Not the Right Way

We had it all worked out -- a buyer for our home, a new house lined up contingent on the sale of ours. Then our buyer pulled out last Wednesday, no reason given. So now we are hoping to find another buyer in time to still get the new house.

Michael has faith and is calm; I am very disappointed and angry at that lame buyer and at God, who either doesn't want us to get that other house or doesn't want to make it easy, neither option being acceptable to me.

The other day I was taking the kids on a few errands. First, the post office. As I drove there, John shouted, insistently, from the backseat: "This is not the right way! It's not the right way!"

I told him I knew how to find the post office. And I did.

We left and I said, "Now, to the park." Again from the backseat: "This isn't the right way! It's not the right way!"

"John, I'm driving this car. Remember how I got us to the post office? Do you think I might know how to get to the park too?"

"Well . . ." John said, "I guess . . . . No. This isn't the right way!"

Logic doesn't help much when you're the one in the backseat and the way is unfamiliar. But as usual, I see myself in John. I would like to trust more in God and the unfamiliar (and unwanted) road he's taking me on.

Love of Tractors

I am obsessed with tractors these days. And diggers. I would love to see an excavator in real life, but for now am content with pictures in books and on-line. Boy, am I ever excited when I see a backhoe loader -- two scoops in one.

My love of heavy machinery is quite recent, but probably predictable to most mothers of sons. See, John loves to play with anything with wheels -- cars, trains, trucks, and tractors. And I love John, and so I want to help John indulge in his vehicular love. So now I keep my eyes alert for construction sites when we're out in the car. Michael and I search on-line for pictures and videos to watch with John. I just bought him a couple of truck picture books to go along with the ones from the library.

I am getting a much greater appreciation for trucks -- partly out of exposure to them, but mostly because John loves them.

Last night Michael and I read 1 John 4, and one verse struck me as counter-intuitive: "If anyone says, 'I love God,' and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen" (v. 20). Hmmm, isn't it easier to love perfect, distant, God than your brother, who is imperfect and in your face, pushing your buttons and all?

But perhaps it's like loving tractors -- which are lovable to me because John loves them, I love John, and so I love what John loves. Similarly: God loves all of his children. If I love him, I will love who he loves. And, of course (here's where the tractor analogy breaks down, if it hasn't already), "love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God" (4:7).

Pictures from visiting construction at Richland with John:







recent picture of John:

A sixth sense?

Yesterday, Michael was sitting at the kitchen table, with John in his lap. Michael got up and sat John down in the chair, and John said "Ow" for no apparent reason.

Michael and I wondered what had happened. Then Michael burned himself on the toaster oven. "Ow," he said.

"John, I guess you have a prophetic gift to foretell pain," Michael said. "'I see ouchies.'"

It Could Have Been Worse

Last night, Michael said, "Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I'm sorry I didn't get you a card." Michael always writes me deep, thoughtful cards on major holidays. He and I have the flu, so I knew he hadn't done anything. No problem. It'll come.

I told him that Angie, who had been feted in advance, got a KitchenAid mixer for Mother's Day, AND they went to P.F. Chang's for dinner. I'd been sitting on this report for a few days because I didn't want to imply that I needed a similarly spectacular Mother's Day. (I cook as little as possible and would just feel pressured by a fancy mixer.)

We turned in.

Michael's voice woke me: "Kristi, John threw up all over his crib."

I'm up.

When it comes to vomiting, John is extremely considerate in aim and timing. Yet again, he limited his targets to machine-washables and the floor, and during daylight hours. And he's one-and-done. Once he's thrown up, he returns to his sweet, energetic self.

I threw John's pajamas, bedding and Blankie in the wash while Michael gave John a bath.

"Angie isn't having this special of a Mother's Day," Michael said.

Let's hope not.

Happy Mother's Day!

aiming high

Michael's parents visited us from New York this weekend. After a few visits to the park behind our home, they saw how much John enjoys watching the boys play basketball there. We have to restrain him from joining the game. He doesn't realize that he is too young, too small, to play with them. Yesterday, John's grandparents bought him a small basketball backboard and hoop. It came with a miniature basketball. So now he has his very own court in our backyard. (Thanks, Michael and Stephanie!)

This afternoon, John and Michael went to the park and took John's little basketball. John threw it in the air, perhaps three feet up, towards the big hoop. But then he wanted to play with a real basketball instead (which is practically as big as he is). Later this afternoon, we went over there again and a kind man gave John a tennis ball. John tried to make a basket with it, too. We also saw some men playing soccer, and John really wanted to join them.

When John was a little baby, it was sometimes scary that he didn't know his own limitations. I was afraid he would hurt himself when he tried to leap off of the changing table or a bed. But now, it is almost heartbreaking to see his innocence and optimism, and to know that one day he will be hurt by the truth that he cannot do everything he wants to do.

Some day, he will fail, and he will learn to be more hesitant, less sure of himself. I want for John to have a realistic sense of his own strengths and abilities, but I don't want him to get discouraged. I won't tell him "You can do anything you put your mind to do" because it's untrue and would lead him to blame himself if he fails at something. But John's lack of self-doubt or insecurity makes me wonder if we can do more than we think we can do. More specifically, I wonder how often I limit myself by preconceived ideas about what I am capable of.

Occasionally, the boys at the basketball court do share the ball with John (and he repays their kindness by wandering off with the ball!). I want to have wisdom to encourage John to keep aiming high but also to trust God with the outcome. Of course, he will learn the most from my example.

baby on the loose

John loves to play in the pantry. So far he can reach only what's on the floor -- canned goods, some bottles, and the half-gallon container of olive oil. Michael and I were both in the kitchen the other day and somehow neglected to see that John, playing quietly in the pantry, had opened the olive oil, somehow (aided by a insecurely fastened top), and had it in his lap. Upside-down. Yes, he was sitting in a lake of olive oil, oblivious as only a baby can be. Michael said that all we could do was laugh (but he wasn't the one who cleaned it up!).

No spiritual lesson this time -- just a cautionary tale. The new, full container of olive oil has its top securely fastened, and I watch John much more closely when he's in the pantry.