Author Archives: diane.connis@gmail.com

A Beautiful Thing

My friend was married a few days ago. As ‘best woman’ I stood with her, my heart about to burst for joy, knowing what a long, long walk it was to that ceremony.

And I’m not referring to the stroll from the parking lot of the New Hampshire state park, up the frost-heaved sidewalk, onto pine needle dusted soil and down the center of the outdoor pavilion to a wall size fireplace, where the wedding took place.

I’m talking about a lifetime of hurt, pain, shame, guilt, addiction, rage and change.

We are often victims of man’s free will. It’s natural to recoil when wounded, especially when the hurt isn’t our fault. Then reactions become decisions, piling up and building insurmountable walls of defense.

During the past twenty years I watched my friend kick, scream, cry, fight and forgive for a hard won freedom. She was willing to do what it took to excommunicate the demons of her past and experience an internal peace and liberty.

She faced every challenge head on. It wasn’t easy. And required unusual determination, endurance and more time than most are willing to wait.

I was privileged to walk beside her for most of the process.

We talked, laughed, prayed and cried through many hurdles as she gave in and gave up to the beautiful grace of God at work in her heart, over and over and over again. As the years flowed by I watched a slow but amazing metamorphosis; a hard, angry heart turned marshmallow soft, a dry lump of clay gently crafted into a useful vessel of outpoured love.

The butterfly has emerged from the dark days of the cramped cocoon to fly freely into joy.

There is no sin, no shame, no wound, no hurt, no scar that the merciful love of our Heavenly Father cannot heal when we surrender our life to Him. He takes any and every broken and yielded piece of us and makes it new. He restores all damage, makes us whole, forever erasing the pain of yesterday.

When God renews, old things are passed away, sorrow and ashes turned into beauty. We are raised up to a life filled with promise and a future full of hope.

I’ve watched and tasted this. In myself, in others and especially in my beautiful friend who at long last has been restored to love and trust; so evidenced by the large and diverse group of people who came to celebrate this special day. God’s love was tangible, undeniable, surrounding all of us.

Knowing we are loved changes everything.

My friend finally knows, without a hint of doubt, she is valuable and she is loved.

Of utmost importance, by God.

Also by others.

And by the incredible guy who took her as his bride.

Freedom is such a beautiful thing.

John 10:10 “The thief’s purpose is to steal, kill and destroy. My purpose is to give life in all its fullness.” ~Jesus

2 Corinthians 3:17 “Now the Lord is the Spirit; and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.”

Luke 4:17-18 “..the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him [Jesus]. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free..”

“Everyone wants to change the world but no one thinks of changing himself.” ~Anonymous

Answers to the “How’s Jon?” Question

Occasionally I’m asked, “How’s Jon doing?”

There are many answers I’d like to give. He just had his thirty fourth birthday and got promoted at work, gave us a new grandchild, celebrated his eleventh wedding anniversary, published a book, took a vacation to Aruba, is running for governor of Tennessee, bought a new car, took us out to dinner, is coming with his family to visit for a week.

You know, stuff like that.

Most of the time I don’t know how to answer. So I just say, “He’s fine. Just being Jon.” There’s always a lot more behind that reply than anyone knows.

What I could say is: He’s hardly come out of his room for three days. I finally got him to take a shower and change his clothes. He went for a ‘wander’ down the street but I found him. I just rescheduled his doctor appointment for the fourth time because he won’t go. I spent two hours picking up his ‘obsessive’ room again so I can vacuum.

Or if we’re in one of his ‘non-hermit’ cycles I can say: He’s come out of his room everyday this week with shoes on. That means he wants to go someplace. I dropped everything I’m doing to take him out because it’s been over a week since he’s left the house and I feel bad. We spent six hours in one restaurant yesterday, five hours in the barbershop today, two hours in a convenience store, an hour waiting for him to get out of the car while melting in ninety degree heat. He was in the garage all night rearranging the recyclables, eating frozen pizza from the extra fridge and trying to iron a frozen chicken pot pie.

Or on good mood/behavior days maybe this: He stood next to me for a half hour last night and sang Disney songs, while drumming on the ottoman with straws. He smiled when I said Hello today instead of frowning and turning his back to me. He actually sat and ate dinner with us on the patio. He picked a flower from my garden and gave it to me. He changed his clothes without being reminded ten times and was ready to go in two hours instead of four. He tried to write me a note and when I couldn’t read it, he actually talked to me, even though it was only one or two words.

There’s a zillion things I could say when asked the “How’s Jon” question. I’m not always sure people really want or understand the answers. But that’s OK. It’s still important it’s asked. It means Jon is not out of sight, out of mind. He is not totally forgotten. Others think of him, even though they rarely see him and that means something.

So keep asking. If I discern you’re genuinely interested I might tell you the latest unusual thing he’s doing. Or, depending on what’s going on with him at the moment, I might be too tired or frustrated to explain so I’ll say, “He’s fine. Just being Jon.”

And I probably should add, “But thanks for asking. It really means a lot to me that you care enough to think of him too.”

The Test of Tenacity – My Special Education, Lesson #7

I’d been after Jon all day to get in the shower. At 11 pm he decided he was going to use our bathroom, the one in the master bedroom.

Husband was already asleep. I was getting ready for bed. And here comes Jon, finally ready to cooperate.

There are three full bathrooms in our house, one of which is attached to Jon’s room, but he wanted ours. That wouldn’t be so bad if he was in and out in ten minutes but Jon takes a shower like he does everything else.

He’s in there three or four hours. I’m talking one or two o’clock in the morning. Light glaring in my eyes, water running, talking to himself, banging around getting into all our stuff, obsessively lining it all up on the counter and the edge of the tub like it’s his and dropping stuff into his shorts pockets when he leaves the room, like it’s his.

So I told him no.

“Sorry Jon, you’re not using our bathroom this time of night. There’s two more in the house. Go use one of those.”

The scowl face appeared, his back turned to me and statue mode set in; body language that says, “You can’t make me.” I knew I was in for a battle and needed to be as stubborn as he is for victory. But I was tired and just wanted to go to sleep.

Over the next hour I popped out of bed to chase him out of our room every five minutes. Jon has the tenacity of a dog tick when he really sets his want to on something. I eventually got up, grabbed my iPad and locked both of us out of the bedroom. After all, it’s been many years since he’s been small enough to pick up and move or send to time out. It was the only way I could think of to redirect him.

I collapsed into our family room’s comfy chair, turned on my iPad, swiped through the channels on the TV app to HGTV and promptly fell asleep. When I woke up two hours later, I half expected to find Jon still frowning at that locked door, instead a young couple was looking for a house in Australia’s Outback and Jon was just getting into the shower in the hall bathroom.

After my short night, I woke up thinking about the word tenacity. It’s not a word we hear often and is defined as: not easily stopped or pulled apart: firm or strong: continuing for a long time: very determined to do something: persistent in maintaining, adhering to, or seeking something valued or desired.

Such a great quality when applied to goodness, growth, goals, grace, Godliness and those times when we need to push hard to get through to the other side; the don’t quit, keep on going parts of life; when backing down or giving in are not an option. Discernment is definitely needed for exercising tenacity in the right place and at the right time.

I’ve come to appreciate Jon’s tenacity, even though it’s sometimes misdirected. Hope more of it rubs off on me. Our standoffs over getting him in the shower are helping some. In fact being Jon’s overtime mom presents me with plenty of opportunity to practice.

An important requirement for this job is unwavering tenacity. I think I read it in the special needs parenting manual once. No one has fired me yet for all the times I haven’t performed well.

So I’m still on the job.

Still learning the importance of being tenacious everyday.

With no plans on giving up anytime soon.

Hebrews 10:23 “Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.”

Galatians 6:9 “And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.”

Hebrews 10:36 “For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised.”

What Mom’s Really Want – After Mother’s Day Thoughts

I arrived home from church yesterday, after a wonderful service themed around honoring mothers. My breakfast nook was bright with a beautiful medley of flowering plants in a pretty container-a gift from my husband.

A dozen red roses adorned my kitchen counter, a striking orchid was on display in the middle of the kitchen island, and my pantry was stocked with more tea flavors to add to my already ridiculous collection-a gift mailed to me from my youngest son and daughter-in-law; signs that I’m not forgotten on Mother’s Day.

After Jon’s caregiver left, I knocked lightly on his bedroom door and peeked in. “Hi Jon, how ya’ doing dude? We just got home from church.”

He didn’t respond or look up.

“Do you remember today is Mother’s Day? How would you like to take me out for lunch today? I’d like to spend the day with you and Dad and I’m hungry. Are you?” I smiled even though he wasn’t looking at me.

Jon’s face turned to a scowl, the one that could mean in this moment, ‘don’t bug me’, ‘I don’t want to go’, ‘get out of my room’ or something similar. But I know him well enough to realize he could change his mind if I leave him alone for a while.

“Ok then, you think about it,” I said optimistically, “and come out when you’re ready but don’t take too long because Dad and I are hungry now. If you wait too long it will be too late to go,”

I shut the door and hoped.

Thirty minutes later I asked again and was met with the same response.

As the afternoon went by I realized his closed door was a “No” answer so I put a pizza in the oven, made a salad and Mike and I ate a late lunch.

I talked to a mom over the weekend whose only child is serving prison time. She tearfully told me how she raised him right, taught him morals, values and to put God first in life. She wanted him, loved him, worked hard to put him through private school and college and did everything she knew to be a good mom. But he grew up, made some poor choices and now both of them are living with those painful consequences.

As she poured out her heart, my own broke for her. I began thinking how this mothering thing doesn’t always turn out the way we want or imagine.

What we really want and need from our kids, is the same thing they want and need, as children, from us. We want them. Their time, their presence in our lives, their love and maybe more so after they’ve become adults. Maybe as our kids need us less, we need them more. We want hugs, big ones, real ones, not those sent over distance, Facebook posts or text messages (though I’ll gladly take those if that’s all I can get).

I appreciate the gifts, flowers, chocolate, tea and dinners but my deepest longing is to know, I’m not forgotten and my kids still love me – their flawed, mistake laden and very human mother.

Instead, some moms get a son in prison, a child passed away too soon, a miscarriage or infertility, a daughter who is estranged from them or a child like mine, who doesn’t know how to express himself clearly. And for these moms, Mother’s Day and everyday comes mixed with a bit of sadness.

Jon finally came out of his room long after the sun went down. I was relaxing in the family room in my favorite chair reading and drinking a cup of my gift tea. He found his dinner in the fridge and scavenged around in the pantry looking for snacks. Then he came next to my chair and stood there, his eyes flitting back and forth from the floor to my face.

I looked up and smiled. He smiled back then began singing an enthusiastic version of some Disney song while playing his ‘air’ guitar. He stayed near me smiling and singing nearly twenty minutes, glancing my way constantly to see if I was watching him.

I knew what that meant. “I see you Mom and this is what I have to give you on Mother’s Day. It’s the best I can do. I hope it’s enough.”

What I really want from him, he can’t give me. What I need from him, he still needs from me; to be recognized, acknowledged, affirmed and loved exactly for who he is.

There are no hugs, no sentimental cards, texts, Facebook posts, I love you’s or gifts from Jon on Mother’s Day but I receive with a little sadness and a lot of thankfulness the very best he can give me. A silly Disney song that says, “I know you’re still here.”

My oldest son didn’t take me out to lunch and my youngest son lives too far away and couldn’t be here but I know I am loved, even when life doesn’t play out exactly the way I hope, even when I wish for more.

So for all the mothers whose special day tends toward a measure of disappointment…

You are strong. You are resilient. You are amazing.

Contentment is learning to accept what is and finding peace inside it.

I pray you find God’s peace and unexplainable contentment in all of your unique, painful and incredible mothering moments.

It Takes a Mom

In John chapter six, the account of Jesus feeding the five thousand at some remote place along the Sea of Galilee, we find the five barley loaves and two fish Jesus ‘borrowed’ belonged to a child.

Of the five thousand men plus some women and children who showed up in the middle of nowhere to check Jesus out, didn’t anyone else think to bring food or was this boy the only one in the crowd willing to share what he had?

Then another question comes to mind. Who packed his lunch?

My guess? His mom.

It was probably another busy day. Bread to be made. Water to be drawn. Mouths to be fed. So much work to be done. But she packed her boy’s lunch and as Jesus took it, blessed it and miraculously fed a multitude, I doubt this kid was ever the same.

Jesus touched his lunch and his life.

The story doesn’t tell us who took the twelve leftover baskets home. But I bet it was the little boy and his family. Mom had no idea what would come back to her later that day.

They had food enough for a week, bread and fish touched and blessed by Jesus, the best leftovers ever, all because a mom got up in the morning and packed her kid’s lunch. Again.

Mom, are you’re bored with the ordinary tasks of your daily life thinking they or you don’t matter? Another meal to cook, another diaper to change, another load of laundry, another floor to sweep, another lunch to pack, another drive to school and another trip to the ball field equate to greatness when Jesus is in the midst of it.

He will take your small, mundane and seemingly insignificant efforts, bless them and multiply them back to you and your family.

The repetitiveness of mothering will multiply, day after day and year after year, until your children are grown and beyond. Every little thing you pour out and into them, comes back to you in exponential ways.

So get up today, tomorrow and the next day and do it again ’cause it takes a Mom to pack a lunch Jesus delights in sharing with others.

John 6:1-13 After this, Jesus went to the farther side of the Sea of Galilee—that is, the Sea of Tiberias. And a great crowd was following Him because they had seen the miracles which He performed upon those who were sick. And Jesus walked up the mountainside and sat down there with His disciples. Jesus looked up then, and seeing that a vast multitude was coming toward Him, He said to Philip, Where are we to buy bread, so that all these people may eat? But He said this to test him, for He well knew what He was about to do. Philip answered Him, Two hundred pennies’ worth of bread is not enough that everyone may receive even a little. Another of His disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to Him, There is a little boy here, who has five barley loaves, and two small fish; but what are they among so many people? Jesus said, Make all the people sit down. Now the ground was covered with thick grass at the spot, so the men threw themselves down, about 5,000 in number. Jesus took the loaves, and when He had given thanks, He distributed to the disciples and the disciples to the reclining people; so also with the fish, as much as they wanted. When they had all had enough, He said to His disciples, Gather up now the fragments, so that nothing may be lost and wasted. So accordingly they gathered them up, and they filled twelve baskets with fragments left over by those who had eaten from the five barley loaves.

On Your Birth Day, Jon – What the Doctor Didn’t Know

Thirty four years ago today, you came quietly into this world uttering barely more than a squeak to announce your arrival. You were adorable, our tiny firstborn child.

We had chosen another name for you before you were born but when we met you for the first time somehow we knew you were a ‘Jonathan’, so this is what we called you. Later we discovered this name means ‘God’s gracious gift’.

Soon the doctor came with news. You were different. He told us you wouldn’t be like other kids and would be delayed in growth and learning. I dreaded the sight of that doctor because his news was never good. His reports about you were all negatives, no positives.

But here’s what the doctor never told me, what he couldn’t know:

•How your smile lights up my universe

•How mysterious, charming, funny, resilient, observant, smart and grumpy you can be

•How your every achievement feels like winning the lottery

•How seeing life though your eyes change my perspectives

•How you simplify my priorities and humble my heart

•How ‘perfect’ and ‘normal’ are ideas by which I measure my own unrealistic expectations

•How selfishness is continuously discarded from my life

•How patience, compassion and kindness must always be practiced

•How to let go, while still holding on to what matters

•How to love unconditionally

•How prayer is a life preserver

•How trust and reliance on God are essentials

The doctor never told me how profoundly your life would change mine.

I guess he didn’t know, couldn’t know because he never had the privilege of experiencing you as I have. He couldn’t see the positives because he’s never had the opportunity to live them.

Today is your birthday, and as we light the candles and celebrate; I now know that the real gift is you.

God’s gift to quietly instruct, inform and adjust me into the person I am still becoming.

Happy Birthday, Jonathan Michael Connis!

I’m blessed to call you my son.

Should All People With Developmental Disabilities Be Free to Make Their Own Choices?

“People with even the most severe disabilities have the right to make their own decisions, no matter if their choices are risky or ultimately turn out to be mistakes, a United Nations panel says in new guidelines to nations.”

Read about it here; another bureaucratic idea that looks great on paper (especially one with such vague language it can be interpreted a zillion ways) but won’t work in reality.

Here are a few reasons why:

1. I believe everyone should have freedom of choice and some developmentally disabled folks are quite capable of making good choices on their own. Guardianship is still an important safeguard for those who can not. Such a loose policy that attempts to place everyone in the same category is foolish if not dangerous.

If Jon was allowed to make all his own choices he would never take his meds, shower or change his clothes, get a haircut, go to the doctor or dentist. He would most likely wander off down the street never to be seen again.

2. Someone has to pay for those choices. Who? The UN? Government budgets, both federal and state are tight. Wait lists are long. “Nationally, almost 317,000 people remain on waiting lists for home and community-based services…based on data from 2012, the most recent year available.”

Even those who receive disability funding usually can’t afford costly housing and other expenses for their disabled family member. Money and services are limited depending on geography and families are often one income earners or struggling single parents because someone has to be at home for the caregiving.

3. Are all parents and caregivers devoted and loving? A small percentage may not be, but these loosely worded conventions can be a slippery slope that eventually steamroll families and caregivers who most love and best know those they care for.

Someone in a far away office, creating regulations about our children’s lives and ultimately our own lives doesn’t sit well with most. I can’t help but wonder who the ‘supporting decision makers’ would eventually be.

4. “Article 12 of the Convention affirms that all persons with disabilities have full legal capacity.” It’s not clear if this translates to persons with limited mental function who commit a crime being tried as any other adult? Will no special consideration be afforded those with diminished understanding? I doubt anyone wants our over burdened prison system to become the new residential facility for the disabled who break the law.

The United States signed the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, as did hundreds of other countries, but so far has been unsuccessful in ratifying it.

So many blanket statements and one-size-fits-all propositions exist in this treaty, I would hope Congress and The Senate would review it with common sense reservation and revision, demanding specific definition of terms and then consider if it needs to be ratified at all.

There’s certainly a great need for improvements in servicing our disabled population but shouldn’t it be done on state, local and national levels instead of by international regulation? For those of us who believe in the sovereignty of the United States, and all other nations, the answer should be clear.

The Price of Patience – My Special Education, Lesson #6

Being Jon’s mom and caregiver requires a lot of waiting. Waiting for him to get up, waiting for him to get dressed, waiting for him to eat, waiting for him to get in the car, waiting for him to get out of the car, waiting for him to cooperate, waiting for him by staying home when I’d rather not.

Always waiting. Waiting and more waiting. It feels like a large percentage of my existence is about waiting for Jon.

All this Jon waiting has somehow earned me the ‘patient person award’ according to many folks who are acquainted with our situation.

I’ve been told more times than I can count, what a patient person I am, as if I came by it naturally, like my hair or eye color or the big round birthmark on my right knee cap; as if I was born with patience already piled high in my chromosomes and it was this propensity for patience that qualified me to be Jon’s mom when God was handing out kids in Heaven one day.

“I don’t know how you do it,” is what people often tell me.

There are days I don’t know either.

What I do know is patience is not natural to the human psyche (even mine), and any I’ve collected so far has come at an enormous price. It is obtained through continual acts of giving self away and deciding to love unconditionally, by intentional practice, careful perseverance and persistent prayer.

Sometimes that prayer is nothing more than the desperate cry, “Help!”

I’ve found acquiring patience to be very costly, demanding and at times, downright painful.

2 Peter 1:5-8, lists eight virtues we should add to our character. One of them is patience. The word ‘add’ in this passage implies that we’re missing something, haven’t mastered it yet and like a diligent student, need to continue learning and practicing until we’re skilled. There’s nothing here that implies it will be easy.

Everyone I know resists the school of patience, wishing for the degree without going to class.

Many years ago as our youngest son, David, and I waited in a very long concession line at a movie theater, I witnessed a scene I’ll never forget. The young man working the counter accidentally spilled a large coke he had just poured for the customer in front of us.

The sticky mess spread all over the counter, ran under the cash register and started dripping to the floor. The station had to be closed while the mess was cleaned up and everyone waiting in our line had to move over to the end of another longer one.

The man behind us, who’d already been mumbling in my ear about the long wait, immediately exploded into rage, yelling and swearing at the poor employee, calling him names and announcing his incompetence for the entire lobby to hear.

Sadly, this man had his young son, possibly nine or ten years old, standing next to him and Dad was setting a model for an impressionable young mind, that was less than exemplary.

I remember thinking how this guy needed to live with our Jon or someone like him for a while so he could possibly experience an all inclusive transformation into a man with a speck of mercy instead of a selfish out-of-control fool; red faced, eyes bulging, veins popping and mouth contorted, spewing anger and insults, over a spilled coke!

In that moment I silently prayed for my children to never have to watch me acting like this man. I asked God to teach me to be more patient when life doesn’t go my way and humans don’t behave according to my expectations.

Most of us come into the world kicking and screaming. We demand our rights from the very first breath. We are selfish from birth. Our level of patience or lack thereof reveals our true self and it grows in how we respond to the various circumstances encountered throughout life, situations that test, stretch and challenge us to the core.

Colossians 3:12-13 tells me to “put on patience” with the idea that if I decide what to wear when I get dressed in the morning, I can also choose to be patient today, right now, even this minute.

It might feel impossible initially, but as God meets, with His grace, my desire to endure, patience grows in the midst of any inconvenience, hardship or annoyance a day might bring.

I admit, being the perpetual mom of a guy whose quirky behavior often pushes me to the limits of my own patience can be tricky. But because of my son, I’m continuously pressed into patience. I certainly didn’t start out with much but Jon helps me grow this character fruit a little more everyday.

There are worse things I could be doing than waiting a little longer, laying aside my time and desires for another and learning to let go when life doesn’t fit my preconceived conditions.

Jesus patiently put aside everything for me, His own rights and even His life and in reaching for the unlimited grace and goodness of the One whose greatest joy is to lovingly improve me, I can do no less for my son or for others.

2 Peter 1: 5-8 “And beside this, giving all diligence, add to your faith virtue; and to virtue knowledge; and to knowledge temperance; and to temperance patience; and to patience godliness; and to godliness brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness charity. For if these things be in you, and abound, they make you neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

2 Peter 3:9 “The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.”

Galatians 5:22-23 “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.”

Colossians 3:12-13 “Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another…”

Philippians 3:3-8 “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

Jon, the Midnight Chef

Apparently Jon wasn’t tired after our day out for his haircut, shave, manicure and dinner at Woody’s BBQ yesterday.

I left him at the restaurant with his caregiver and went back to pick him up after midweek church service. She said he didn’t order until 8:15. Since the place closes at 9, he brought most of his dinner home, but must have decided it wasn’t enough.

When I got up this morning, it looked like a bomb went off in my kitchen while I was sleeping.

All the lights were on. The peanut butter was out of the pantry partnered with a giant messy spatula and blobs of peanut butter goo on every counter surface. The jelly jar was next to the stove, smears and drips everywhere.

Toast had been made and because the butter dish was empty, Jonretrieved a stick from the fridge. It was melted to soup inside the upside down butter dish cover. I don’t even want to know how he pulled that off.

He ate all but one piece of an entire angel food cake (reserved for today’s strawberry shortcake) and a brand new can of whip cream was sitting empty on the counter. The residue of whip cream, cake crumbs and several used forks took up residence in one of my baking pans.

Sparse leftover reminders of his take home BBQ dinner were piled up at the island counter in front of the bar stool where he must have sat. Dishes, kitchen utensils and silverware were removed from cupboards and drawers.

The kitchen looked like we’d had an army over for Thanksgiving Dinner so the first part of my morning was spent washing dishes, wiping down countertops and sweeping floors.

I took Jon for a physical last week and he’s lost a few more pounds. He’s a bit too skinny right now so I’ve been encouraging him to eat up.

Maybe this midnight kitchen raid is proof that he does listen when I speak. I’d like to think so.

Or maybe he just enjoys feeling independent once in a while, making a few of his own choices without my running commentary in his ears.

No annoying Me, yapping at him:

“Put the peanut butter away and the spatula in the sink, please.”

“You got jelly all over the counter. Here, wipe that up.”

“You can’t eat the WHOLE Angel Food cake, Jon.”

“I just bought that whip cream. Please save some for the shortcake.”

Oh My Gosh, Jon! You can’t soften the butter that way, it looks like soup!”

And the zillion other things I’d have to bite my tongue in half to NOT say if I was present.

Whatever his reasons were, I hope he had fun without me. I’m sure I had more fun sleeping than watching him create disaster in my kitchen.

God’s Emmy Awards

I’m convinced we idolize the wrong people in American society: movie stars, sports players, rock stars, country music singers, the rich and otherwise famous. Everyone wants to be them.

Someone like Mary, the woman I met last night, not so much.

Mary has been the around-the-clock caregiver of her younger sister for twenty eight years, since their parents passed away. Her sister has Down syndrome and is now sixty years old.

Mary receives no acclaim, no ‘American Idol’ or ‘Emmy Award’, for her selfless act but she has just moved to the top of my personal hero list, for whatever that’s worth.

I lay awake last night doing the math. When Jon is sixty, if we’re both still here, I’ll be eighty five. The nightmare thought always lurking in the back of every parents mind is, who will love and care for my child after I’m gone.

As I thought on this, the familiar feeling of panic and fear began to surface, so I did the only thing I know to do when I’m afraid, I started to pray.

“Heavenly Father, pleasseeee let there be a Mary for my Jon when the time comes. I trust You with our future.”

God’s Kingdom is so very upside down from mans’. God does not put great prominence on things we deem important. He celebrates the small and unseen.

Jesus said if you give away a cup of cold water in His name you will be rewarded (Matthew 10:42). Imagine the award that is waiting for someone like Mary.

One day God will host the ultimate Emmy Awards show of all time.

I’m thinking Mary will be first in line.

Luke 14:12-14 “He also said to the one who had invited Him, “When you give a lunch or a dinner, don’t invite your friends, your brothers, your relatives, or your rich neighbors, because they might invite you back, and you would be repaid. On the contrary, when you host a banquet, invite those who are poor, maimed, lame, or blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you; for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

Luke 16:15 (CEV) “ But Jesus told them: You are always making yourselves look good, but God sees what is in your heart. The things that most people think are important are worthless as far as God is concerned.”

A Place Called Special

a look inside a special life