Mastering the Wonders of English: the Silent E is for Evan

My little guy is learning to read, and having a lot of fun with it. I love to see his face light up as he realizes he knows how to read a new word.

So we were reading together recently, and he was stumped by the word "home." When I told him it was "home," he asked, "What about the E at the end," since it made no sound. I told him it was a silent E. We moved on.

Several days later we were at a restaurant with some of our extended family, and Evan was writing his name on paper to pass the time until our food came. He has known how to write his name for quite a while, so I was puzzled to hear someone ask him why there were two E's in his name.

Strangely, Evan had written EEVAN. He explained simply, "The first one is a silent E."

A Call to Live and Make it Count

This morning I took Evan to his preschool as usual. For the walk across the parking lot in 40 degree weather, he chose his favorite light jacket with the hood up. On top of the hood he wore his jaguar hat that hangs down on the sides, thus ensuring the warmth of his head at least. He is often a comical sight, marching to the beat of his own drum for sure.

When we approach Evan's classroom he often likes to try to sneak up on his teacher by "hiding" himself, crouching down close to the wall. He finds it hilarious if we pretend we can't find him. Little kids are cool like that.

Evan is four years old. The same age as the little boy, William Webb, in the next town over who died from cancer yesterday morning. I can hardly imagine the pain and loss his family is dealing with right now, though it makes me cry just thinking of it.

When terrible things happen to children, people often say to hug your own kids extra tight, symbolic, I suppose, of treasuring them. I love hugs, and I love my kids. But to me, the terrible death of a four-year-old is a reminder to make life count.

Make it count. We're all terminal. Any day could be the last for any one of us. Be intentional in how you live and how you love. Take time now to teach your kids the important things you want them to know. Speak life into people's lives, building them up rather than tearing them down. Savor the moments.

Do your best; give your best; live your best. And for all the ways we fall short and fail, there is grace. And there is hope and peace in the Giver of Life, who is Love. We cannot be perfect, but we can make our time count. "Love each other deeply" (1Peter 4:8), for our time here is short.

Reflecting on a Life

There were these two college kids once upon a time. They made some mistakes they lived to regret, making me in the process. She gave me life, and set me free.

Free to make my home with these other two, a childless couple yearning. In love, they gave me life, and set me free.

Because life and freedom go hand in hand. Two ideas in symbiotic harmony.

There was this man once upon a time, and he was God, yearning. He killed death, in love. He gave me life, and set me free.

And when I look back over these years of my life, it is all good and fullness of life and flying in freedom. It is all grace.

So now I carry on the legacy. Giving life and freedom. May it be all grace.

Confessions of an Impatient Mom

We stood at the front door as he casually put his gloves on, one finger at a time. I waited. His little hands fumbled, dropping the gloves, and he unhurriedly bent down to get them and start the process all over.

I sighed loudly, looking at the clock. Time to go. Now. Or better yet, five minutes ago.

The frustration of impatience bubbled inside me, coloring my mood and attitude. How long does it take to put on gloves? Why not just put them on in the van? Why are we always running late somewhere?

Patience eluded me, as it often does in various situations with my kids. Sure, as a mom, I have a lot going on... managing people, pets, schedules, household chores, errands, work... But I'm realizing my impatience is a form of unkindness toward my children that dishonors them, the very ones I love so much.

I need an adjustment in how I think. Instead of elevating my agenda, however good it may be, to priority status, I need to elevate the value of relationships. My kids are not interruptions in the midst of whatever I need to accomplish. For the most part, raising them well is the essence of what I need to accomplish at this point in life. I need to open my eyes deliberately to really see these special, precious little ones whom God has entrusted to me for so brief a time.

After all, is it a win if we arrive somewhere almost on time, but I have wounded someone's feelings in the process? Is it a win if we avoid making a huge mess, but I have undermined my child's courage to try something for herself? Is it maybe a bigger win if my kids know they are respected and honored and supported within their family?

Obviously, there are times we need to just get things done, but I am finding more and more that impatience tends to take the joy right out of the day. For everyone.

Better to be kind. And maybe make some adjustments to allow for those individual quirks that drive me crazy. Maybe get more creative in dealing with discipline issues that drive me crazy. Maybe find the opposite of crazy in Christ, as I am mindful of his kindness and patience toward me.

Yes, kindness and patience go hand in hand. So here is a resolution for this new year: to extend the same kindness and honor (and even more) to my family as I extend to friends and strangers. Ironic, isn't it, how we can sometimes act our worst with the ones we love best?

The Unfriending... Letting Go

Today I unfriended someone on Facebook. It was a first for me, and I thought about it for days before clicking it into reality.

I'm not one to burn bridges easily, and I hate to lose people. But this was not a real bridge burning as I could find no bridge remaining to connect us. This friend had become a ghost to me, a shadow of a ghost really, where there had once been a dear friend.

I hoped for a long time to see even a glimmer of the friend I once had. The one I trusted, in some ways, more than myself. The one with the strangely similar sense of humor and interests. We had our own lingo, and sometimes completed each other's sentences. That's the joy of best friends.

But people change. Life happens, and choices are made. For a long time I chose to hope. She chose to be silent. So today I clicked her into an Unfriend, but the irony is that nothing really changed with that click. She had been an Unfriend for a long time already. Now I just won't see her vacation pictures.

Sometimes Cats

When I look just beyond my computer screen, I see tiny holes in my curtains. The curtains have hung in that window since we moved into our house several years ago, but these holes are new. They are the evidence of our cat. Our newest cat.

Jon and I had no plans to get a cat of any kind. At least not any time soon. Three kids, two dogs, four hermit crabs, and we were good. We like cats, but why add more trouble to the mix?

Good, solid reasoning, and yet, here we are. In the span of four months, two cats claimed us as their own, and changed our lives. We have put up and taken down baby gates in multiple areas of the house, rearranged the bathroom, temporarily lived with our garage door open, and inconvenienced ourselves and our dogs.

Not to mention the new chores we've added to our life: giving the cats food and water, cleaning out the litter boxes, and making time to play with our feline friends. All this for two homeless cats who decided to camp out at our place, and wouldn't leave.

Maybe we're too soft. We could have sent them to Animal Control and wished them well. Maybe we're too compassionate, concerned about what might happen to them in the midst of so many other unwanted cats. Maybe it's simply a God thing. A surprise in our life, perhaps unplanned and unwanted, that turns out as a blessing with a purpose.

Our first cat was Twinkle. In my mind I call her Grace. She was a scraggly, wary little cat who sneaked into our garage in search of a safe refuge. A skinny ragamuffin looking for mercy, she had little to offer. Yet we reached out to her in kindness, cared for her, and took her in. We showed her grace, as God does us.

Our second cat was Brownie. In my mind her name is Faith. She made her debut on our rooftop, and soon adopted our front yard as her home. Friendly and fun, she easily won us over with her feline charm. She was our "outdoor cat" for three weeks.

And then she disappeared. Gone for two days, which was not like her at all. We worried and searched. On the second day, not knowing what might have happened to the little brown cat, this popped into my head: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding."

Instead of sorrow and hopelessness, I deliberately trusted for the best outcome. I exercised faith, and that afternoon, amazingly, we were reunited with the cat. She had walked into a woman's house several streets away, and the kind woman posted about her on Craigslist in hopes of returning her to her home.

So we have holes in our curtains and two cats, furry reminders of grace and faith. Funny how God likes to use tangible things in our lives to remind us of the spiritual. Like water. And bread and wine. And sometimes cats.

Ode to the New Season

I love the changing of seasons. The newness, the freshness of it. It inspires me to make my own changes, and gives me a fresh perspective. My favorite season is whichever one is new, although I do prefer Spring and Fall a bit.

The past couple days have been refreshingly cool here in South Georgia. This morning I walked the kids to school, as I have been trying to do a lot this school year, and the world was simply glorious. Blue skies, cool breeze, a scattering of leaves. Anna and Will actually said they were chilly... how great is that?!

Fall is definitely in the air now, coloring my dreams in oranges and browns. I can finally walk into the mall and allow myself to look at the store displays that have been proclaiming Fall and Halloween and Thanksgiving for weeks already. (I still avert my eyes from the expanding Christmas aisles. If I don't see it, it's like it's not there, right?)

I'm ready for pumpkins and the scent of cinnamon and no longer sweating when I walk to the mailbox at the end of my driveway! Bring on the crunchy leaves, and I will happily plod right through them and gather them into piles to my children's delight.

I love Fall! I just wish we had a bit more of it.