In the case of the Temple, God did not say "sell all these jewels and use the money on the poor." He did not say, "Make clothing out of the the fine linen instead of making curtains for my house." God did not build that temple of cubic zirconias , Goodwill linens, or Craigslist castoffs. He commanded the use of precious jewels, fine woven linen, and newly carved wood. The accessories of gold were His idea. He did not apologize for building His Temple in a land filled with poverty. He used His wealth to bring glory to Himself ,and that meant using people who might think it a bold, selfish, prideful task to take part in.
God did not tell Solomon to give his bike away. God has plenty of bikes, but expects our obedience if He says "worship me with the bike I've given you." Sometimes that means "give away your possessions." Sometimes that means do the harder thing and keep that shiny new bike. Believe me, it IS harder for some people, truly it is, to keep nice things. Or to receive anything--help when they're sick, money when they're near bankruptcy, or tutoring when they don't understand a subject in school. Pride can keep us from receiving more often than from giving.
Granted, I am not endorsing materialism, and I think herein lies the problem with how I first read Driscoll's parable. (Perhaps other readers got tripped up as well, especially if they only read the parable once. ) I couldn't quite tell if Driscoll is trying to help Christians learn to really appreciate what our heavenly Father has given us and worship Him with those gifts, or if, on a deeper (and supposedly hidden) level, he is showing us how to justify our consumerism.
The parable's meaning is simply unclear. Perhaps I'm obtuse . Perhaps I should read it a fourth time, put in on the proverbial back burner and come back in a week or two to analyze it.
But for now, the grade I give this parable of Driscoll's is a C-. Here's why:
1. Good writing should not have to be read more than once for clarity. A good sentence, a good paragraph, a good story or parable, should be clear on the first read. A parable, by nature, should be simple enough for a child to understand. If many fellow Christians and even non-Christians are offended by your message, it isn't necessarily the wrong message. Jesus called Himself the Rock of Offense. If , however, a reasonably intelligent adult is confused by your message, you have more work to do. Your theology, your writing, or both, need to be revised.
2. The dialogue of the Father does not sound like the gentle heavenly Father of the Bible. The tone sounds impatient and abrupt.
3. The Father does not take the son in his arms and commend him for his generosity or humility, for his tender, compassionate heart (albeit shrouded in guilt) to give away things as nice as what as he's received. Instead the Father jumps to his point: obey and worship Me.
4. The Father also puts the onus on the boy to ask for a bike for the missionary, when clearly the boy sees "an answer to prayer" at his fingertips. It would be a big "duh" for a kid to ask for a bike when he's just been handed one. Don't scold a kid for thinking like a kid.
For those four main reasons, I give Driscoll's parable a C-. It's decent writing mechanically , but not excellent in every way. It has a message, but I am unclear about the author's intent. But most of all, it didn't stir me to think of God as a generous provider, but rather as a demanding father who gives gifts accompanied by a stern lecture and a guilt trip. "If you had asked, I would have..." So the boy is left thinking, "Then it's my fault missionaries don't have bikes." No wonder he can't enjoy the shiny new bike; he hasn't prayed enough! There are still poor missionaries without bikes around the world! A better approach would be, "Son, I want you to have a this shiny new bike. I also hear a missionary in Guatemala asking me for a bike. Ask me now to provide one for him, too, and I will. That will bless all of us!"
Then let the son smile, give his dad a tight hug, and ride off on his shiny new bike, with the wind whistling in his ears, while he thinks what an awesome and generous dad he has who never runs out of good gifts and never tires of being asked to give to others also. Let the Father stand there relishing the joy of having a son who gives and takes with exuberant love, not guilt.
On second reading, however, I was starting to think, "Driscoll is right. Why can't God's children just enjoy His provisions even if they're brand spanking new, and worship Him with every gift? Why do some of us feel guilty that we have so much? When we give our own kids new gifts, do we hope they feel guilty and give their gifts away? Of course not! We delight in their smiles and gratitude and their enjoyment of said gifts."
On third reading, I could understand why Driscoll used the word "tragically" to begin his summary paragraph. It is indeed tragic to disobey God, no matter what. So you think it's selfish to keep a shiny new bike and therefore you don't keep and use His gift when He has made it clear that's what He wants? Do you know better than God? Driscoll's tangible object of a shiny new bike in the parable could be a symbol for any gift from God--a musical talent, a leadership ability, a knack for building wealth using biblical principles. One can ostensibly "give away" or "sacrifice" any of those in the name of "not wanting to look proud." A skilled Christian musician whose private life of worship demonstrates he or she has the heart of a worshiper should audition for the worship band if the Lord says ,"Now." A leader should not defer to another if God says, "You're the one for the job even though deference might masquerade as humility. Humility does not mean being wishy-washy or letting others bully you." Someone who has the God-given ability to make wealth (by earning, saving, giving, investing, and spending wisely) should not settle for status quo; that's not humility but stupidity. I used to think the ability to make wealth was a matter of good fortune and selfish ambition. I now see it as the gift that it is from God; some use it to bless His kingdom in practical ways that require money. And of course, some people use it selfishly.
Regardless of our justification for sacrificing our gifts, obedience is better in God's eyes. Who else's eyes matter, really?
First Samuel 15:22:
| ||||||||
One only needs to read about the building of God's Temple to see that God not only approves of wealth, but commands the use of it for His glory. In the case of the Temple, God did not say "sell all these jewels and use the money on the poor." He did not say, "Make clothing out of the the fine linen instead of making curtains for my house." God did not build that temple of cubic zirconias , Goodwill linens, or Craigslist castoffs. He commanded the use of precious jewels, fine woven linen, and newly carved wood. The accessories of gold were His idea. He did not apologize for building His Temple in a land filled with poverty. He used His wealth to bring glory to Himself ,and that meant using people who might think it a bold, selfish, prideful task to take part in.
God did not tell Solomon to give his bike away. God has plenty of bikes, but expects our obedience if He says "worship me with the bike I've given you." Sometimes that means "give away your possessions." Sometimes that means do the harder thing and keep that shiny new bike. Believe me, it IS harder for some people, truly it is, to keep nice things. Or to receive anything--help when they're sick, money when they're near bankruptcy, or tutoring when they don't understand a subject in school. Pride can keep us from receiving more often than from giving.
Granted, I am not endorsing materialism, and I think herein lies the problem with how I first read Driscoll's parable. (Perhaps other readers got tripped up as well, especially if they only read the parable once. ) I couldn't quite tell if Driscoll is trying to help Christians learn to really appreciate what our heavenly Father has given us and worship Him with those gifts, or if, on a deeper (and supposedly hidden) level, he is showing us how to justify our consumerism.
The parable's meaning is simply unclear. Perhaps I'm obtuse . Perhaps I should read it a fourth time, put in on the proverbial back burner and come back in a week or two to analyze it.
But for now, the grade I give this parable of Driscoll's is a C-. Here's why:
1. Good writing should not have to be read more than once for clarity. A good sentence, a good paragraph, a good story or parable, should be clear on the first read. A parable, by nature, should be simple enough for a child to understand. If many fellow Christians and even non-Christians are offended by your message, it isn't necessarily the wrong message. Jesus called Himself the Rock of Offense. If , however, a reasonably intelligent adult is confused by your message, you have more work to do. Your theology, your writing, or both, need to be revised.
2. The dialogue of the Father does not sound like the gentle heavenly Father of the Bible. The tone sounds impatient and abrupt.
3. The Father does not take the son in his arms and commend him for his generosity or humility, for his tender, compassionate heart (albeit shrouded in guilt) to give away things as nice as what as he's received. Instead the Father jumps to his point: obey and worship Me.
4. The Father also puts the onus on the boy to ask for a bike for the missionary, when clearly the boy sees "an answer to prayer" at his fingertips. It would be a big "duh" for a kid to ask for a bike when he's just been handed one. Don't scold a kid for thinking like a kid.
For those four main reasons, I give Driscoll's parable a C-. It's decent writing mechanically , but not excellent in every way. It has a message, but I am unclear about the author's intent. But most of all, it didn't stir me to think of God as a generous provider, but rather as a demanding father who gives gifts accompanied by a stern lecture and a guilt trip. "If you had asked, I would have..." So the boy is left thinking, "Then it's my fault missionaries don't have bikes." No wonder he can't enjoy the shiny new bike; he hasn't prayed enough! There are still poor missionaries without bikes around the world! A better approach would be, "Son, I want you to have a this shiny new bike. I also hear a missionary in Guatemala asking me for a bike. Ask me now to provide one for him, too, and I will. That will bless all of us!"
Then let the son smile, give his dad a tight hug, and ride off on his shiny new bike, with the wind whistling in his ears, while he thinks what an awesome and generous dad he has who never runs out of good gifts and never tires of being asked to give to others also. Let the Father stand there relishing the joy of having a son who gives and takes with exuberant love, not guilt.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
I Think It's Menopause
I'm "only" 46, which is on the young side of the average age for menopause. (Research of the formal and informal types I've done suggest the "normal" age is 51.) I don't know for sure what I'm going through, but this I do know. I am crying way too often. I have fits of anger. Little things get blown out of proportion easily in my head, and I'm just not in a slump or a funk or having a bad few weeks.
I can't say I've had "hot flashes" as described online where I feel a sudden outbreak of sweat. I am not throwing everything off at night, nor am I covering up per usual. I am always generally warmer these days than ever before. Wearing a hoodie has only appealed to me once thus far, and it was a cold, rainy, windy night. I'm in flip-flops and capris and short sleeves most every day, regardless what the thermometer says.
But mostly I think I'm in menopause because I just can't get a grip. I am too emotional. Come on, people, here's what made me cry today: I heard a woman (the announcer on a local Christian radio station) recalling a fall memory. The memory was a beautiful sky-blue autumn day when her mom took the day off work and let Tracie stay home from school just to spend time with her.
I was driving when I heard this. The tears came like rain down my face. And then when she said, "It was right before my parents divorced, and I think my mom was trying to comfort me and prepare me, though she didn't mention the divorce." I was just about bawling.
Granted, I have some huge things going on in my life. My parents' 50th wedding celebration on October 29th is weighing heavily on me logistically (prepping for house guests, making visual displays), etc. My son is getting married in March and we're in charge of the rehearsal dinner in NJ, which means finding time to go up and scout things out. I hardly see my older kids anymore. One is student teaching and comes home wiped out and is fighting disillusionment. My youngest has been in the principal's office four times in two weeks in his "adjustment period" to a new school. That makes me feel like a four-fold failure. I am volunteering as an art teacher in his school, but spend more like 3 hours out of class prepping for every 45 minutes in it on a super-tight budget. My husband and I seem like strangers to each other. Our church is in the process of selecting a new senior pastor, and some precious people have left in the midst. Nothing new. It happens, but it hurts. I just feel like there are way too many life transitions at once right now and I don't want to heap more stuff on the shepherds and caregivers in my life. And on top of that, my boy says, "I wish I had a real brother. A brother my age to play with." Sorry, son. I'm pretty sure I can't make that happen unless we adopt, and I am pretty sure that's a big fat "no way, Jose''" now and forever. Amen. Ten years ago I was up for it.
Yesterday in the car my little guy made me cry, too, but it was because of one of those sweet-but-haunting comments kids say when you least expect it. (By way of background, My mom had had tear duct surgery the day before. It's a precursor to corneal transplant surgery in the future, she hopes. Everything went well, and she is glad she had it done even though today her face is so swollen and bruised she can't get her glasses on. But Daddy said to her, "You look as pretty as the day I married you." Naturally I teared up at that!)
Joel loves his grandparents and I think he is more affected by their declining health than he lets on. The way they walk, their old age that shows in their faces and their voices. The steady stream of doctor appointments they talk about. I've been thinking that sort of thing goes "in one ear and out the other" for my fourth grader. You know, "old people stuff" that has no staying power in a squirmy kid's world? Not so. I think it's all burrowing deep into his little heart.
So he says to me in the car, "Mom, I had a dream about Ima." (That's what the kids call my mother.)
"You did?" I ask. "What did you dream?"
And he says joyfully, "I dreamed that she was fine. She could see clearly!" His voice rises with a sing-songy delight. "She didn't have a foot problem. She was running! And she looked young."
And so my menopausal mind rushes to the conclusion: That sounds like she's in heaven. Is this a prophetic dream? Is my mom going to die in order to see clearly and walk well?
I asked, "What about Pappaw? Was he in the dream?"
He said in a dropped voice, "Yeah. But he still looked old."
I was glad Joel couldn't see my face. Tears were just running down my face. They are running down my face now as I write this. See what I mean? These blog posts are more "down" than "up" lately, aren't they? In the past I have been able to see the sunny side, to be flexible when things aren't ideal or even to my liking, to want to give my whole self into new adventures. Now I am skeptical, critical, reserved, fatigued. What is wrong with me?
I can't say I've had "hot flashes" as described online where I feel a sudden outbreak of sweat. I am not throwing everything off at night, nor am I covering up per usual. I am always generally warmer these days than ever before. Wearing a hoodie has only appealed to me once thus far, and it was a cold, rainy, windy night. I'm in flip-flops and capris and short sleeves most every day, regardless what the thermometer says.
But mostly I think I'm in menopause because I just can't get a grip. I am too emotional. Come on, people, here's what made me cry today: I heard a woman (the announcer on a local Christian radio station) recalling a fall memory. The memory was a beautiful sky-blue autumn day when her mom took the day off work and let Tracie stay home from school just to spend time with her.
I was driving when I heard this. The tears came like rain down my face. And then when she said, "It was right before my parents divorced, and I think my mom was trying to comfort me and prepare me, though she didn't mention the divorce." I was just about bawling.
Granted, I have some huge things going on in my life. My parents' 50th wedding celebration on October 29th is weighing heavily on me logistically (prepping for house guests, making visual displays), etc. My son is getting married in March and we're in charge of the rehearsal dinner in NJ, which means finding time to go up and scout things out. I hardly see my older kids anymore. One is student teaching and comes home wiped out and is fighting disillusionment. My youngest has been in the principal's office four times in two weeks in his "adjustment period" to a new school. That makes me feel like a four-fold failure. I am volunteering as an art teacher in his school, but spend more like 3 hours out of class prepping for every 45 minutes in it on a super-tight budget. My husband and I seem like strangers to each other. Our church is in the process of selecting a new senior pastor, and some precious people have left in the midst. Nothing new. It happens, but it hurts. I just feel like there are way too many life transitions at once right now and I don't want to heap more stuff on the shepherds and caregivers in my life. And on top of that, my boy says, "I wish I had a real brother. A brother my age to play with." Sorry, son. I'm pretty sure I can't make that happen unless we adopt, and I am pretty sure that's a big fat "no way, Jose''" now and forever. Amen. Ten years ago I was up for it.
Yesterday in the car my little guy made me cry, too, but it was because of one of those sweet-but-haunting comments kids say when you least expect it. (By way of background, My mom had had tear duct surgery the day before. It's a precursor to corneal transplant surgery in the future, she hopes. Everything went well, and she is glad she had it done even though today her face is so swollen and bruised she can't get her glasses on. But Daddy said to her, "You look as pretty as the day I married you." Naturally I teared up at that!)
Joel loves his grandparents and I think he is more affected by their declining health than he lets on. The way they walk, their old age that shows in their faces and their voices. The steady stream of doctor appointments they talk about. I've been thinking that sort of thing goes "in one ear and out the other" for my fourth grader. You know, "old people stuff" that has no staying power in a squirmy kid's world? Not so. I think it's all burrowing deep into his little heart.
So he says to me in the car, "Mom, I had a dream about Ima." (That's what the kids call my mother.)
"You did?" I ask. "What did you dream?"
And he says joyfully, "I dreamed that she was fine. She could see clearly!" His voice rises with a sing-songy delight. "She didn't have a foot problem. She was running! And she looked young."
And so my menopausal mind rushes to the conclusion: That sounds like she's in heaven. Is this a prophetic dream? Is my mom going to die in order to see clearly and walk well?
I asked, "What about Pappaw? Was he in the dream?"
He said in a dropped voice, "Yeah. But he still looked old."
I was glad Joel couldn't see my face. Tears were just running down my face. They are running down my face now as I write this. See what I mean? These blog posts are more "down" than "up" lately, aren't they? In the past I have been able to see the sunny side, to be flexible when things aren't ideal or even to my liking, to want to give my whole self into new adventures. Now I am skeptical, critical, reserved, fatigued. What is wrong with me?
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