Wisps of Fog

This is such a beautiful time of year- my very favorite. The world is so new and beautiful. How is it then that our society has made certain that we miss this time of year if at all possible? Any mom knows that April and May are the worst months of the year to try to plan anything. Ask to see any family calendar this time of year and the blocks all bleed together with writing creeping out of the squares and up the side of the margin. The kids all had dentist appointments last Thursday. I knew about them- they were even written on the calendar and I heard the message the receptionist left on my answering machine. But did we go? Of course not! There was so much crammed into the day that when something else came up at the last minute, I completely forgot about the dentist. (Note to self: NEVER schedule dentist appointments in the spring!)
Don't get me wrong! I'm not complaining! So much of the busyness is a celebration of family and individual talents and efforts. Orchestra concerts (three to be exact), band concerts (2), track meets (too many to count), rehearsals and lessons and practices for all of the above, ballet auditions and rehearsals, weddings, meetings, field trips, showers, going away parties, the list goes on and on.

My husband has taken a new approach to this chaos this year. He has deliberately slowed down. As I ran across the parking lot to rush home the other day, I had to wait while he took pictures of the moon through Spanish moss. And wait while he takes pictures of flowers. And wait while he takes pictures of children playing. And wait while he takes pictures of...

Maybe he's trying to hold on to all this that's slipping through our fingers like sand. Maybe he's trying to preserve it for me because he knows I'm missing it. I know I need to follow his lead. What does all this rushing around get me, anyway?

For I don't know the first thing about tomorrow. I'm nothing but a wisp of fog, catching a brief bit of sun before disappearing. (James 4:13-15 The Message) If this is all I have, I want to make the best choice.

It's a Seasonal Thing

I can't remember exactly how it goes but it was something about our relationship with God being like seasons. And how once we've learned to embrace the dry, dead appearing times with the same vigor and praise as the vibrant, lively times, and learn to see God at work in one just as much as the other, then we are approaching spiritual maturity.

It's what came to mind this morning when for Easter, all I wanted was a beautiful, warm, worship party, like a child who greedily wants an Easter basket full of candy and goodies. How could it be Easter and not be just like that? Overflowing with goodness beyond measure. More sweet bounty of love and fellowship than one can stomach. A day that leaves one reeling from the sugar high. I didn't count on feeling just as excised and amputated as always- more like a hang-nail than a real Body part.

I guess spiritual maturity is still quite a ways off.

There are seasons when the tree is green, there are seasons when it is dry, and seasons when, for the life of us, the thing looks dead. Now, does this mean you are serving some capricious God who comes and goes by whim? Or, could it be that it is only through seasons that true growth may come?
- The Celtic Book of Prayer, Aidan Readings, April 21

Nemo

There once was a baby named, "Nemo"
Who was loved much more than he knew.
For his family was bigger and brighter than most
And their love for him grew and grew.

He had a Mommy and Daddy
A brother and sister too.
But he also had nurses and doctors
Who thought they were family too!

There was Jessie who rocked him at night time,
And Sarah who loved him by day.
On weekends Ms. Pat held him out in the station
And on the computer he'd play.

Gayle took him rides in the wagon,
And Allison snuck him some cake.
Leisa and Tony took care of his baths
And Oh! What a noise he would make!

They all knew how much he liked music,
And they kept him well stocked in toys.
They spoiled him royally and kissed on his cheeks,
The way you should all little boys!

He loved to hold on to long silky hair
And to pull on IDs that went, "snap"!
But when he was tired or too sick to play
He loved to sit still on your lap.

He'd nod his head "yes" and then cut his eyes
To see if you thought he was funny.
And everyone smiled and laughed at his trick.
When he smiled the whole world was sunny.

Sometimes Rebecca would bounce up and down
And Nemo would copy her dance.
When Lori played "peek-a-boo" under her desk,
He'd giggle and steal a quick glance.

Teresa and he had a game that they played-
He'd throw all his toys on the floor.
And after she picked them up all one by one,
He'd see if she'd play just once more.

There was something that Nemo found slightly odd:
Part of his family thought he liked frogs!
Like Jena and Becca with fun things to shake,
And even Ms. Helen! What sense did this make?

But he understood lonely and watching TV.
And despite what Doc Casey might say,
He understood TVs were really no fun.
He much preferred people who'd play.

Like Amy who nibbled on fingers and toes,
And Heather who read him his book,
And JoAnn who taught him where "this piggy goes",
He stole all of their hearts with one look.

When playtime was hampered by feeling real bad,
By fevers or bad tummy aches,
His nurse would come rock him and hold him real tight
While he'd reach up and stroke on her face.

He brought in his first New Year with nurse Angela.
His birthday was all about fish.
For Christmas his picture adorned the staff's tree.
But deep in his heart he'd a wish.

A wish for a tummy that liked what he ate,
And to stop all the pain and the pokes.
And even though hospital people were nice,
He wished he could live with his folks.

Poor Nemo seemed weaker as each day went by,
His family doing all they could do.
But then came a call and a long airplane ride.
And now- his wish would come true!

And though they all missed him so terribly much,
His hospital family and friends,
Their prayers were all answered as Nemo got well
And his sick little body did mend.

So deep in their hearts they will never forget
The baby they'd all come to know.
They'd treasure their memories and oft call to mind
Their stories of Baby Nemo.


(And P.S.: Happy B-day, Rah-Rah! We love you!)