Monday, October 31, 2011


What?  A Halloween blog starting with disappointment?  Yep. 

There he stood, a little kindergartener, tears pooling in his eyes, as he tried to explain to his teacher that his mom was coming with his zombie costume.  No, he didn't want to line up for the parade.  His costume wasn't here yet.

I watched as his tenderhearted teacher stooped down to look into his eyes, "No, honey.  We can't wait.  Now is the time for the parade.  We have to go."

His lips quivered and he slowly shook his head back and forth, more tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Why don't you get a drink of water at the drinking fountain?  Then come back in.  You'll feel better."

He quickly exitted.  When he came back in, he did look better.  It had helped....somewhat. 

He quickly lined up in line-order and looked up at me.  Being "an extra" at classroom party time, I can fill in where needed.

I found my need.

I got in line beside him.  As we walked down the school steps and out into the radiant sun, I glanced over at him. 

He looked up at me and began, "Maybe my mom will be here.  Maybe she is watching the parade and has my zombie costume with her." 

I smiled back.  "Maybe."

We walked all the way around the block.  No mom.  No costume. 


I watched a brave five  year old deal with it. 


God has watched a "not so brave forty-five year old" deal with it.  I hate disappointment.  Of all the emotions I most hate, disappointment is at the top. 

I get excited by the little things.  I anticipate even the smallest of things...Thursdays lunch with my man at Jimmy Johns, a Starbucks run with my girls, a phone conversation with my son.  I look forward to them.  I plan on them.  I think of them when I get up in the morning. 

Disappointment.  It has flattened me, angered me, pestered me and left me alone to wrestle through my hurt.  Some disappointments are accidents. I'm so sorry.  I just forgot.  Please forgive me.

Some disappointments are unavoidable.  There was just no way out.  I had to help them.

Some disappointments are not accidents.  They are planned, not by the seen but the unseen.  They are planned by a loving God that knows I need a balance of experiences in my life in order to be the best me I can be...and perhaps so I can lovingly cast a glance, give a hug or a heart-felt smile to someone who is now there.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Constipated to God

Yes, it was one of those rare evenings.  My husband was gone.  Two of my daughters were gone.  It was just Michaela and I.  I was worn out.  I had a root canal the day before and was given a prednazone pill for pain and soreness. 

Dr. Wagner warned, "Usually we tell patients to take this in the morning.  It's hard to sleep when it's in your system."

"I'm not worried about that," I said smiling.  "I can sleep anywhere!"

I popped it in my mouth and swallowed it down with a gulp of water. 

I woke up and rubbed my eyes.  Three?  Why am I up at three?  Oh, I'm hungry.  Yeah, I was hungry when I went to bed but thought I should wait until morning.  I must really have been hungry.

I got up and poured a small bowl of Special K Red Berries and ate them.  I did not feel tired in the least.

Then it hit me.  It's that pill! 

Thankfully I was in the middle of a great book, so I indulged.  I was lovin' every minute until I glanced up and it was five. 

I'm gonna be dead for work.  I made myself go back to bed.  After laying there for twenty minutes, I decided to get back up and keep reading.  All day at work I marveled at my energy and stamina.  Woo Hoo!

The next day I was sure it would hit me.  It did.  I made it through school but on the way home I was feelin exhausted. 

Thankfully Bobby had a full evening ahead of him, my girls were going to a cousin's sleepover party and it'd just be me and Michaela (because she had a 6am tournament to leave for in the morning.)

I was so tired I didn't fully think through how awesome my time with Michaela could be.  I put on my pj's and laid on the couch. 

"Come lay by Mama," I told Michaela.  Yes, my Michaela, she is usually about as huggable as a porcupine.  It was worth a try.

She must've been tired, too.  She obliged.  As she stretched out beside me, I started rubbing her back. 

"Mom, what's that?"

Michaela pointed to the art above the couch. 

I smiled tiredly, She knows what that is.  I made it when she was a baby.  I've explained it plenty of times.

Yes, she was pointing to the old window frame that I had whitewashed and put in symbols of each of our names.  For non-creative me, it had actually turned out o.k.

"So mom, my name means "Who is like the Lord."  Matt means "God's gift."  Madison means "God's light."  Meredith means "Virtuous Woman."  Dad means "Ruler."  Your name means...What is that again, Constipated to God?"

Saturday, October 8, 2011


"I...I broke my foot," Matt stammered to his dad over the phone.

Matt broke his foot!  How many times can a person break his foot?  Is Matt not taking care of himself?  Well, he actually is a pretty careful eater.  Sleep!  That's it!  He always sounds tired when I talk to him.  Clearly he's not getting his rest. 

"I bet he's worn down," I declared emphatically to his dad.  "Matt sounds tired alot.  Could that make him more susceptible to breaking bones?"

Bobby flashed a sad smile, "Probably not so much as playing soccer every day of his life."

"Oh yah...yah right...Is he sure it's broken?"

"He'll go to the doctor on Monday, but he said it popped just like it did the other two times."

He still had a whole month of soccer games left!  These were the ones we'd be able to go to.  Stink! 

As the next couple of days passed I thought of it all the time.  I prayed for Matt.  I fondly remembered his little baby feet...not the thick calloused adult feet he now has.  Memories of Sandy Patti's song "Beautiful Feet, Cutiful Feet, Beautiful, Cutiful Feet!"  I could just see his soft, little piggytoes, and feel them as I kissed those little piggys and sang away.  It seems that song must've always been playin while I was changing his diaper.  I'd immediately finish fastening the diaper and grab those piggytoes.  As Sandi sang "Beautiful Feet" I'd be swaying Matt's precious feet back and forth to the music.  Yes, my son was surely going to have beautiful feet, "the feet of those who bring good news of Jesus to others" I thought as I prayed and sang to my little guy.

Now his beautiful feet are once again broken. 

Just today I got a text from Matt.  I had texted him this morning to say, "I love you Hookey, son of my heart." 

O.K. so Hookey is yes, another crazy nickname of one of my kids.   But wait, this one Matt made up.  Not me!  One time when I was lovin on "my little Mattie" he said, "I'm not Mattie, I'm Hookey."  It stuck.

So back to the story - he texted saying, "My favorite mommy that will always get my kicky feet no matter how much you love me."

As a little duffer he used to sleep in our bed.  He liked to lay across the top of our bed on our pillows, with his sweet little face by his daddy's face and you guessed it...his kicky feet at my head.

Memories of my little boy, Matt, are larger than life.  I can't remember what I cooked for supper the night before but I can remember back twenty years ago to the soft, sweet scent of his baby toes as I kissed them until he giggled while Sandy sang on "Beautiful, Cutiful Feet." 

Matt's foot is broken. 


God's Plan.

God's Perfect Plan.

The Plan that is Perfectly tailored for Matt to have the most beautiful, cutiful feet ever to share the good news of Jesus...and it's broken.