I Grew up Around Indiana, You Grew up Around Galilee

On my last Sunday in Leo, one of the boys grabbed Sarah and I and asked if he could sing us the song he'd made up about the summer. This kid's a piece of work--last summer, in the middle of a basketball game, he grabbed my arm and slung me off the court, not in malice, but like an ape or something; he's physical. very physical. borderline hurting-you-physical. but it turns out, since then, not only has he stopped slinging girls or squeezing their hands until they turn blue, he's developed this, uh...quirk. He sings songs from musicals, especially movie musicals. He writes some of his own stuff too. He even made up a song about how he hates Chinese food--not the people, just the food. Something about catching a 'contagious infection' or some similar redundancy. He stands there with a guitar, open strings, and just strums away, singing in what could be classified as all shades of the same note. Picturing it? Anyway, as church cleared out, he takes us outside where we can hear better and sits us down on the bench near the circle drive. Then he sings this version of "Looking Back on an Old Life"...or something like that... only his version was "Looking back on the Best Summer of My Life." My favorite part was when he sang, "I am trying to change my life. Thanks for helping me change my life." Seriously this kid, he's got me. Hook, Line, and Sinker. Even if he was trying to make me cry. This is the same kid that sings "This World is Not my Home" as he does Saturday Cleaning. What a guy.

I got to love 16 kids this summer. I got to race them to a dropped frisbee and shove them over when they beat me to it. Sometimes I got to cook their lunch, sometimes they cooked mine. A few times I got to whisper in their ears, most of the time, I got to listen.

We talked about God. We told stories about the Saints of old, stories about their faith. They say stories like that make a boy grow bold, stories like that make a man walk straight...

I got to give hugs, cry tears, and pray prayers. What a privelege, to be smackdab in the middle of God's love to these kids. and God's love to me. so much to me.

Oh, and I taught them how to play Amazing Grace on the piano. But they're the ones who taught me how to love the song. (That song and "In the Garden," which little K. would give off every week in church WITHOUT fail)

Mark 10:14-16

..."Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not recieve the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein." And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them.

The Quintessential Calvin and Hobbes

I may be asking for more than I can handle (but I do so fully aware of the God I serve and his promise to NOT give me more than I can bear (but to loosely paraphrase Mother Teresa, "I know God will never give me more than I can handle, but sometimes, I wish he didn't trust me this much."), but I think at least some of my dozen (beat that, 6+ club) children should be little Calvins. I just think that kid had the greatest childhood ever. My cousins, the original Calvins the cartoon is based on, or so they told me when we were 5, agree: imagination and energy over obedience and lethargy.

I have a feeling some of you stopped reading this at the word "dozen," and are sitting there going...12 little kids running around with THIS'n's genes doing half the work?! INCONCEIVABLE! or at least, God help us all! ....but you see, that's not what I meant. I want to foster and adopt and oh who knows, be a housemom in Venezuela or something. If they even need housemoms in Venezuela, that is.

I hope I get to be a mom, someday. who knows, ya know? Maybe I won't. But I know my God, (Jeremiah 9:14..or is it 24) and He has this tendency to give important stuff away (His Son, His Spirit, His Life, Sight, Forgiveness, New Legs, New Skin). I gave Him my heart you know, and he took it and then, when I wasn't looking, he slips part of it to this bunch of kids I spent my summer with, part of it to these kids I work in the schools with, and the rest to the fabulous, fashionable young woman in the picture with me; and He doesn't do things without a reason. I trust Him. I'll be blessed outta Zion with all my kids, one way or another. Miracle is like, His middle name or something.

So give me some Calvins. And a few Susies. And DeJuans, and Heavenly Skies, and Anas, and Jonases, and Treys, and Israels, and Jacks, and Ashas, and Claryns, and Marcuses, and Chloes, and Hallies, and Heidis, and Sarahs, and Oscars, and Omars, and Tys...lions, tigers, twins, oh my.

To the Fantastic Four, you know who you are:

I was lying in bed, staring at the vent that is giving me a perpetual cold, racking my brain for the names of all four members of the Fantastic Four. See, when I was in second grade, I had this crush on a smart kid. He loved comics. He was also going to be an archaeologist. He is happily married and working towards opening his own karate dojo with his wife (God bless you both, J and E). But not that he can receive any of the credit for my sleepless night, or my inner-most desire to become a super-hero.

I have this capacity to imagine. Which, in light of Cervantes before me, I surmise means if I can think it up, it must exist--or at least, be able to exist. I would posit that humanity knows evil exists and desires to be freed from it. We make up superheroes to redeem us from that evil which, literally, so easily besets us.

There is a superhero no one had to make up. No one had to give Jesus tights and a cape. They took his garments and gambled over who would keep them. He didn't have a utility belt or web-shooting hands. He had hands that would touch men with leprosy, feet that would walk on water to a scared sidekick, and a heart so full of love when he pointed it at darkness, it shriveled and disappeared. He enables us to be heroes.

But if we define hero by who Jesus was, what's a hero? A hero is walking in as everyone else evacuates the building. A hero follows the laws of the land, but also follows the higher code of hero honor. A hero lives with a purpose. A hero serves his people. A hero loves his people.

A hero lays down his life, his desires, his needs for those of his friends.

Satchmo

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"

I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world

Oh yeah

Paul said the same thing to the church at Rome, but he said it this way:

"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature--have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse. "

Oh God, you are creative! You not only gave us Leviticus in all it's exactness, you gave us daisies, and geraniums, and chrysanthemums (spelling courtesy of Anne Shirley), and you gave us imaginations. And when we abuse them and the bodies you made us and we are without hope, in love You gave us hope in Jesus. Thanks.

And for all 3 people who actually visit this site, heaven isn't about harps and halos, eh. It's a celebration with/of the Guy who made GREEN. Like Rich Mullins says, "He had to sit around and think up green!" What kind of God is that?!

But until then, What a wonderful world.

Oh yeah.

Home Again, Home Again Jiggity Jig

I left Indiana yesterday with "Home or Bust" inscribed in the dust on my bumper. Drove 80 most of the way. And after I came to Springfield, even 80 mph felt like I was just NEVER gonna get home!
Mmmm, home.
Dad kept calling for my "20" so he knew when to put in the sweet corn. Mile markers went by ever so slowly, like old men that are out for a Sunday drive. Frustrating how we must exist in time and space, isn't it! Ha ha.
Well, I finally got to my exit at 5:49. I roared up the drive at 5:51. Mom and Dad were at the kitchen window, waving. Sadie was jumping up and down and up and down and up and down...ok, so as far as I know she's still jumping. And as insufficient as the phrase is, I said it and meant every word:
"It's good to be home."
Maybe the phrase isn't so insufficient. I mean, God created the universe, and then looking at what had been made, he rested and called it good. Maybe good is an exaggeration then, eh?
Next time, I'll just say, "I am overwhelmed with warm, anticipatory felicity at the experience of crossing my own threshold and hurridly emptying my arms of suitcases in my own rooms so I can hug you, Mom."
Nah.
It's good to be home.