So I’m minding my own business, browsing in my favorite home furnishings store, when it comes on the sound system. The saddest song ever recorded.
I’m not going to link to it because it’s so sad. I might not even tell you what it is.
Cat’s in the Cradle by Harry Chapin. Circa 1974.
decor
My sugar plum thoughts of needlepoint pillows and coffee table tchotchkes came to a sudden halt. My mind flooded with the festering waves of parental guilt.
What if my child grows up and never comes to see me because he has to go shopping instead?
“Yes, I’m gonna be like you, Mom. You know I’m gonna be like you.”
I sprinted past the dinette sets. Wriggled around étagères. Leaped over ottomans. Until I landed in living rooms where my son sat on a fine leather sofa with my husband, vanquishing a game of Penguin Wings.
Yes, Little Boy Blue and the Man in the Moon were in the store with me. And no, we still don’t have a cat.
“Mommy loves you!” I said with watery eyes.
“I have 145 penguin coins,” said my son and shooed me away from the iPhone.
“Why are they playing this song?” I said to my husband.
“What song?” he said.
And then there’s Same Old Lang Syne by Dan Fogelberg. Oh, Dan, Dan, Dan.
It runs a close second for the saddest song ever recorded. Heard that one while ice skating recently. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Imagine kneeling and weeping on the cold, cold ice.
pac man fever
Did you know it was based on a true story? Fogelberg crooned the tearjerkers Leader of the Band and Run for the Roses with it on the same 1981 album entitled The Innocent Age. Good grief.
Fogelberg dominates the sad songs category for the 80s. Maybe for all time.
Sister Christian by Night Ranger in 1984 was sort of sad, and yet oddly comforting at the same time.
“You’ll be all right tonight.”
In 1989, Don Henley managed to sneak New York Minute in under the wire and into the decade on his album End of the Innocence. Nice bookend, Don.
November Rain by Guns N’ Roses didn’t come out until 1992. Axl Rose had been working on it since 1983. That explains a lot.
I won’t try to escape if those songs come on like I do with Chapin and Fogelberg. But I will cover my ears if the anguish fest of 100 Years by John Ondrasik (aka Five for Fighting) does. It’s from a 2003 album called The Battle for Everything.
Could someone please just wake me up before you go-go?
Sorrow is better than laughter,
for sadness has a refining influence on us. Ecclesiastes 7:2 NLT
because clearly I do not spend enough time with my child
Wham! was destined to make an appearance here sooner or later. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, Jitterbug. Gotta get in line for one of those t-shirts.
Have a great weekend, y’all! Be a peach and leave a comment about a sador not-so-sad song on your way out the door, will ya?
Thank you, William Shakespeare and John Steinbeck, for inspiring the title.
I’ve lost count of the tests and books, the hours of discussion, the rabbit trails run to determine what I’m supposed to be when I grow up.
Another career consultation looms today. Part of the relocation package. Help for the uprooted spouse.
I wonder how many people go through this. Figuring out how best to care for your family while also using your abilities to contribute meaningfully and financially with work outside the home.
Meaningfully. Oh, how I’d like to be passionate about my work.
Financially. Oh, how I’d like to be compensated for it.
I’m not much for the process. Just get to the point. Tell me the answer without the ambiguities.
But life’s not like that, is it?
The Israelites stood on the banks of the Jordan River at flood stage, waiting to cross. It had been quite a journey and Moses was dead.
The officers circulated through the camp. They told the people to watch for the ark of the covenant, the symbolic box where God lived. It would lead the way.
road full of promise
“Then you will know which way to go, since you have never been this way before.”
“Keep a distance of about a thousand yards between you and the ark; do not go near it.”
The pastor I heard teach this from Joshua 3 said the ark was far ahead of the people so all of them could see it. The distance symbolized the separation between God and the people’s sin.
Joshua then told the people, “Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do amazing things among you.”
And God did. That very day He parted the river waters for them to cross.
I don’t follow an ark. Christ’s death and resurrection closes the separation between Him and my sin. He comes near to me. Emmanuel, God with us.
Chin up, buttercup. Keep walking. Who knows what amazing things await?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness (or your Righteous One) will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard. Isaiah 58:8 NIV
Sliding while the big kids speed around like heavy freight trains.
boy follows
Skater boy meanders close to their paths. “Stay back,” I say, “out of their way.”
stage mom
He zooms down lesser hills. Turns and jumps. “Mom, this is my best move!”
best move
Skater boy. You’ve stolen my heart.
zoom
“It’s really complicated,” he says. As complicated as 1986, I think.
Watch what God does, and then you do it, like children who learn proper behavior from their parents. Mostly what God does is love you. Keep company with Him and learn a life of love. Observe how Christ loved us. His love was not cautious but extravagant. He didn’t love in order to get something from us but to give everything of Himself to us. Love like that. Ephesians 5:1-2 The Message
“Take care of your backpack, please,” I said to my son.
“Okay, Mom,” he said. “But first can I read my Bible?”
Never expected to hear that in a million years. And read he does. Independently. And learn. Without prompting.
Enter The Action Bible. We gave him the book this past Christmas.
“Mom, did you know Jerusalem was conquered by a series of empires?” he said. “Babylon conquered Jerusalem, Persia conquered Babylon, Greece conquered Persia, and Rome conquered Greece.”
Oh, dear. Mom needs a refresher course. This isn’t kid’s stuff.
Brilliantly illustrated by Sergio Cariello, The Action Bible brings to life more than 200 Bible stories in the exciting style of the graphic novel. The result is riveting.
Here’s a sampling from a familiar story on pages 280 and 281:
Copyright 2010 Sergio Cariello. The Action Bible published by David C Cook. Publisher permission required to reproduce. All rights reserved.Copyright 2010 Sergio Cariello. The Action Bible published by David C Cook. Publisher permission required to reproduce. All rights reserved.
The thrilling narrative and bright colors capture my son’s attention. And they remind me God is not some namby-pamby, sissy deity.
I’m as guilty as any kumbayah Christian of embracing God’s tenderness and mercy—the essence of His character, to the neglect of the ferocity of His determinant power. God is love, yes. God is also holy, strong, and just.
The struggles in the Bible and in our time are life and death battles. Humanity hangs in the balance. There’s violence and vengeance, plagues and murder. Fire ripping from the sky. Blood dripping from a splintered, wooden cross.
Want to brush up on your Bible stories? Never learned them in the first place? Here’s your chance.
Maybe you love the Bible. Want the kids (or adults) in your life to love it too, without your nagging? The Action Bible is a fantastic place to begin.
As milk helps us to develop a hunger for meat, The Action Bible whets the appetite for Scripture in those who would dare to read it.
So will the Words that come out of My mouth
not come back empty-handed.
They’ll do the work I sent them to do,
They’ll complete the assignment I gave them. Isaiah 55:11 The Message
To enter the drawing for The Action Bible, simply comment on this post.
You have until midnight, Tuesday, April 3rd, to comment to enter.
Only one comment per reader please.
A winner will be randomly drawn and contacted Wednesday, April 4th.
I will personally pay to ship the book to an address of the winner’s choosing within the contiguous U.S. in time for Easter. International shipping cannot be guaranteed in time for Easter.
The Action Bible New Testament
Disclaimer
I’m not being compensated to promote this book.
I was so impressed with The Action Bible that I contacted the publisher David C. Cook myself. They were kind enough to honor my requests for permission to show the illustrations in this post and for a book to give away.
They also surprised my son with something I did not request, their new book The Action Bible New Testament. I am thankful for their graciousness.
Yesterday my first grader explained to me a squabble he was having in school.
school bus
“George (not his real name) says one hundred AND fifty,” he said. “I told him it’s one hundred fifty.”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s one hundred fifty.”
“Yeah, but then everyone said, ‘Nu-uh! It’s one hundred AND fifty,'” he said.
I grabbed a piece of paper to illustrate.
“You write it like this: 150,” I said. “Not like this: 100 AND 50. See?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“So you say it that way, too,” I said. “One hundred fifty.”
“Well, George says it’s one hundred AND fifty,” he said. “I’m going to tell him again he’s wrong.”
“Honey,” I said. Deep breath. “You can tell him, but he may not believe you.”
“Yeah,” he said. “He probably needs to hear it from his parents.”
“Unless his parents also think it’s one hundred AND fifty,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. You know what’s right and you told him. Even if the whole class disagrees, it’s still one hundred fifty.”
My son was quiet.
“I’m going to tell them it’s one hundred fifty,” he said. “And then when they say, ‘Nu-uh! No, it’s not!…'”
Pause.
“I’ll just say, ‘Oh, forget it.'”
He has a point.
Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces. Matthew 7:6 NIV
Forget About It by Alison Krauss and Union Station. What unforgettable talent. Enjoy the weekend!
Recently Amy of Using Our Words blogged about the travails of grocery shopping with children. The corporate groan arose from parents.
She invited us to share our stories in the comments. I got a little carried away (hard to believe, I know), and wrote nearly a post about my best-worst grocery store excursion with my son. It’s one of my favorite early motherhood memories.
Why pass up the opportunity to post a perfectly good story? That would be like throwing away a perfectly good cereal box when my son can make a turtle house out of it. In the spirit of reduce, reuse, recycle, I’ll share it again here with you.
shell game
The story takes place in the Mexican food aisle of our local grocery store where I looking for a certain brand of taco shells or something, which of course I couldn’t find. My son was still very little. I’m not even sure he could walk yet, but boy, could he move.
He didn’t want to sit in the cart. He didn’t want me to hold him like a normal baby. He wanted to climb up as high as he could on Mt. Momma and cliff jump off my head.
Where are those cotton-picking taco shells?! Must get out of this store…
My son’s gymnastics were commonplace to me. Without thinking, I hoisted him up over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I held him firmly by his leg as he dangled down my back cooing with glee.
Finally I could study the shelves of processed Tex-Mex in peace. Ah, there were the shells I needed.
Then I felt it. The pressure of the heavy gaze of judgment.
I turned to see two older women frozen stiff, staring at me in horror. How could I hold my dear, sweet child in such peril?
My blood pressure spiked like a jalapeño’s heat. Without skipping a beat, I pulled my little one back from the brink of imaginary disaster and thrust him out toward the gawkers.
“Would you like to hold him?” I said. “Didn’t think so.” We grabbed our shells and away we went.
Adiós, señoras. Things aren’t always as they appear.
chip on my shoulder
The LORD doesn’t see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart. 1 Samuel 16:7 NLT
My seven-year-old son loves the water. Swim club seemed like the perfect extracurricular activity.
It was all good until his lesson was over and it was time to change into dry clothes.
He doesn’t want to go into the women’s locker room. He refuses to change in the bleachers while I hold up a towel.
No. He insists on going into the men’s locker room. Alone.
As every ounce of Momma Bear in me protests, I let him go all by himself.
“I’ll wait for you here by the door,” I say. He disappears into the abyss.
I wait. And wait. And wait.
Another pair of MOBs are standing nearby watching their sons’ swimming lessons. They look at me and nod.
“Mine doesn’t even have to change his clothes,” says the first. “He only has to put on his sweatpants over his swimsuit. And it still takes him a half an hour!”
“Well, mine came out telling me about all the friends he made in the locker room,” said the other. “I told him we don’t make friends in the locker room. That was the end of that. Now he changes in the bleachers.”
Friends in the locker room? Oh, dear.
four feet deep
“Honey,” I crack open the door. “You okay in there?”
I wait. No answer. Dare I go in?
Then I hear it. The unmistakable sound of two dozen slippery sea lions smacking the pavement. The high school boys’ swim team has finished their laps, and they’re headed my way.
The rushing stream of soaking wet, teenage boys flows through the locker room door. Panic ensues.
I imagine shouting, “Cover yourselves! Mom on the floor! I’m coming in!”
The thought of seeing a bunch of naked teenage boys is as appealing to me at 41 as it was at 16. I stop short of my raid.
I pace around outside the locker room, scanning the club for a responsible adult male to help. Where are the instructors when I need them?
A clean-cut boy who looks to be about 15 emerges from the locker room wrapped in a towel. Boldly, I approach.
“Excuse me,” I say. He looks at me. Deer in headlights.
my cub
“My little boy’s in the locker room. Yeah, and he’s been in there a long time. Could you go in and check on him? I’d go in myself, but that might be awkward.”
“Okay,” he says.
Towel boy scampers into the locker room. I wait. And wait. And wait.
The door opens and out bounces my cub. Unaided. Unharmed. Happy as a clam. And barefoot.
Where, oh where, are his shoes?
Yep.
“Cover yourselves! Mom on the floor! I’m coming in!”
Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart.
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
may the name of the LORD be praised. Job 1:21 NIV
There’s a field behind our neighborhood. Carpeted with brome in the summer, scruff in the winter. It’s a magical place where my son, the dog and I walk.
in the field
We saw a deer run across the north end the first time we explored the field. We were a few acres south, but we spotted him clear as day. Our eyes followed his white tail and long, bounding strides.
Our part of Kansas is flat. Flatter than Illinois. If there weren’t lines of trees and houses blocking the view, no telling how far you could see.
The field is covered with short, dry grass now. Besides the ground and the wind, there’s nothing but sky. Wide, blue, voluminous sky.
image of La Lune print used with permission from Double Merrick, doublemerrick.myshopify.com
The moon often watches us when we walk the field. Even in sunlight, its bald head nods as we plod along the soft ground.
My son would play there forever if I let him.
In freedom he scampers ahead of me. Kneels. Lifts his arms. Stares down the barrel and through the cross hairs. Imagines sniping enemy troops.
The dog is also at home there. She parts the grass like water and swims. Without warning, she pops straight up and over, jumping like a rabbit. Ears pricked. Her body alert to the possibility of field mice beneath these waves.
Except for the one deer, the only wildlife we’ve seen are small birds. They congregate, hidden in the grass, then spring into flight as we approach. Dozens of tiny, floating kites, cut loose to lift and sail away.
One day, my son called to me from where he crouched. The inflection in his voice danced over the field.
“Mom,” he said. “I found a deer track!”
Sure enough, he’d found one perfect, heart-shaped deer track imprinted in the dried dirt.
far
We could tell—from the shape of the print, the deer that left it there had been walking. Just like us.
These are the moments I wish I could capture. They bound away, impossible to hold. Photographs don’t do them justice.
Must be what it’s like to walk on the moon.
An ordinary action, walking. Elevated here. Beyond measure in its fullness. Silent. Solitary. Surrounded by nothing but God and ground and sky.
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. Ephesians 3:20-21 NIV
When I was pregnant with my son, I listened to Beethoven. Relax and savor the tender, magical, masterful strains of Moonlight Sonata.
Double Merrick
The La Lune print featured in today’s post is the work of English designer/illustrator Merrick Angle.
Merrick’s charming prints were a hit when he started selling them on Etsy. One has only to view his art to understand why.
Merrick presently works out of a studio near Limoges in rural France. His online shop, Double Merrick, continues to wow.
Visit his shop to see for yourself and read more of his story. Warning: you may fall in love with what you see.
One of the best bits of parenting advice I’ve ever received came from a salon stylist in Nashville.
I’d known her for the length of my spa mani-pedi. Long enough to glean a jewel of wisdom.
She’d been through a lot in her life. Divorce, moves, changes, children.
Before settling down as a stylist, she ran a country restaurant. Woman after my own heart. Regulars called her Miss Ruby, not her real name.
We got to talking about our kids as the paint dried. She told me about her son who’s older than mine. He sounded adventurous. Recently tried sky diving.
I told her about my son’s daredevil tendencies. How they show up in his climbing antics, his inventions, his stories, and his wardrobe choices.
From across the manicure table, Miss Ruby looked me straight in the eye and said in no uncertain terms, “You let him be his own little person.”
Bingo. Exactly what I needed to hear.
backyard siege
What Miss Ruby didn’t know is that if I like you, I personality type you. I have also been known to do your colors and identify your fashion style, but that’s another post.
Using “Nurture by Nature,” written by Myers-Briggs experts Paul D. Tieger and Barbara Barron-Tieger, I’ve already guessed my son’s personality type.
So far it appears I’ve typed him correctly. Even if I’m wrong, his father and I will be wise to heed Miss Ruby’s advice.
We’d probably all be wise to heed Miss Ruby’s advice when dealing with the different characters in our lives.
So he wants to wear clothes that don’t match? Head-to-toe camo to school? Stripe on stripe?
Tell long, involved stories about the new Star Wars movie he will make when he grows up? Create “newspapers” and hawk them to neighbors for $19.99?
Describe in detail armament he will design when he joins the United States military? Stage a battlefield in my backyard with lawn care implements and vacuum cleaner attachments to reenact a siege?
ruby slipper detail, as seen at Nordstrom
Let him be his own person, she said.
Much obliged, Miss Ruby. I believe your nickname has you pegged.
Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. Proverbs 31:10 KJV
Cool song and fantastic video for this post. Watch the toys build music city as the Kaiser Chiefs sing Ruby.
My child played on the slides and climbed trees while I checked the iPhone. Then from across the way I heard him cry.
“Momma!” he said. “I fell in the water!”
He’d bounced up and out of the pond by the time I reached him. He was soaked from the chest down with muddy smudges of pond slime on his cheeks.
We’d been to this park and this pond 657 times before. This was a first.
“Oh, honey!” I said.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” he said, near tears. “I didn’t mean to fall in.”
“No, honey,” I said. “Don’t apologize. It was an accident. Momma’s not mad at you. I’m just sorry this happened to you.”
“I was reaching in and my foot slipped,” he said.
“You okay?” I said.
soaked
“Yes,” he said. “But my shoes are wet.”
We giggled. Removed his shoes. Called my husband to come with the truck. Sat on the bench. Help was on the way.
As we waited, my little boy crafted the tale of falling in.
“I have to tell Ms. Donaldson I fell in the pond!” he said. “I fell down into the dirty water! My feet touched the bottom!”
“Not many people get to do that,” I said.
“Because there’s no swimming allowed!” he said.
The longer we waited, the more animated the telling became. Then he began to shiver with cold from his damp clothes.
Evening was fast approaching. We couldn’t walk home with him in bare feet. So we waited and shivered and told tales together.
The truck arrived with a warm cab and blanket. The shivering stopped and the stories wound down.
Falling in can be a harrowing thing. But recovering to be safe and warm and at peace again can make it all worthwhile.
no swimming
I called out Your name, O God,
called from the bottom of the pit.
You listened when I called out, “Don’t shut Your ears!
Get me out of here! Save me!”
You came close when I called out.
You said, “It’s going to be all right.” Lamentations 3:55-57 The Message
%20at%20swim%20club "big-p-button")
