The Day

Since I didn’t write anything about Easter last week, I will do so now.  First, a little bit about our day.  And then, a little bit about the day.

We get up a little earlier than on a usual Sunday morning.  We want to be at the church building a little early so we can do some stuff for Sunday School.  T. and I work with the middle and high school group.  In class we talked about the resurrection and watch some snippets of Narnia. 

The worship service then followed.  This year, there was no cantata, play, or for that matter there wasn’t anything that would necessarily distinguish it from any other service.  It was a great service, nonetheless.

After the church service, we went home, had some lunch and put the three-year-old down for a nap. And in the afternoon, we went over to our friend’s house for a nice meal and a rousing game of Super Scrabble.  We had a great time.  And before we knew it, it was after eight and time to go home. 

We didn’t boil and color eggs. There was no Easter egg hunt.  No candy. No gifts.  Now, it is not that we are opposed to any of those things.  We just didn’t.  Our son, at this point, doesn’t have a grasp on the concept of holidays.  Like I mentioned in a previous blog, he doesn’t seem to be very materialistic.  We did have a few plastic eggs as decoration, and he played with them.  I assume that next year, it will be a big deal, and we will celebrate.

 
All in all, it was a calm and relaxing day.

Which brings me to the day. And here is what happened on the first Easter day. 

He got up!

 

Every Wall

Every wall
Every wall He has broken down
Our peace
He, our peace

Every stone

Every stone thrown to the ground
Our peace
He, our peace

Every life

Every life He has made known
Our peace
He, our peace

Every soul

Every soul to which He has shown
Our peace
He, our peace

The Purchase

So, my son and I went to the store yesterday.  I had to pick up some things.  I am also working on having him walk alongside and not get “into anything”.  He, after all, has to not only learn freedom, but the respecting other people’s stuff.  And to listen.

As we went down the aisles grabbing the necessary items, I told him that we were going to go to the toy section.  He could pick out a toy since he was doing such a great job.  Fortunately, we are at Walgreen’s and the toy section is small.  And there aren’t a lot of people in the store at this time.

Now, whether my son had full understanding of his task at hand, I do not know, but he began looking, sometimes standing and sometimes kneeling, at different toys.  I, however, was keenly aware of this moment, as I am watching my son make his first purchase.  And the purchase would be made solely based upon his preference and his choice.  This is big stuff.

The first thing that he noticed, is some kind of Minnie Mouse battery powered electronic game with a sale price of  $14.99.  Now, both the price and item would normally be unacceptable other than the fact that I did tell him that he could pick whatever he wanted.  I will have to rethink that strategy.  He stared at it for a while and said “purple” as he eyed the color of her dress and then moved on.  I thought about directing him, but that would be counterproductive to the “his choice” concept. 

The next item on his  little looky-loo trek were cans of Silly String.  Now you’re talking boy.  I mean, that would be kind of fun, but temporary.  I then envisioned myself having to explain to him that the ingredients of the can was “all gone” as tears ran down his face with his little wailing voice as if he were betrayed by the very things and persons in whom he placed his trust. I was awakened from my daydream scenario as my son moved on.  Whew, dodged that bullet!

He has now settled in on his knees and has pulled out one of those porcupine balls.  They are squishy and have little tentacle like things all over the ball.  This one is about 8 inches in diameter and hot pink.  He does like balls and these are fun.  I am thinking that we have a winner here.

 And then, he sees it! A 4½-inch diameter rubber bouncy ball.  And on the ball are two faces. One, Thomas the Tank Engine, and the other, James, another train engine.  “Hello Thomas”, my son said.  And he looked at me, showed me the ball, with admiration and excitement and said “Thomas”.  I greeted the Tank Engine myself and ask my son if he would like to buy the ball.  “Yeah, ball”.  So off we went to the register.

Waiting in line, my little one kept greeting and acknowledging Thomas.  He turned to the man behind us and said “Thomas” and showed him his most prized possession.  Some people don’t think he is as cute and as brilliant as we do.  Oh well, their loss. 

When it was our turn, I told him that he had to give Thomas to the clerk so we could buy him.  He graciously handed the ball to the lady and informed her that it was Thomas and James.  She agreed with his assessment, scanned the bar code and handed the ball back to my son, who clutched it in his arms and off we went.  This truly was a great moment.

I am thinking of giving him our grocery list to see how he does, solo.  Too soon?

Never Leave a Man Behind

So, we went to the Wildlife Safari this past Friday.  It is a drive through safari with the animals out in the open. I thought that our three-year-old son would be old enough to enjoy seeing all of the animals.  For the most part he did, but probably next year will bring about maximum satisfaction.

The first thing the ticket taker tells you is that you are to remain in your vehicles at all times.  “And if the animals approach, make sure to roll up your windows.  Be sure to keep two to three car lengths away from the rhinoceros, and if at any time your feel you are in trouble you are to honk your horn and a worker will be right there.”  Sounds a bit ominous, right?  In hindsight, it isn’t as bad as it sounds, but still.  There are giraffes, bison, ostriches, yaks, elk, zebras, rheas, and of course the rhino just out there in the open.  The lions, cheetah, tigers are caged with chained link fences. And three strands of electric wire separate the bears and our car.  All in all, it is safe, but with the initial instructions and reminder signs along the way reminding you to stay in your car certainly has captured your attention.

Since the drive takes about an hour and a half and the animals are on both sides of the road, we decided to let our son out of his car seat so he can go from window to window in the back of our SUV.  We are all having a good time even though it was raining at times. We would roll our windows rolled down to have a clearer view of the wildlife and for taking pictures.

At some point we hear our son say, “oh, no.”.  We were stopped on the side of the road looking at the giraffes when our son had dropped his six-inch little Winnie the Pooh out of the car through the half rolled down back window.  As I look out my passenger window, I see him.   There is Mr. Pooh, lying on the ground, face down, in, which seems to be a mixture of rock, mud, and giraffe poo.  I swear I heard him say, “Man down”, but I can’t be certain. 

It is at this point that the words, “keep you vehicle door closed at all times”, and “keep an eye on the rhino”, have us a little skittish and concerned.  “We probably have to leave him”, my wife said. And, honestly, that seems like the most prudent thing to do in light of the circumstances.  But it is hard to leave Mr. Pooh in such a pathetic, vulnerable position.  It just didn’t seem right to leave him behind.

“I think I can get him”, I said.  I begin directing her to back up the car with my head out the window lining up Winnie with my door.  Once in position, I was ready to make my move.  With one eye on the giraffes, and one eye on the rhino, and the other eye on the stuffed animal, I opened the door, leaned out as far as I could, and snatched up a poo covered Pooh from the side of the road and placed him safely on the floorboard of the car. 

This story makes me think of a verse. Jesus said, “While I was with them, I protected them and kept them safe. . . None of them have been lost. . . “

Handy Man Follow-Up

So, here is what I think happened with the outside bathroom trim that I referred to in my Handy Man post last week. Because there was a lot of paint in the can, I now believe, it must have been an attempt to match the paint color using a sample of paint as opposed to the formula. It is, after all, just a shade off. So that explains that.


Yesterday, I took my sponge paintbrush and painted the door jam. It turned out pretty good. So today, it was time to tackle the outside door. My son was still in his room “reading” his books. It has become a routine before he wants “up”. I decide that I need to use a wider brush to complete this task more quickly. So, in my pajamas and bare feet, I grab the paint, place paper on the floor, a paper towel for wiping up potential spills, and using the 2-inch bristle brush begin to carefully paint the door.

My assumption was that it shouldn’t take too long since it, technically, already has a first coat. But since the new paint is only a bit off, it should cover nicely. Carefully placing paint on the brush and applying my best “paint the fence” impersonation, I begin. Things seem to be going smoothly until I realize why I am a sponge paintbrush fan. Other than the possibility of streaks with a bristle brush, I am now faced with single bristle hairs being attached to the door as I am losing hair from the brush faster than I am losing from my head. Soon, the door begins to look like the shower drain after I have washed my hair.

I painstakingly remove as many hairs as I can. From the door, I mean. As I finish the door, I realize that I did not have to use the paper towel at all in wiping up any rogue drops of green paint on the faux earth tone slate floor. At this point, I am quite pleased overall with the result of my ability. I step back to admire my work, and I see for the first time that there is a discoloration of a section of the floor. And there, in plain sight, is a green print of a right foot. I assume that a) it wasn’t there yesterday, and b) it is mine. In fact, if the bathroom were a crime scene, CSI would only need ten seconds to identify the killer.

Here is the strange thing. There are no drops or paint smudges anywhere else that would cause one to conclude that I, somehow, stepped on a spill. No, just a footprint. One. And mine. Looking at the bottom of my right foot, I see the resemblance of a newborn’s tiny foot covered in ink after the nurses’ had made an impression. Checking the bottom of my left foot, just in case, I notice that in between my big toe and the next toe (whatever that one is called), I have somehow dripped paint through the space between said toes. Now I know there is a gap there, but come on, it is not that big.

But the door is painted and I have showered. And I am now eyeing the corner of the front room and wall that has some water damage and needs to be re-mudded and painted. Wish me luck.

Remembering Z.

Today is the birthday of Z. He was a youth at our church. In the summer of 2007, Z. drowned in the river. He was 16. His life was so impacting on others that friends still remember with deepest sorrow, deepest joy, and perhaps deepest loneliness, his birthday and the day of his death. Every year on the anniversary of his death, the family and friends gather by the banks of the river and have a barbecue and just remember.


Our son is named after him. Intentionally. We gave him Z.’s name as his first name. Although our son goes by his middle name, we thought it important to name him after Z. to remember. To remember as a sort of testimony of Z.’s life and character. We will be able to tell the story of Z. and of Z.’s relationship with Jesus when we, or our son, are asked about his name.

My son never met Z. My son was born almost a year after Z. died. But Z. had a way of being a friend to all. Not perfect was he, but he did ,in his character, reflect the God who saved him. And it is in that reflection of Him that we so fondly remember Z. It is our hope that our son will, as he grows, reflect the life of the God who will save him.

So, today, I remember Z. And so do a lot of people. In fact, Z. name means “God remembers”. So on this day we remember that God remembers us as well. God has not forgotten us. God has not forgotten you. God remembers you. Remember Him?

"Life is good; Eternal life is better." Stellar Kart

Handy Man

Genetics are a wonderful thing. You get the best genes from your parents. Although, sometimes you get the not so good ones. And sometimes, they, genes I mean, bypass you all together. And the bypass is my story.


My dad was handy. There isn’t anything that he could not do. He rebuilt car engines, repaired furniture; fixed boat motors, make an enclosed patio for the house. One time, he took a van, cut off the top and sides, welded a camper on it, and placed siding on it, and painted the whole thing. It turned out very well and looked like what you would find at most RV places. Did I mention that he did this over one Idaho winter in our tiny garage? Yep, he was pretty handy. My brother is the same way, Handy.

I, on the other hand, pun intended, am not. Everything I have ever built always looks like a box. Except when I am trying to make a box. Then it turns out to be some misshapen figure that wobbles and you must tilt your head to one side before you can identify it.

Our current house has been in the transformation stage ever since T. and I got married. We have, I mean she has, been painting different parts of the house and each room with the exception of one, the guest room, needs a bit more work before we could say they are finished.

So, this morning, wanting to contribute, I was going to tackle a simple and quick fix up. About three, wait maybe four, years ago, we had someone re-model our bathroom. It turned out really nice, but he had to remove the door, trim and part of the wall to get our one-piece tub and shower into the bathroom. Oh, and prior to that, I had to cut out a false wall in our entryway in order to get it into the house. That area still needs work as well. But that will have to wait. Today, I was concentrating on the outer bathroom door trim.
 
After the re-model, the door trim was nailed back and putty was put on the nail holes. So for the past few years, there was a green painted door trim with white spots of putty. And today, they were going to be gone. So, I sanded down the putty and cleaned up the dust. I then went to the garage and found the paint can that was clearly marked “Front room trim”. The paint on the outside of the can matched the color so I proceeded to shake the can, mixing it up well and found a trusty sponge paintbrush and spot painted the areas of trim that needed it.

As always, fresh paint looks a little different until it dries, so I waited. Two hours later, paint still looks different. From twenty feet away, it looks pretty good. Close-up, not so much.

 I don’t know how this happens, but genetics, or lack thereof, has to have something to do with it. I am now debating on whether I should paint the whole door trim and door to at least make it match. I mean, what can go wrong with that plan?