Play as Worship?

Sit down, behave.  Can't you just be quiet and listen?  You are embarrassing me.

Let's be honest.  Anyone who has taken children to worship and said things like this, or at the very least thought them.  When I leave worship, I want to feel fed for the week ahead.  Refreshed, renewed.  However, worshipping with children often drains me more.  It's hard work.  When my boys were young, I had thought it would get better as they became school age.  On some Sundays, it is better.  On other Sundays, it's more difficult.

Let's face it, worshipping with children is tough.  It's hard work.  We often wonder if it's worth the effort.  Maybe we should just stay home.  After all, we could just worship on they days that the children can conveniently be carted off to Sunday School.  The attempt to worship in the midst of a fear that your child will rip the pages in the hymnal, ask an inappropriate question too loudly, make you appear like a poor parent, drop a toy into the pew in front of you, laugh/scream/cry during a moment of silence can feel like it isn't worth the effort.

IT IS!!!

In the middle of a Holden Evening prayer service one evening, I was becoming very frustrated with my then 7 and 10 year old boys.  I could understand the 5 and almost 2 year old playing and lack of participation, but surely the two older boys were capable of more.  Yes, we were in an informal setting, yes it was a family style event, but come on boys!  Get out from under the chairs, and quite playing with the battery operated tealight candles.  My frustration and annoyance was peaking and I bent low to tell them to get off the floor and worship with us when I saw what they had been doing. They had taken the extra battery operated tea lights under the chairs and with them built an illuminated cross.  They had huge smiles of accomplishment and asked if I liked their cross.  Later, the 7 year old told me that they built a cross with candles because Jesus is light.

Years before that, one year around Easter, I was shocked when I walked into the playroom to find my then 3 year old pushing over my then 6 month old from a sitting position to the floor.  The baby, popped back up, the 3 year old threw his hands in the air and yelled, "He has risen!  Alleluia!"  and they both exploded into a fit of giggles.  They played "the resurrection game" over, and over, and over that spring.

Let's not forget the times that each of my boys has "baptized" himself or a brother in the bathtub.

What had looked to me like play was them worshipping.  Did their worship look the same as mine?  No, but should it?  The teacher with a master's degree in education knows how important developmentally appropriate learning, not to mention the immense need that children have for hands-on, concrete learning opportunities before they can move to abstract concepts.  The early childhood educator in me is well aware that many children learn best through play and movement.

So why is it that I KNOW all these things and even applied them into my years of experience as a teacher, but fall short when giving my children worship opportunities.  In the last year and half, I have left classroom teaching and now serve as the Director of Faith Formation at our family's church.  This has made me more mindful of trying to provide my children with authentic, age appropriate worship experiences like our family summer worship experience planned with the kids where offering included them choosing a toy to donate, a message delivered by a 9 year old, and where the body and blood of Christ was served to all, including the dogs, in the form of saltine crackers and grape Kool-Aid.  There is no doubt in mind the Jesus was there in our backyard that Sunday morning as much as He was in any sanctuary space.  My children enjoyed our non-traditional yet traditional worship service immensely and look forward to making it a summer tradition.

While our backyard worship was an awe-spiring experience for our family (and Wookie and Ewok, our family dogs), how feasible is it to bring this type of experience to the whole congregation?  If we leave it to parents, how equipped do they feel to plan and lead this type of service themselves?

I can plan and lead the best Sunday School units in the world, the most engaging VBS experience ever and still fall short to give the families I serve what they thirst for. Authentic, engaging, worship opportunities for the family to experience together.  A common experience they could talk about together beyond Sunday morning.  A tool that helps them take their faith beyond Sunday morning, into the rest of their week.  As amazing as that sounds, how on God's great Earth is that ever going to happen?

When I first took my idea to the Pastors and worship coordinator at my church, I suspected there was a good chance it would be shut down.  I was elated when it was embraced and I am ecstatic, but nervous, to have our model of worship go live for a trial run this coming January.  After the holiday season, we will be inviting our whole congregation to worship in multi-generation and interactive style.  We have named this maiden voyage of our interactive worship "January Journey with Jesus".  Beginning with the first Sunday in January, we will journey with Jesus from his infancy through His baptism.

What does it mean to have in interactive worship service?  The best way I can think to describe it as as a Sunday School meets worship collision.  We will begin with traditional worship elements, including gathering music, Word and prayer.  When the service gets to the place where a sermon would normally be, people will be invited to choose from a host of stations.  Each week, people will be able to worship and learn in a way that they are drawn to whether it be creating a craft, trying a science experiment, playing a game, participating a Pastor led discussion about the scripture, doing a crossword or reflecting on a series of images projected.  As our activity time draws to a close, we will regather as a community to round out our worship experience with more traditional worship elements including Holy Communion, music and a blessing.

As I mentioned, I am eager, ecstatic and also quite nervous to try this style of worship with our whole congregation.  I am praying that God will help us all to keep open minds while giving us faith like a child so we too can be drawn closer to Him through this process while also inviting the youngest worshippers closer too.

Thank the Lord, at ALL Times

This morning, while eating breakfast, Sam announced that he need go potty.  "But don't worry!  I already asked the Lord to help me!" he loudly said as he ran for the bathroom.

Upon returning, he told me he thanked the Lord for helping him.

I guess he's taking the at all times thing pretty seriously.

I Have Something To Tell You

I have a friend who says I should preface every story I tell with, "You know I have 4 boys right?"  There is so much truth to this that I sometimes think I should wear a sticker that reads, "Hello! My name is Mom of 4 boys."  You know for those days where I know I showered SOMETIME this week, my hair is in a ponytail because I don't have time to run a comb through it, I was lucky enough to get deodorant on but the idea of makeup is simply ludicrous and I somehow managed to get dressed in my "good" yoga pants.  And I forgot to mention the snot on my shoulder, something in my hair besides my hair elastic, a questionable smudge on my shirt and bags under my eyes.  Needless to say, I rarely feel attractive and I never feel glamorous.  There are days where I can feel downright repulsive.

It was on one of these such days that I was home with not 1, not 2, but 3 sick kiddos.  I spent a large amount of time rocking a feverish baby, wiping a preschoolers nose and giving neb treatments to a 1st grader.  When the 5 year old started in with, "Mom, Mama, Mommy,"  I took a deep breath and did my best to keep it together.

"Yes, dear?"

"I have something to tell you..."

"And what is that?"

He climbed up on the arm of the chair where I was rocking his baby brother, leaned in close to my ear and whispered, "I just wanted to tell you, (pause), you are beautiful!" 

Sure, the words are sweet, but the squeeze around my neck and ear to ear smile that accompanied it made me believe it.  

You see Moms, you ARE beautiful.  Despite what the mirror, magazines and yourself might say, you ARE beautiful.  And it isn't despite the shower, yoga pants and messy hair.  No, in fact, these very things are part of what make you beautiful because they are part of who you are.  You are Mom, Mama, Mommy. You are the rocker of feverish babies, the wiper of noses, the one who's kiss can heal and soothe better than any medicine.  And to your child, your husband, the grandparents of your children, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.  

I try hard and pray often that God will help me to see and love others the way He does.  Thank you God for using my sniffly 5 year old to help me see a glimpse of myself in that same way.

Grandma's Favorite

This is the eulogy I gave at Grandma's funeral last week.

Growing up, I knew I had a good thing going with Grandma.  In her cupboards I always knew where I could find a special treat.  There was always room in her lap for me and she always took time to sing “The end of the rainbow” song to me.  We were always able to share a good laugh trying to get the last hit in on one another.  Time and time again she did “surgery” to reattach the arm on Button Eyes, my bunnies by Billie original.  She had the patience of the saint when came to teaching me how to ‘gnore my brother, braid hair on my Barbies and  My Little Pony, crochet a set of coasters, tie my first quilt, or bake a batch of buns.  Looking back on all of this, it is easy for me to see why I was pretty sure I was Grandma’s favorite.

As I got older, but not Grandma (she was always 39 you see), I remember having a discussion with some of my cousins about this very thing and we discovered something.  Somehow, some way, we had all come to believe we were her favorite.  It wasn’t that she told us this out right with words; it was in her actions that led so many of us to feel a special connection between Grandma and grandchild that surely must have meant we are favored.  And we were; we were ALL favored.

The special treat that Grandma stocked special for you may have been a tootsie roll, or a Kit-Kat, or a jar of peanuts, or maybe a cherry slice, or a frozen fruit cup, or homemade chocolate chip cookies, but you knew Grandma kept it on hand for YOU. 

She may have sung the rainbow song, the cow shed song, boom ditty or some other tune, but she rocked and sang to each and every one of us at some point.  And you could be guaranteed as you grew up and announced your engagement; Grandma would enthusiastically volunteer to sing “CeCe Oh Playmate” or “Blue Moon” at your wedding.

In addition to the laughs we were able to share with Grandma playing dumb like a fox, many also had a special last hit, pinch, or word game (can you say Rats-a-frats and Neh-ner, neh-ner, neh-ner!?) that you played with Grandma that helped you feel connected with her.  We all had a nickname Grandma liked to use: Spoofers, BJ, Phlip, Nana Banana, Jake the Snake, Kit Kat, Danni, Topher, Ash, Lissie, Aimes, Jen Jen, Tiffer. 

Grandma was always eager to help out with mending whether it was a stuffed animal that needed stitching, a hem that needed to be shortened, or a button come loose. 

Grandma taught all of us valuable lessons.  Some were in the kitchen or at the craft table.  We were all taught that if you wanted something clean, warshing was better than washing.  Many other lessons were taught from the heart as Grandma time and time again modeled for us how to care for others, welcome all and love big.  Grandma’s waiting by the window to wave good-bye, forcing us to share her with classmates for Grandparents Day, having a stocking and gift for every, and I mean every, person who came to Christmas, and getting up early to cook breakfast and wish good luck to the hunters are prime examples of her devotion and love for not only her family, but for others as well.

It takes a very special person with a big heart and lots of love to make 13 (plus 4) grandchildren feel that each and every one of them is favored.  And it didn’t stop there.  The same deep love and devotion that Grandma bestowed upon each of us was poured out onto the next generation as well.  With each and every great, we got to see all over again Grandma’s love for these babes.  First there was Lil Ray Ray and Robby, or Scott Robert, who could get her to sit in a parked truck for hours.  Next came Grandma’s Willy Lump Lump.  Grandma was so very happy when she got her 1^st great granddaughter and was able to share her wedding anniversary of March 5 with Danika, also know as little Deana Lee.  Then came Sam I Am, Calvin, Hunter, Dom, Miss Makayla and Miss MaKenzee and Grandma’s love never faltered.  She continued being able to hear and understand babies so well that somehow each and every one of them was heard time and time again saying, “I like my Grandpa, but I LOVE my Grandma.”  When her most recent great was born, Grandma made sure the hospital staff found a way for her and Grandpa to get from his hospital room to the nursery so she could meet her little Teddy bear.  Her adoration for them (and a well stocked freezer) earned her a fitting nickname of her own, Grandma Cookie.

13, plus 4, and 11 more is 28 grandchildren.  And that doesn’t even count all of the nieces, nephews, neighbors, Sunday School kiddos, friends, girlfriends, and boyfriends of ours that she also loved like only a Grandma can.  Each and every one of them loved, cherished and favored.  That takes a lot of heart.  I also think it takes a lot of faith in and love for God because her love was very much like the reflection of His.  I am so thankful that I was blessed to be one of the lucky ones who got to call her Grandma.  Thank you Grandma for the lessons, memories, and love you shared.  I know that each of us will have a freshly warshed room and open arms waiting for us in heaven.

Another?!?! Take 2

November 9, 2011.  I posted a blog.  If you don't recall, let me jog your memory...
Rob said a little prayer.  His request was simple enough.  He wanted a new baby.

Well, is this proof enough for you that God hears prayers?  :)

Baby Wicks #4 EDD: October 26, 2012

I had told him to think pink because Mom really likes pink, and I do.  Frankly, I am great either way.  A girl would be fun, but we do know a thing or two about boys around the Wx house!

How the Lost was Found

I have a personal faith story I would like to share with everyone.  It's all about a set of lost keys.  I know that seems like a small thing to lose and not very significant, but hang with me.  It gets better.

Let me begin by saying it is very common for me to lose things.  I'm quite gifted at it actually.  If there was an Olympic event for lost keys and phones, I'd be in the running for gold for sure.  So when I noticed my school keys were missing last Friday, I didn't get too worked up about it.  I just assumed they would resurface in the next day or 2, probably somewhere obscure, but I would find them.  When I still hadn't found them on Monday, I was becoming flustered.  Tuesday I called places I had been on Thursday.  Still no keys.  Tuesday night, Michael looked in every crevice of the Yukon and I searched every article of clothing I had or might had worn.  Still no keys.

I had been praying on and off throughout my search process but had not felt any pull from God in any certain direction.  I had been leading myself through the search the entire time.  Tuesday night I decided to give up.  I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and spoke with my God.  "God, I know it's just a set of keys.  I know it's not that big of a deal, but it has been weighing on me.  No more.  I give up.  It would be awesome if you would reveal the keys to me, but if you don't, I'm done allowing it to bother me.  I give it up, to you."  It felt good to let it go from my shoulders to His feet.

When I woke Wednesday morning, I recalled a dream I had had while I slept...  I was in the gym with the fifth graders.  I was telling them about my lost set of keys and if they should happen upon them to let me know.  As I was speaking, I was pulling the parachute out of the box when my hand felt something among the nylon.  As I looked to my hand, one of the girls pointed and said, "Mrs. Wicks!  Are those your keys?!"  When I looked to where she was pointing, I saw a green lanyard through the white nylon.  My hands parted the slippery surface of the parachute and clink! My keys fell to the wooden gym floor.  Hmmmm....  Made me think, but really? Maybe, but doubtful.

Later that morning I was telling the account of my lost keys, prayer and dream to some co-workers.  When one laughed at me I responded with, "Hey!  Don't laugh at me.  I'm going the gym right now to look in the parachute box!"

I headed off across the street to the gym.  As I made my way to the gym closet, I wasn't sure what to think.  Was I crazy?  It's not like God would speak to me.  I hushed my mind as I opened the supply closet, located the box and began pulling the parachute out.  Clink!  Keys fell into the box.  My jaw nearly hit the floor and my eyes had to have been the size of saucers.

As I began to leave the gym, I had to share my story with the other PE teacher.  "You'll never believe what just happened to me" I began.  She listened in awe and then told me, "You know Billie Jo what's really bizarre?  That box fell over yesterday and I scooped it up, pushed the parachute back inside and never saw a key."

Say what you will about the power of the human mind, but I firmly believe this is a testament of the power of God.  (Like Pat said, "You're blonde, it's not like your mind could have known the answer the whole time!"  Thanks Pat, thanks.)  To know that God knows me, hears me and loves me enough to not only help me find the lost, but also to speak to me and in such a clear manner just leaves me in lovestruck wonder I can't even begin to describe it.  How great is our God?  Pretty great and then some.

Another?!?!

Robby shocked me yesterday.  (Yes, that is a frequent occurrence, but this time, he really got me.)  I was making dinner when out of nowhere I felt a tap on my rear end (gotta love preschool height).  When I turned around, Robby's big eyes looked into mine and he asked, "Mom, can we have another baby now?"

I must have fluid in my ears and not have heard right.  "What?"

"Can we have another baby now?  Sam's not a baby anymore and I really, really want one.  I love babies.  Can we have another baby now?"

I replied as any good mother would, "Um, go talk to your dad."

Robby set rounded the corner, found Michael and repeated his request.  I eavesdropped curious to how Michael would gently let him down.  Imagine my surprise when he responded with what other than, yes, you guessed it, "Go talk to your mom."

So Robby turned right back my way with those pleading eyes that scream "Please, please, puh-lease?!?!"

"Go talk to God.  But if you do, ask for a sister.  Tell him Mom really likes pink."

And he did.  He put himself straight into a corner, folded his little chubby fingers around one another, squeezed those big eyes and began to pray.

"I did it Mom!  Now we have to wait and see!" announced Rob a few moments later.

I looked at Michael and smiled.  "Remember what happened last time one of our children prayed a prayer like that?"

"Yup.  We got Sam."  Ray's prayer for twin sisters and a mini-van may not have been fulfilled but Sam and a Yukon are close enough for me.  I wonder in what mysterious way God might respond to Rob's request...

Goodbye Grandma

The last few weeks have been difficult in the larger Wx family.  We have had to prepare and finally say goodbye to a staple of the family.  If we are the bread, she was the soft butter that she always kept on the table.  Grandma Wx was an amazing woman and she will be greatly missed.  Michael and his siblings were fortunate enough to have grown up across the road from their grandmother.  With her farmhouse directly across from theirs, there was a great deal of work and visiting to be done with her.  When I joined the family 10 years ago, there were a lot of things that made me feel like an in-law, but Grandma was never one of them.

My children also loved the woman they called Great Grandma so you can imagine that it was with difficulty that they said goodbye.  Ray had experienced a funeral once before with the passing of my grandmother a few years back, but it is a vague memory for him and not a memory at all for Rob who was just a baby at the time.

Grandma lived a full 87 years.  Her love of life affected the lives of her 4 children, 15 grandchildren, and 29 great grandchildren.  (And that doesn't even count the children and grandchildren she gained by marriage!)  One thing that amazed everyone was when she decided in her 60's to go take care of old people at the nursing home.  She never missed a day of work in 16 years and retired in 2003.

In the last few years, Grandma's health was not what it had been.  Two weeks before her death, she fell and broke her hip.  She did well through the surgery but the complications of pneumonia and blood pressure fluctuation proved challenging. As she tried to rally, her family gathered around her bedside and Michael and I tried to explain what was happening to our children.  When we would leave them with my Mom or Sue because family said it might be tonight, Ray and Rob would get wet eyes because they didn't want Great Grandma to die.  In the morning they would climb into my bed and with sad eyes ask if Great Grandma had died.  When I would say no, she was still alive, their smiles and cheers always lifted my spirit.

 Last week, family gathered at Grandma's bedside daily as the end become more and more evident.  I will never forget sitting there Thursday night into the early morning hours of Friday watching her children and grandchildren gathered around her, holding her hands, stroking her hair, telling stories, singing songs and reminding her she had nothing to fear.  Grandma knew Jesus and with that, we all knew where her place in eternity lie.  The love in that room was so powerful and such a testimony to the woman she was and the life she lived.

When Michael and I left at 2:30 a.m., we truly expected to wake up in the morning and learn she was gone.  But she wasn't.  We went off to work and school while her children and some grandchildren stayed at her bedside.  Close to noon that day, we learned that Grandma had left her pain and sorrows behind to join her husband and other family on the other side of the pearly gates.

I didn't plan on telling the boys until we were home and all together, but insightful and sensitive Rob asked when I picked him up from daycare, "Mom, is Great Grandma still alive?"

I looked into his big blue-green eyes and told him the truth.  "No honey.  She died today.  But that's okay, because do know where she is now?"

"She's with Jesus," Robby replied with a sad smile.

"Yes, she is," and I swallowed back my tears.

We gathered as a large family that evening for dinner and fellowship.  Some of us found our way to the floor surrounded by years worth of photos.  As we pointed and laughed, told stories, and remembered, Sam walked up to my mother-in-law, pointed at her and in a puzzled voice said, "You dead?"

"No honey, Grandma is not dead.  GREAT Grandma is dead."

"Great Grandma dead?"

"Yes, Great Grandma is dead.  The only who lives across the road."

"That chair?"  Sam asked pointing the rocking chair where Grandma sat nearly every Sunday and for any other family gathering.

"Yes.  Great Grandma who sat in that chair is dead."

"Oh.  Where she at?"

"She's gone honey.  She's in heaven now."

"She on the roof?"

"No, she is in heaven."

"She in the basement?"

"No, she is in heaven, with Jesus."

"Oh, she with Jesus."

As the time for the funeral drew near, Michael and I discussed if the boys should go and what they should wear.  We decided it would be good for them to go and have the experience now rather than wait and have it for the first time with someone they are even closer to.  When Rob heard Michael was wearing a suit, he got his own ideas about what he should wear.

"Can I dress like a president for Great Grandma's funeral?"

"Sure," I replied too quickly thinking a shirt and tie would suffice.

"I wanna look like George Washington!"  Rob said motioning near his neck,  "I want a fluffy white thing!"

Uh-oh.  "I don't think we'll find a shirt like that."

"Adams?"

"Hmm, no."

"Jefferson?"

"No."

"Jackson?"

"No."

"Who can I dress like?"

'How about Obama?"

"Okay.  Or what about W. Bush?"

"Fine."

The shirt and tie were not enough and my quest for a sport jacket only found one: a Calvin Klein version at the cost of $90.  But Rob was relentless.  We wanted to wear his tuxedo leftover from Ray's ring bear debut.  As I thought about if I should let him wear it or not, I finally asked myself what would Grandma say?  She'd surely say, "Yea, sure, whatever you got it fine."  I smiled as we compromised by letting him wear the jacket.

Word got around throughout the day that a future president was in the midst.  It was nice to see people smile as they told Rob they would be sure to vote for him someday.  I'm sure Grandma would have agreed.

TAG! and Happy Mother's Day!

I remember this day, seven years ago, the Friday before Mother's Day.  I was teaching kindergarten at Southgate Elementary School (go gators!).  I had always managed to send home some sweet little card and craft with my kiddos, but that year, it seemed a little more special to me.  I remember saying good-bye to all the lil sweeties clutching their projects to give to their mommy's and praying to myself that they would make it home to mom without too much destruction on the bus ride home.

More vividly, I remember walking down the hallway after school, was all the warm wishes from parents and co-workers.  It caught me a little off guard to hear the first "Happy Mother's Day, Billie Jo!" directed my way.  I even remember looking over my shoulder, to find the other Billie Jo they were wishing a happy mother's day to.  (As if that would ever happen!)  Feeling a bit silly, I tried to quickly recovered, smiled and greeted the well-wisher a happy mother's day in return.  It felt odd to be on the receiving end of mother's day wishes for the first time.

By the time I left school that afternoon, I must have received at least a dozen mother's day greetings.  I also quit looking over my shoulder and responded more quickly with a smile and a "Happy Mother's day to you too," or "thank you".  Driving home that afternoon, I remember smiling and feeling like I had just been accepted into some secret society of mom-dom.  Being a mom was great; I was a great mom.  This must be the best holiday ever invented!

That was seven years ago.  Looking back on that, I was soooo naive.  Don't get me wrong, being a mom IS great, at least most of the time.  ;)  But as moms, we'd be lying to ourselves if we said it didn't have it's moments.

Take the last few days for instance.  It has been a scream-fest.  I know you other mommies have been there.  As soon as one crisis is averted, another arises.  As soon as one child becomes cooperative, another begins his tantrum.  It's like they are tag-teaming you, but you don't have anyone in your corner to tag so you can catch your breath.

Sam screamed for 30-40 minutes yesterday morning about wanting a full glass of orange juice, and not a sippy.  How did I get him to stop?  I pulled up to daycare, slowed down enough to pass him off to his daycare mom, and hit the gas.  Thankfully, he stopped for her, but only so he could come home and pick up where he left off.  No lie, 90 minutes of screaming, crying, and kicking because I would not allow him to have the glass bowl full of cherry tomatoes.  Don't think I didn't offer a smaller bowl with a handful of them; that wasn't good enough for Sam.

I was so thankful when he woke up smiling today, but when I wasn't looking, he must have tagged Robby because Robby started screaming.  He screamed for at least 40 minutes about a worm-like insect that went missing.  He brought home what I honestly never saw, but Michael described as a maggot-like creature in a ziploc.  It's his new friend.  He is going to keep it forever.  Not in my house, I said.  Your "friend" can live in the garden.  Seeing an empty baggie this morning prompted Robby to recall his friend, run outside in his jammies to find his bestest friend ever and scream ridiculously when he couldn't find him.

"But I wanted to keep him forever!  He was going to live in my garden!  Someone probably stole him!  I never even got to say good-bye!"  Slightly irrational.  I'd say so.

After threatening to leave him home with Jaxson for the day and literally loading everyone else into the Yukon, I finally managed to get Rob out the door and off to school.  Whew.

7 years ago, this would have appalled me and sent me to the looney bin.  Even 2 years ago, this would have really shaken me for the rest of the day.   And yes, it does still fluster me from time to time, but I am amazed and how smoothly my day has managed to go after this rocky start.  I could take credit saying, "Wow, I've really grown as a mom!", but that wouldn't be fully accurate.  It would be more true to say, "Wow, with God's grace, I've really grown as a Christian mom."

I've learned this secret weapon in the last year.  I like to call it The Power of Mama Prayer.  When the screaming starts, so do the prayers.  I might look and sound like a crazy lady literally chanting at times, "Patience, God, patience!  Grant me patience!! Grant Robby patience!!" but I'm telling you, it's the only thing that keeps me sane some days!  For me, Mama Prayer is like saying, "I'm tired.  Tag, God!  You're it!"  It's been really nice to have God in my corner.

I smiled today as I watched my little preschoolers scamper out of class clutching their flowers with a little sign that read "Your love helps me bloom!"  I can't help but think that those same words are very fitting not only for the moms out there this Mother's day, but also for my Father.

So thanks to all the great mom's out there and thanks to the One who helps them plant seeds in little hearts and water them with the gifts of patience, kindness and love.

Happy Mother's Day!

Black and White: Explaining the Death of Bin Laden

At the beginning of this week, Michael and I were all snug in our bed as is our Sunday evening tradition.  I have a long-standing Sunday evening date with ABC.  Michael pretends to not enjoy it, but after years of my 21st century soaps, as he calls them, I think he is also secretly addicted.  When the last bit of Brothers and Sisters was interrupted for a news brief I said, "Ugh!  This better be good!"

By now you all know what the new brief was regarding; it was ten years in the making after all.  The announcement of Osama Bin Laden's death at first shocked me.  Then it made me gleeful.  That emotion was quickly replaced with but remorse.  As a Christian, how can I find happiness in the death of another human being?  But then again, one could almost argue that Bin Laden wasn't human.  He was more a monster than a man.  Right?  I kept these thought tucked inside my head as I watched the new brief unfold and tried to make sense of it all.  But still the following verse kept reeling through my head:

Matthew 10:29-31

"Not even a sparrow, worth only half a 

penny, can fall to the ground without your 

Father knowing it. And the very hairs on 

your head are all numbered. So don’t be 

afraid; you are more valuable to Him than 

a whole flock of sparrows."

The next morning, my mom stopped by on her way into work.  She asked if I had heard the good news.  I said that I had and yes, it was a relief to not have to worry any more about Bin Laden.  We then when on to talk about our concerns about possible retaliation attacks against to US by other terrorists.  After all, Bin Laden hadn't exactly pulled off any of his stunts alone.  He had armies of men, women and children brainwashed and trained in his school of thought.

Upon her departure, my ever inquisitive children asked who died.  I got a knot in my stomach and thought, "Okay God.  I could use a little help here.  How am I suppose to explain this one?"

I told them that a really, really bad guy who had done some horrible things had been found after a long time of searching and had been killed.  Seven-year-old Ray said, "Oh!  Good!  They finally got that bad guy who broke into a house over by Blake!"

Hmmmm....  What am I suppose to say to that?  Yes.  That was a bad guy, but this guy was even 'badder'?  Despite the fact that 'badder' is not a word, I knew that wasn't going to cut it.  Kids are kids.  They know good.  They know bad.  They know black.  They know white.  Maybe we as adults are partly to blame.  We put so much emphasis on opposites: up/down, right/left, hot/cold, yes/no that maybe we make it difficult to understand there is a whole continuum; a whole scale of grey in between the black and white.

"No.  Not that guy Ray.  It was a different bad guy.  This man, Osama Bin Laden, has done some really bad things.  Before you were born, he planned for planes to crash into 2 important, big buildings.  It killed a lot of people and hurt a lot of others."

"Oh.  Well.  Good.  I'm glad he's dead."

Hmmmm....  Do I really want my children thinking it good someone is dead?  No.  I don't.  Life is precious.  All life.  But at the same time, IT'S OSAMA BIN LADEN for pete's sake!

"You know, that's how I felt at first too, but after I thought about it, I started wondering, 'I wonder how God feels knowing Bin Laden died.'  I bet it made him sad.  That makes me sad.  I wish there could've been a way for Bin Laden to change.  I wish we could've found a way to help him understand God's love and how God's love can change us."

This conversation has played out in mind many times through this week.  How do I help my children understand right from wrong, good from evil, black from white, but also help them to see that sometime there are some shades of grey?  I can't.  Not alone anyway.  That is why I am so thankful that I have God to help me through this journey of parenthood.

I've kept these feelings to myself all week this week  (I know, so not like me right?),  but I felt that maybe my feelings were wrong.  Maybe others would think I was a freak.  My thoughts even made me feel unpatriotic.  It's not that I'm wish Osama was still alive, but I do wish things could have been different.

A friend of mine posted the blog linked below.  It gave me permission to feel what I feel.  It made me realize that my confused feelings on the death of Bin Laden are not unjustified, un-American, or isolated.  I may not understand God's plan within all of this, but I'm sure glad He is in control.

view other blog about Bin Laden's death