He who Calms the Storm (Sometimes)

Mark, “Mom, why is God doing this to me? Why is God making me sick?”
Mom, “Oh, honey, God isn’t making you sick,” I say as I hold him and rock him, “we live in such a fallen world.” My answer falls flat even to me as I comfort a feverish child and my own storms loom over me. Two days later, the boy is well and yet, his questions linger in my heart. How do I answer? How do I encourage his faith to grow?
God met me again and used our pastor’s message to help answer my son’s questions (and my own). In Luke chapter 8, the disciples wake Jesus because of a terrifying storm and Jesus calms the sea. But why was there a storm in the first place? God uses storms in life to draw us near to Him. Why does He do this? There is a certain truth that we will never know the full knowledge of God. Our childish intellect will always fail us in this area. It brings to mind a certain song, “Sometimes He calms the storm; other times He calms His child.” (Scott Krippayne).
Another thing to remember is that you are not alone in your storm. You are a Christ follower. Jesus is in the boat with you. He sticks closer than a brother. You must turn to him in your hour of need. And, ultimately, He will answer, in your storm and in mine. He went through the worst storm ever at the cross for us. As this truth sinks in, my questioning heart is stilled; there is peace after the storm.
“Come sit next to me, Mark. Mama wants to read to you about Jesus and a storm.”

Thirty Dollar Trip to the Children's Museum

Thirty? Isn’t that a little hefty? It is when you have a membership and you were expecting to pay nil. Last Christmas, we got some money from Grandma. So we bought a membership at the Grand Rapids Children’s Museum. Grand Rapids Children's Museum - A place where learning is ...

Not that expensive, really, and a fun place for all. Today, we finished school and off we drove, over the river, and through the city to the Children’s museum we go… A fun time was had by all. They all dressed like firefighters. Mark also dressed as a horse, a farmer, and a beekeeper, but I digress…

The tough part about the children’s museum, as with most things downtown, is the parking. We parked at a meter. It’s two hour parking. So it was either feed the meter or head for home. We headed for home, but by the time we said goodbye to all our favorites, returned the firefighter jackets and hats to the right place, picked up craft projects and went potty, we’d lost about 20 minutes. Sure enough, I had a bright chartreuse envelope stuck under the wiper.

It screamed the words Parking Ticket in all caps, in a font of 72. So, I opened it. Do you know how much a parking ticket is? I’m thinking maybe 8.00. Noooo…the city is bitter about how those college kids keep ripping up their tickets. It’s 20.00! Yes, twenty! I almost ripped it up in protest. ( You all know that’s not me.)

It’s payable to the county clerk treasury. So I called the treasury to get directions to the building, (after all, we’re already downtown and in ten days, the amount due will DOUBLE!) We promptly got lost, turned the wrong way on a one way street, turned around and called again. No, the number is not on the building, you have to go into the parking tunnel. Is there a sign? I think so. What does it say? I don’t remember, just turn into the tunnel. The tunnel? You can’t miss it.

We crossed the river (twice), Oh look, kids, the river! We missed the tunnel and turned around. Showed our bright chartreuse folder to the parking attendant. She smiled and nodded. We were in the right place, sort of. There were about six exits from the parking area, and none said “treasurer”. We asked the attendant. She still smiled a little as she pointed us toward the green double doors, can’t miss those.

Two information booths later, and two elevators (yes, two), we arrived to pay our ticket. Mark got his shirt all wet at the drinking fountain. Do you know what my kids do when they get wet? Yes, Marc lifted his shirt and was bare-chested for all to see. Put your shirt down. I can’t! IT’s WET!

Paid for the ticket. $20.00 please. Found our way out. Could not find the ticket for the parking tunnel. Talked to the attendant. She did not smile. $10.00 is the lost ticket fee. Ten! We’ll look for it. Hmm.. Back inside the green double doors we went, both elevators, asked at information to see if we left it there, asked at the pay ticket counter. Nope. Officially out of luck.

Parking attendant asked if we found it. Nope..no one was smiling now. Put my $10.00 in the machine, (at least it’s not $20.00) Left the parking tunnel.

Now, how do we get to our highway? It was actually above us. There must be a way. We crossed under our highway twice….I wonder how we get up there…we crossed over a historic bridge. Oh, look, kids, the river…(again). Finally found an entrance ramp. There was a yield sign at the end. (somebody let me in....)

Ok, we are on the highway. It’s 5:00 traffic, and look, construction ahead. The sun was sinking low on the horizon and we were headed, yep, you guessed it, west.

Four tired kids and one tired Mama made it home before dark (Praise the Lord! I can’t drive in the dark) and in time to make a quick noodle supper.

Things are not always what they seem. We own one of these large crockery jugs. Ryan and I bought it in our first years of marriage from an antique store, and we keep our change in it. (That was when we actually went to antique stores). In those first years, we didn't have any kids and the only thing in the jug was actual coinage. Today it is a different story.

Imagine yourself a four-year-old, imagine the tempting dark recesses of the antique jug. See how temptaion is located conveniently at eye-level. Imagine what wonderful sounds would emanate from its interior once you dropped something, anything, into its depths. You step closer. You notice the marble in your hand. Your hand moves before you realize it. You watch the small glass ball disappear and hear a satisfying thump as it lands somewere inside. Your mind turns. You begin to wonder, what else? What else? It beats out it's tempting mantra as you search for...oh look, another marble....

I emptied out the jug recently and I did find some change. I also found several other interesting items, including a butter knife from the kitchen, several ink pens, and surprise, a necklace from my grandmother I was certain I had lost. There were a few dominoes, two matchbox cars, and at least SIXTEEN, yes, SIXTEEN marbles. It was a little tough to get out the drumsticks from the toy drum... At this point, I became weary of hefting the jug. It is not a light object. Since I had some coinage out, I put the jug back. The next day, Ryan says to me, "You won't believe what I found when I emptied the change out of the jug."

I smile and briefly wonder what to say. I decide on "Do tell," raising my eyebrows in an interested manner.

"They put forks in there. Actual forks!" I smile as he adds to the list. He did find several interesting items, including hair barrettes, ink pens, and forks from the kitchen. There were candy wrappers, a few dollar bills (yeah!) and yes, even a pair of white panty-hose. Things are not always as they seem.

Five things four year old boys can do.
1. Break light bulbs from ten feet away!
2. Fling sand twenty feet
3. Remove all the sand from the sand box and deposit it in front of the steps (yes, on the
would-be grass) in less than 20 minutes.
4. Plastic seats on tricycles are not good. Packing tape is good.
5. Flood the bathroom by plugging the sink and leaving the water running. Mom, there’s a
FLOOD!!
6. Go through 3 pairs of pants, and wear a hole in the top of one tennis shoe all in the space of
three hours.
7. Speak very loudly very early on Easter morning, "Happy Easter! Mom, the stone was
rolled away! Happy Easter!"
8. Give great big hugs and say, “no, no, no, I love you MORE!” oops, that’s eight.

Four year olds love to play pretend. On Sunday, Timothy and Sarah had fevers, so Ryan stayed home with them. Marc and Luc and I were on our own. As I buckled them in Daddy’s car, the adventure began.
“Where are our sunglasses?” Luc wants to know.
“In the van.”
“But we are in Dad’s car,” says Marc
Luc adds, “How can we be secret agents?”
“You’ll just have to pretend your regular glasses are sunglasses.”
“Hey Mom, you can be an agent too!”
“You have glasses too!”
“Okay, secret agents,” I start the car and we are on our way to church, “what’s our mission today?”
“We have to rescue people.” Luc states.
“Mom, do you see that dot way down the road?” Marc asks.
Not really, but I will oblige, “I see it. What is it?”
“That is a T-rex!”
“A T-rex?”
“Yes!” says Marc.
“He’s going to eat up the church,” reveals Luc.
“We’ve got to stop him!” says Marc.
“Oh, how do we do that?” I ask.
“Drive faster mom!” shouts Marc.
“We have to get between the T-rex and the church!” says Luc, using his hands to illustrate.
“Okay, hang on.” We keep driving.
“Mom, there’s someone behind us!” Luc says.
“Who is it?”
“It’s a George, and he’s an agent too!” (George is our family name for a “squirrel”)
“oh really?”
“yes, the car did not squish him flat.”
“He made it to the other side,” adds Marc.
“and now, he’s an agent too!” finished Luc.
“Mom! Mom! See that tower?” Marc points to one of those large towers where electrical wires run.
“I see it. Are you going to tie the t-rex to it?”
“Nope. I picked it up and put it on top of him and now he’s trapped.”
“He can’t get out,” says Luc.
“Whew! The church is saved.” says Marc.
At this point we are pulling into the parking lot. I park and get my agents unbuckled. Inside the door, I remind them that they are secret agents and agents always walk in church. “We will hang up coats and then you can go to your class. Mr. Pete and Ms. Deb can teach you all about how to be a secret agent who loves Jesus.”
“God loves us, Mom!”
“yes, that’s right.”
“even if we get angry.”
“even if you get angry”

At this point our pastor says Hi and bends down to talk to the boys at their level. I love it when grown ups do that.
“Hi Marc and Luc, how are you?”
“We saved church from the t-rex!”
“We are secret agents!” Lucas reveals with a sly smile.
“A t-rex?” asks Pastor Robert, feigning concern, “secret agents?”
“Don’t worry,” says Marc, putting his hand on the pastor’s arm, “he’s trapped in the tower!”
“We’re safe!” adds Luc, “ He won’t eat the church. Marc slammed the tower on him.”
“He won’t eat the people, either,” Marc shares.
“We’re secret agents,” Lucas reveals again, “but we don’t have sunglasses.”
“They are in the van!” says Marc.
“And George followed us!” says Luc. They both begin talking at once.
“He DID not get squished flat!”
“Mom drove fast!”
“You can’t run in church.” adds Luc.
“But God still loves you.”
“Even if you’re mad!”
“Time for class!” shouts Marc, spotting his teachers and heading down the hallway. Luc takes off too. So much for no running. I hurry off, saying something about imagination and follow my “agents” down the hallway. They have thankfully stopped running and are again regaling their tale of adventure to their Sunday School teachers. I arrive in time to hear,
“and he’s in the tower, so he won’t eat you, Mr. Pete.”
“you get to teach us to be good secret agents.”
“A real t-rex?” asks Ms. Deb.
The agents are thrilled by her interest, and tell their story again, adding more details, both talking at once, and so they head to class while mom sighs and thanks the Lord for people who love and teach my secret agents, oops, I mean little boys, how to love Jesus.

Story-time

Story-time at the Library for 3-5 year olds. Tuesday mornings 10 am.
Sounds great, what a good idea. Hear stories, sing songs, do a project. This is perfect for Marc, Luc, and Sarah. Maybe I could read a book while I watch….Well, that was my first thought….

Tim was thrilled. He could play on the library computers (all the big kids are in school) so he wouldn’t be on a time limit. Off he went.

Marc and Luc wanted to play trains. I carefully explained the benefits of story time and dragged them both to the proper area. It was a new situation for Sarah so she clung to my leg. I couldn’t let go of Luc for fear he would run to the trains. I actually got four coats, and four sets of mittens and gloves extricated without letting go of anyone. (or anyone letting go of me).
I instructed the kids to get carpet squares and sit by the other kids. To my complete astonishment, Marcus complied, grabbed his square and sat right down. Sarah would not move from my leg, and where was Lucas? He was sitting by the moms, in a grown up chair, between two women he had never met. One of them was reading a book. Lucas’s arms were crossed, but he was quiet. I left him there, and walked to Marcus, dragging a girl on my leg. I put her carpet square down and she let go of my leg, but not my hand. She knew the librarian who said “Hi sarah,” and once the story started, she was fine. Marcus lasted through the first story before he began to lie down, touch his neighbors, kick his boots, sing (when no one else was) and shout. Meanwhile, I had gone to talk to Lucas. I talked him into sitting on my lap, but he was not going by those other kids and had started to loudly protest.

At the same time, I heard Sarah’s voice, “Sit up, Marcus!” Okay, put Luc down, sneak over to Marc and tell him to listen. He is now stomping like a dinosaur, and not sitting. (No one else is stomping like a dinosaur. The stories are about bugs. A little girl is staring at him like he’s a maniac.)

I bring Marcus over to Lucas. Lucas is now crying, and I have come to the conclusion—THIS IS NOT WORTH IT, plus I am disturbing others. The woman with the book has raised an eyebrow in my direction. But Sarah is now having much fun, singing the itsy bitsy spider and listening to the story. I tell Sarah I am taking the boys to the train area.

The boys are happy. The mom feels defeated. All the other children are in storytime except for a one and a half year old and his mama. We discover her son and my son are both named Lucas. She is pregnant and shares it’s a boy. They had the name Marcus picked out, but thought Lucas and Marcus sounded strange together. “Oh, those are my boys’ names,” I blurt out. She does the polite, “oh really,” thing and the conversation fizzles. I pick out books for the boys.

More kids show up at the trains. The other mom encourages her son to share, “Lucas, you need to share.” My son looks right at her, then hands a train to a new kid. I guess there are advantages to name-sharing, and this makes me smile.

Sarah exits story time smiling and skipping. “She even stamped my hand!” She proudly displays her hand. Even the boys oohh and ahhh at the ink-bug on the back of her hand. I guess we are coming back next week for story-time. Maybe I’ll bring a book to read.

A Typical Afternoon, and You?

I deecided to go to the store after lunch. Tim needs gloves. He keeps outgrowing everything. I called Grandma to see if she needed anything. Papertowels. After lunch, everyone wants to go outside Perfect. We will be leaving for the store in a few minutes, everyone. Of course, it’s 23 degrees and snowing like a banshee..

Luke wants help with his socks. He can do this himself, a fact of which I remind him. Mark is already working on it. I am trying to find Sarah her mittens, which are the tote in the laundry room. She heads that way. Tim’s zipper split, but is a quick fix. Marc and Luc are freaking out because they each have one sock on and their brother is wearing the other sock. This is quickly fixed by getting out one more pair and dividing it between them. They look at me as if I have performed a magic trick.

Sarah is almost crying because she can’t open the tote. Remind her to ask nicely for help. Go to laundry room, open tote. See toy car on the floor, put in basket to go up stairs. Marc is going “beeps” and needs to be wiped. Done. Tell him not to run in socks. Wham. Hugs for hurt. Remember your walking feet. Wash hands, where’s the towel? On the floor. Put that back on rack. Find wet washcloth, marble, and doll under the towel. Hang up washcloth, put doll and marble in basket to go upstairs.

Try to convince Marc and Luc to put on their own boots. Much talk and sharing of boots. Start clearing cups and plates from lunch. Finally put boots on boys while praying for patience. Send Marc outside. Send Luc for his coat. Luc dumps tin of popcorn on floor. Sorry mom. Get out broom. Marc is back, he needs a hat. In the tote. Realize contents of tote are covering laundry room floor. Toss stuff in tote, including two marbles and a doll. Weren’t those in the basket?

Okay, all four are outside, with coats, hats, mittens and boots. (except for Tim, who needs bigger gloves.) Whew. Only 1:30…Didn’t we have lunch at noon? Grab my coat, boots, run to the bathroom. Realize I haven’t brushed teeth yer. Thirty second brush job. Out the door. Gather kids. Get to store. Store is stifling. Cart is so stuffed with coats, there’s no room for Grandma’s papertowels. Tim will carry them. Wow thank you Tim.

Where’s Luc? We lost Luc again. I check the next two aisles. I find him trying on boots. He tried on boots last time he was here. Wow, he has a great memory. Only one of his boots is visible. Sarah finds it one aisle over. I put boots on Luc and overhear Tim say, “Watch how far I can throw these papertowels up and catch them!”

Luc is not happy about being dragged back to the cart. Stay by your mom. I calmly explain to Tim about the inappropriate behavior of tossing papertowels. Take deep breath. Sarah is crying. Apparently Marc has hurt her feelings. Luc is also crying. Something about boots. Head for the checkout. Wait in line. Cashier smiles sympathetically, too sympathetically.

This is when I realized I am wearing my shrug in public. The shrug is that quilted flannel shirt from 1987 with the frayed edges, missing buttons, and rolled up sleeves. It’s not pretty, but its the warmest thing I own. I love to wear it around the house. However, it’s really NOT supposed to leave the house. Smile back. Mention that I brushed my teeth today. Cashier stops smiling.

Make way to door. Put everyone’s coats on. Lucas is crying because he is wearing Marc’s coat. Marc is crying for the opposite reason. Switch coats. Sarah is crying. Apparently Lucas has hurt her feelings. I resist the temptation to tell Sarah that more than her feelings are going to be hurt soon. A quick hug instead. She decides to stop crying. Where are Tim’s gloves? Oh, that’s what we came here for….maybe Ryan can get some later.

Back to the van. Buckle Marc and Luc. Time on the clock 2:45. Didn’t we have lunch at noon? Yikes. Drop papertowels at Grandma’s. No, we can’t stay today, Grandma. Arrive home by 4:00. Ever wonder where the day went?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/sabinche/424078457/

Three–the age of independence….Are you familiar with John Ball Park Zoo in Grand Rapids? It’s a wonderful zoo with a wonderful aquarium building. They have a window with a sign that says “octopus”, but usually, you never see him. My son recently discovered how to get the octopus to come out. When the zoo is really busy, there’s a line for the restroom in the hallway of the aquarium. There is also a fire alarm in the hallway of the aquarium. You see where this is going…If your son pulls the fire alarm and your daughter (and many other children) begin crying because it is so loud and scary, and the building clears out and you finally exit the restroom with your children, you will actually see the eye of the octopus and all eight arms moving around right next to the glass as if to say, “What is going on out there?”

As you know, the twins celebrated their third birthday in February. Age three has arrived. It’s the age of independence, ingenuity, creativity, interesting sentences, and the use of tools.

My boys are finally getting to an age where they can do things for themselves. They invent scenarios for their toys and they take their cars on trips to the library, the farm, and all kinds of places in their little imaginations. They are great play mates for each other and I can leave them unattended while Tim and Sarah and I have school…or so I thought.

Oh, no, tearing off the wallpaper wasn’t good enough….that’s two-year-old stuff, old-school tripe. Holes in the wall…now that’s three year old genius. Ah, but if there is now a hole in the wall, it should be fixed. Maybe they asked themselves, “What Would Daddy Do?” If there are plastic tools available, logic dictates that they should be used. I actually found this little scene after the boys had been tucked in bed. They were sound asleep and I reached for a book to read to Sarah and…there it was…there was nothing to be done tonight…., but take a picture… (Don’t worry, we had a serious “mom to little guys, ‘yes mom’” talk the next day.)

Happy Birthday

The boys are three today. That means three years ago today I went to the doctor and then on to the hospital for a c-section and early delivery of two little babies. Two little babies I didn’t even get to hold as they were whisked away to neo-natal. But three weeks later, they were ready to come home. It’s three years later and they are now busy, busy boys, and no longer babies. I love these boys and their happy smiles and hugs and kisses and ideas while they are playing. Mark said to me yesterday, “I not Marky. I Lukey”. He says this while smiling mischievously and waiting for me to say, “no, no, no, you are Marky.”

He just asked me to put his socks on his hands. He is playing pretend.

Ryan brought home a box of empty plastic lidless bottles that were headed for the trash at work. They look like shampoo bottles and the boys are having so much fun with them. They have gone bowling, to the grocery store, had a long line of bottles, and even marched while hitting them together as musical instruments. Who needs toys?
Lucas loves to hug your neck so tightly you can hardly breathe. He also says, “I got you, Babe.” He is also super-proud if he accomplishes anything by himself, like putting on his own socks (on his feet). “I do it all by myself!” he exclaims in awe.

I have always told Tim and Sarah and the boys that the boys are NOT allowed on the top bunk of the boys’ bed until they are three. When Tim found out today was their birthday, he asked if he could ‘show them around’ the top bunk. Go for it, Tim. They are now back playing bottles again.

A sure sign of age three. We are leaving the library and going through the process of putting on coats and mits, etc. As I am zipping my last coat, (my own), Marcus pipes up, “Come on, people, time to go.” Tim looks at me and says, “Did he just say ‘come on people’?” “Yes, he did.” Marcus’ words are echoes of Timothy, his hero, but I keep those thoughts to myself. I’m thinking I am going to like age three times two boys.

My little helicopters

After bath-time, I always snuggle up the boys in their towels and call them my little "helicopters". (It used to be caterpillar -see an earlier post on that one). Well, Mark wanted to be my "liddle airplane, Mama!" Then it was Lucas' turn. Not to be outdone by his brother, he announced he was my "liddle airport, Mama!" Airport? He kept grinning. So then I had to make those imaginary planes land on him..the tickling kind. Now, after every bath, I have two little airports!

Sleepy lunch

This is my Mark, tired out after a busy morning.

It’s nice to have honest children. We’ve always tried to not punish them for telling the truth. Something about, “Did you hit your brother?” If they say Yes, and receive punishment, then aren’t we teaching them to say “No.”, in effect, teaching them that to lie keeps them out of trouble?
So, here’s the story. Mark and Luke are upstairs, playing nicely, and I am downstairs. Nothing ever happens unless you attempt to answer the phone. Especially if it’s someone you’ve never met before. The screaming started almost as soon as I said “Hello.”
Then I heard the fwoop, fwoop, of a little bottom coming down the stairs and the crying gaining momentum. I could tell it was a hurt cry, so I ended the call and opened the stair door. Mark was three steps from the bottom, crying, blood running down his cheek. Luke was close behind, uninjured. I whisked Mark to the bathroom, and cleaned and applied pressure, wondering about stitches. The crying subsided and I asked what happened. Mark wails out, “Brother hit me with car!” Luke, who is sitting on the stool watching everything, echoes, “I hit his cheek with car.” Mark wails out again, “He say sorry!” and Luke again echoes, “I say sorry.” This makes me smile. “Did you forgive brother?” “I forgive Luke,” he says. “He forgive me,” says the echo. I emphasize that we don’t hit. “yes, mom,” they both respond. Bleeding has slowed, bandaids have been applied, Tylenol given, prayers prayed, kisses and hugs, and all is well. “I go play now?” asks Mark. “Play now?” says the echo. “Yes, “ and off they go. Resilent little critters, and thankfully, honest.

While trying to console Mark over his cookie breaking in half. I joyfully pointed out he now had TWO cookies. As I poured a cup of coffee, I heard, 6..7..8..9.. 10 cookies! Sure enough, he had 10 cookie bits! Six of which were no longer on the table.

Potty-training Tidbit

Ah, fall. An entirely new season. September, a time for new beginnings. Summer was great this year. Two twin-year-olds successfully potty-trained, despite a rough beginning. (August 2007 Lucas sits on the potty, playing with potty-toys with one hand and insisting mommy holds the other. Suddenly, the unexpected. He goes potty! Much praise from Mama. Hand-clapping and hugs. Lucas is all smiles. He stands up and admires his work. Then he sits back down, grabs my hand, smiles like a movie star, and says, “Do it again, Mama!” hoooboyy….)

Adventures of the Gruesome

I opened the boys door after "rest time" to find this scene. The closet contents had been spilled into the room, with the exception of the totes, which are too heavy to lift. But I couldn't find the boys. Heart in my throat, I scanned the empty bed and started to look for legs under the pile.

That's when I spied the "gruesome". Sound asleep in the closet, on top of the immovable totes. Although immovable, they had been conquered.

The Gruesome

“The Adventures of the gruesome two-some” -- it occurs to me that this is not the most encouraging label for the boys.
FOURTH OF JULY
Ryan took Tim and Sarah to the flag-raising early this morning at the park. As I was saying goodbye outside, he looked up to the boys’ window, “Uh-oh,” he intoned, “the gruesome are awake”. Sure enough, two little faces peered down from the window. They were happy to see Mommy but they were more interested in “Daddy go?” and “Timsarah”. Thankfully they LOVE their breakfast, and were soon their happy selves again.