Occupy Happy Meals?

I took two of my little children with me to town today.  They both had dental appointments and since every child draws a sibling name for Christmas, we had a little bit of shopping to do as well.

I don't usually take just Ben, age 5, or Mariam, age 4, with me to town.  We're usually in a group with all of the other kids or they are at home with an older sibling.

Thew were so cute, so excited to be going somewhere.  (That's kinda sad, huh?  We're home a lot.)  They had showers and brushed their teeth extra good and Mariam put on her Christmas dress.  (Red velvet with white cuffs.  Because going to the dentist is a Big Deal for her.  She made Ben wear a red sweater with a train on it because she wanted him to match her.  The world truly is her stage, and everyone else has either a supporting role or is a bit actor.)

The dentist with his spit-sucking machine and trial-sized tubes of sparkly toothpaste was a huge hit with my little ones.  They had so much fun you would have thought it was Disneyland.  But the excitement was just about to begin.

We went to McDonalds.

(Yes!  I know!  So exciting!!!)

Funny thing is - it really was exciting - for them.

And this was such a good mom moment - one of those rare times when I realize I have done something right.

We stood in line and my little ones did not know what to order.  They did not know about Happy Meals.  They did not whine between chicken nuggets and cheeseburgers.

They felt so big to just *be there.*  Catsup in little cups?  How cool is that?  A TOY in the bag?  A boy toy and a girl toy?  For real?

And a play place, too?

Ben didn't even know where to put his shoes.  He didn't realize there is a shoe shelf - he thought he was supposed to line his shoes up nicely along the outside of the netting.  They were so excited to see other children there, and a baby too!  Oh my - life does not get better than this.

A part of me felt pathetic, as in, how sad is this?  My boy is five, and he doesn't remember ever going to McDonald's?  A part of me felt old, as in, "has it really been this long?  Where has the time gone?"  I used to be a regular back when I only had three little ones.  It was a cheap way to socialize - the three of them couldn't even finish two $1 sandwiches at that point.

But another part of me felt great, as in, "Really?  I have succeeded in growing children in my America, into the latter part of 2011, and they don't know they have the right to whine for ice cream at Mickey D's?"

I've heard so many grown-ups complain this year because they don't know what to give the children in their lives:  "They aren't excited about anything," they say.  "They've already got it all," another grandmother told me.  "My toys won't interest them."

Now, I have no room to be pompous - my floors are cluttered with toys as I type.  My children have so much more than they truly need in the toy department, and my husband and I have no delusions that we can keep our children from all forms of materialism.  We're all greedy over something.

But we have chosen a fairly simple life for our little ones, purposefully.  No cable, no Wii, no network television with hyped marketing.  There's nothing wrong with those things, so please don't think I'm judging (except for the hyped marketing comment.)  I'm not.  I think we would enjoy any of those things in another season.  There's just so many interesting things going on with so many children and so many ages living here - that we don't miss the things we don't include.  Like McDonalds.  They'd never asked, I'd never taken them.

There is an answer to children who are already bored with the stuff of life:  give them less things, and more of you.

These little ones know about taking cans to church for the food pantries.  They know about sending packages and letters and praying for Compassion and World Vision kids.  They know how to pray for the hungry and the hurting.  (And okay, just so you know they're real, they have days where they fight like cats and dogs and turn up their noses at what I've made for supper and cry when they have to go to bed...around these parts we can construct a hierarchy of needs/wants/ownership very quickly when we are so inclined.)

But they didn't know about McDonalds, and they didn't know they deserved it.  They both said "thank you, mommy, for taking us to McDonalds," from the back seat on the way home.  Without prompting.  I was stunned.

That doesn't make me feel  better than anyone else, because I have my failings along with every other mother on the planet. 

But it does give me hope, and makes me feel very grateful to the Lord for these precious little ones He's given me to raise.  I think if we knew how much influence we have been given in our children's lives, of just how much consequence we have for them (and I'm not really talking here about what they eat, but rather, in their hearts and spirits,) we would scarcely be able to get out of bed in the mornings - the responsibility and our role would seem too great.  It's simply....huge.  There are no guarantees with raising children - but we can guarantee that we will always be the foundation under their feet, and we can always turn them toward the Cross.

I may not have given my little ones Happy Meal entitlement; but they know they have the right to their dad and me (to relationship) at any time they have a want or need.  There's so much I can't give my children; but so much that I can. 

I hope that helps them grow up "healthy" in more ways than one.

Something good is coming...

My little Sam has a birthday coming up.

Seven.

He's taken to worrying that he might not have presents.  He can't relax and trust that there is something good going on behind the scenes.

I've never missed a single one of his birthdays; he's never lacked a cake nor gifts, for that matter.  Even in the toughest of times, there would be something.    Last year, it was a cheeky little monkey, hand-sewn and redone several times to his specifications.  The eyes are glass and look like real and the tail was crocheted into a curl, just for him - just to let him know how special he is and how unique and how beloved.  And yet - he can't seem to find peace that we are working for his good, that we have his best in mind, that we won't let him down.

He almost seems to feel the need to do it himself - as if he is responsible to provide it all, as if how it all turns out rests upon his scrawny thirty-five pound frame.

I analyze this and realize this anxiety is genetic.  He gets this from me, not from his father.  His father snores lightly at night while I wake to wrestle with the "what if" and the "how should we" and the "we can'ts."

Sam will be fine.  This will work out and he will be reassured when the day comes.  He will remember that he is loved, that he is never forgotten.  He can relax - the ones who gave him life won't fail him. It is not up to him to make the future celebration happen.

I think there's not much difference between a seven year old and me, and the rest of us who are called children of God.  Sometimes slowly, day upon day, sometimes quickly, in great leaps and bounds, God's faithfulness is proven and we learn...

Trust.

Faith.

There is something good coming.

That is what the Scriptures mean when they say, "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him."   I Corinthians 2:9 NLT

Planting seeds of Jesus-Life

They moved last week.

I think they broke up.  She took the baby and went to Iowa to live with her grandma.  I'm not sure where he ended up.

The baby's birthday is tomorrow.  He turns one.

Six months ago they moved into the garage behind our house and across the alley.  We were told that it had been remodeled into an apartment, but had our doubts.  There are no windows in the garage and the storm door often hung listlessly open.

I rarely saw them in cold weather, did not know how to help those we could not connect with.  We picked up their trash that the crows scattered throughout the winter.  We complained a little amongst ourselves, but knew that really, we were doing what Jesus would want us to do.  We anguished over their condition, but it is a delicate thing to force yourselves on people who don't seem to want you in their lives.  They wouldn't even look up so that I could wave across our alley.  The wrong type of help might seem condescending, it might just make things worse and blight a relationship before it has a chance to begin.  I didn't know how to do this.  Was I to pretend we didn't know their home was a garage with a cement floor and a double wide roll up car door when my heart was broken for them?  How to say hello?  How to love?  A pack of diapers at the door?  A pot of soup?  We prayed to be wise....

As the snow melted and warm weather came, they began to emerge.

Their fights were loud, verbally foul and obvious to the neighborhood.  They were young, had no coping skills, did not know how to get along.

I finally flagged them down one spring day as they took a walk and asked their names and smiled over their little one in the stroller.  We compared our babies' first teeth.

Their little pug, chained outside, championed his stash of tennis balls and chew toys.  I took her a left-over sack of puppy chow from our dog "that was no longer."  No smile.  No thanks.  No problem.  I did not mind, I just didn't know what to do.

I gave her a ride home from the grocery store in the rain. I was surprised that she accepted my offer, but thankful.  I learned that her baby was beginning to crawl and she knew that soon he would be walking.  "I can't believe how fast he has grown."    She directed me home:  "I live in the....garage."

"I know."  And that was all.  I told her she could come to me if she ever needed anything.  She guardedly smiled at me for the first time, ever.

Then suddenly, it was over.   No more chances to be involved, it seemed.  This was it?  How could that be? 

I saw the loaded pickup truck in the evening; went over and asked where they were going.   She told me that her grandma was taking her things, but that she and the baby were catching a bus at 3:15 a.m.  I told her I was sorry and wished her well.  I didn't see the dad, anywhere.

It was late when I got the kids to bed.  My husband was on night shift, and I am not as efficient as he is.  It was a hot night and I was tired.  Around 11:15 I remembered that she was leaving and I did not know what I should do.  I'd prayed for months that God would open the doors of communication.  There was never anything big, just bits and pieces - a name here, a tooth there, a rare smile at the end.

I opened my back door and peeked out.  There was a light still on at the garage, and at the big house beyond as well.  (I never did figure out the relationship.  A relative, maybe?)  Was there maybe still something we were supposed to do?

What about a gift for the baby?  His birthday was coming up.  Did I have anything?  I scrambled around, looking.  I came up with nothing.

I went to our sweltering upstairs, walked past the three little boys all sweaty and sprawled, and knocked on my big boys' door.  They were still up, finishing a movie on the laptop.

I quickly told them what I was thinking.  "Do you have any money?"  They instantly jumped on board.  "YES!  We've been wanting to help, wanting to reach out, praying for something but didn't know what."

And we had discussed before, and prayed.  "At least they are trying to do the right thing, the best they know how at this point in their lives.  They are trying to be together, trying to raise their baby, even though it can't be easy to live as they do.  They made a mistake, had a baby too young, too soon, got things out of order - but they chose life for their child!"    They didn't romanticize, they saw the reality of poverty and welfare and heard the loud fights between the young couple, pried their garbage out of snow and ice to put it back in the can ....but still, gave them credit for trying to do the best for their child.  The couple was young and poor, but they loved that baby so fiercely.  He was always well cared for, clean and healthy.  They were good parents. 

The boys both fished in their back pockets, pulled out their wallets, and by scrounging and dipping into savings they came up with $40.  It was money that was hard earned for teenaged boys, made by mowing yards and shelving books.  There wasn't a split-second of hesitation.  Forty dollars wouldn't go too far, but maybe some diapers and something to eat on the bus.  She couldn't have much...

I ran back downstairs, wrote a quick note:

"This is for the baby's birthday.  We wish you the best.  God cares about you.  We will be praying for you.  Call us if you ever need to talk to someone," followed by a phone number and "Love."

I walked into the Southern Indiana air, made humid by our river geography.  My feet pricked lightly and I tiptoed barefoot over the gravel.  I knocked on the garage door.  No one.  I pushed the door open and peeked inside.  No one.  I circled around the block, looking for signs of life within the big house, feet wet from the grass.  I hoped no one called the cops.  I felt silly, but safe.  One of my neighbors is a friend and also a cop.

I pushed the garage door open once more, placed the envelope "name up" by the diaper bag where she couldn't miss it, pulled the door shut, then came home and went to bed.

The boys asked me about it the next morning.

"We planted a seed, guys.  Someone else will water.  Just remember to pray for them."

That was last week.  Today, I remembered a little boy turning one.  I don't know his circumstances now, nor those of his mama or his daddy.  I don't know if he slept on the bus or if he gave his mama a hard time.  But I prayed for them all today.

God gave us a chance to see Him, to experience His heart,   It was a holy moment, where He touched our hearts and we were able to hear Him and do the Word.*

It was humbling, but it was holy.  Humbling because He allowed us to be a part and holy, because He was in it.

The next time someone reaches toward them with God's love, it will sound familiar.  God's voice will sound more and more like home and life and safety.  I am confident that God, who has started the good work, will continue to call to them and will complete what He has begun.  (Philippians 1:6)

I see the shed they called home every time I open my back door.  There's no way to forget.  Our prayers will go with them.

*James 1:22 

Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.