Tag Archives: life with Jon

Jon’s First Kiss

mannequin I took Jonathan and his younger brother, David, to the mall one day to buy them some needed new clothes. As boys are prone to do, they had either worn out or outgrown everything they owned.

We cruised endless clothing racks, the boys tagging along behind me.

“What about these?” I kept asking them as I pushed hangers aside.

They were obviously bored. Most males are not big fans of shopping unless they’re looking at toys (adult males included), but to make sure items fit properly I wanted them to try things on.

While I was focused on David and what he needed, Jon wandered off. I turned my back for a few minutes and he was gone. Again.

“Where’s your brother?”

How often has David heard that question through the years? He was only seven or eight years old at the time but had already figured out he was his older brother’s keeper.

“I don’t know.” He sighed.

I frantically turned in a complete circle hoping to catch a glimpse of Jon’s head moving between displays and quickly shoved the pants draped over my arm back on a rack.

“Let’s go find him, I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Hurry!”

I immediately had visions of Jon wandering outdoors or out into the mall and some creep abducting him.

We rushed through the boy’s and men’s department, calling his name. We checked fitting rooms and bathrooms and I was just beginning to panic when I noticed a crowd gathering over in the women’s department.

I grabbed David and steered him toward a pointing and laughing group of people.

As we came closer I saw him. Jon was standing on a slightly raised circular platform with three female mannequins arrayed in short, tight dresses, the kind I couldn’t wear anymore after giving birth to this child who was in a full lip lock with the center plastic lady.

My son was kissing a mannequin in the middle of Sears Department Store.

There are moments in parenting you’d prefer no one associate you with your child. This was one of those.

I pushed my way through the crowd and turned to all the folks watching my kid make out with a mannequin.

“Whose child is this?” I asked.

They all looked at each other and shrugged. A woman over to my left sheepishly replied, “I don’t know.”

I glared at them in disgust. “Well don’t you think the responsible thing to do would be to find his parents. They’re probably worried sick about him.”

Their fun interrupted, the crowd stared at me like they’d all just been sent to time out.

“If no one else is willing to find this kid’s mom then I will.”

I turned and marched up on the platform unwrapped Jon’s arms from the mannequin, pulled his face off her fake, botoxy lips and yanked him out of that store so fast, no one had time to wonder if I might be abducting him.

We sped through the parking lot to the car.

“What about my new pants?” David shouted as he ran beside me. So now the pants were important all of a sudden?

“Not today.” I answered.

“But you promised us a pretzel and an Orange Julius,” he whined.

“Not today.” I growled.

Years later, when David had been away at college a while, he called one day. We talked about his classes, what he was learning, his dorm adventures and his friends.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m just not into the drama that goes on around here sometimes. My friends all think it’s amazing that I hardly ever get mad or embarrassed about anything.”

“So why is that?” I asked him, interested to know myself.

“I just tell them, I grew up with Jon.”

Jon and the Cutting Dilemma

Jon is into cutting. But not in the same way or for the same reasons as other people.

He cuts sleeves off shirts, toes off socks, slits in the center of our bath and dish towels, legs off his father’s pants and hem strips off sheets and bed skirts.

towelsYesterday I took him to Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins. He dressed in his finest: a sawed off sleeves, blue T-shirt with two belts tied around his waist, one made from a strip of a nice, fluffy over sized beach towel he repurposed and the other, a bright orange and white flowered cloth tie belt he took from my closet.

When I’m tempted to be annoyed about this mysterious (and money wasting) behavior, I stop and remind myself to be thankful Jon’s not harming himself. He has his own brand of creative fun going on in his very unusual and imaginative brain.

And it’s just stuff. I can always go to Walmart and buy more cheap, made-in-China towels and T-shirts for him to cut up. It’s all replaceable. He isn’t.

Hanging out with Jon gives me an entirely different way to look at life and teaches me how to relax about little things that don’t really matter. While Jon is cutting up stuff in our house, God is cutting away the Me that wants to rise up and demand life always go My way.

God uses the people in our lives, yes; even those with annoying habits, to instruct us, change us and expose areas where we need to improve. There is nothing more liberating than letting go of the unrealistic expectations we have for others.

Ask God to help you look at those frustrating, annoying folks around you through His eyes, with His heart. Then look inside yourself and let Him transform you so you can love freely, unconditionally and without barriers.

The same way Jesus loves me and you.

 Philippians 2:3(ERV) “In whatever you do, don’t let selfishness or pride be your guide. Be humble, and honor others more than yourselves”

Proverbs 27:17(NIV) “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”

 

 

Shopping With Jon

jon shoppingIt had been over a month since Jon left the house. He goes through stretches where he just doesn’t want to go anywhere even though I offer to take him out three to four days each week.

Sunday I came home from church to find him dressed in clean clothes with shoes on. That’s the signal for “I want outa’ here,” so I dropped my plans for a relaxing afternoon and off we went.

Jon needed a haircut and since the barbershop where I usually take him is closed Sundays we headed to the salon I frequent in a nearby plaza, which also houses our neighborhood grocery store, a nail salon, a dollar store, a Chinese takeout and a Subway. After his haircut, Jon decided to walk over to the grocery.

My son doesn’t ask for much. He doesn’t care about the latest tech gadget, smart phone, brand name clothes, gas money or car payments. He doesn’t pay rent or a mortgage or need expensive guy toys – boats, jet skis, motorcycles or classic cars – so when he occasionally decides to wander in a store for some shopping I really don’t mind dropping a few bucks on him.

We slowly wandered the aisles for almost two hours making four passes from front to back and end to end until my feet and ankles started screaming, “Enough already!” He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Several times, I had to resist the urge to take things out of the cart and put them back when he wasn’t looking.

His impromptu grocery list looked something like this:

Package of cheese hot dogs

Hoagie rolls

Bag of York peppermint patties

Large Hersey bar

An individual piece of white cake from the bakery

Jar of Tostitos white cheese dip

Bag of cheese and sour cream potato chips

Bag of Frito’s

Package of AAA batteries

Package of turkey pepperoni

Package of beef jerky

Container of shaved Parmesan cheese

Large bottle of yellow Gatorade

And four peaches

Other than the peaches and the Parmesan, I cringed as I paid for his pile of junk food and the batteries we didn’t need because we had a drawer full of them at home already.

After his groceries were loaded in the car, he headed for the Chinese takeout. And we took it out, right next door to Subway where I ordered a salad. Jon took my drink and chips to accompany his fried rice and chicken chow mien. We stayed there until they kicked us out when the place closed at ten.

I’ve come to the conclusion in matters of food choices Jon is no different than most Americans, so God’s gotta’ keep me upright and breathing for a very long time. My son needs me to make him a salad now and then and healthy meals that actually provide him with some much needed nutrients.

Just hoping no one lets him do his own grocery shopping all the time, after I leave this planet. If they do he’ll be joining me much sooner than expected!

 

I Am Enough – Secret Prayers of an Overtime Mom

hello_6 copyIt was pastor appreciation Sunday. I sat in church next to my husband with the rest of the pastor staff scattered across three sections of front row seats. A large basket was in the foyer, a place for people to drop cards and notes for the staff and someone was in the pulpit speaking words of blessing and thanks over our lead pastor and his family.

But my mind was elsewhere, still home with Jon. Lost in the rough week we’d had together. There’d been extra struggles and a few wandering episodes. I felt wearily overwhelmed and as I fought back tears, sent up a silent prayer to my Heavenly Father.

“God, I’m so thankful for this church family where we’re blessed to serve. This appreciation thing is great but what I really need to know is You’re pleased with what I do everyday with Jon.  I know taking care of him is my top priority but some days are such a struggle and I need to know I’m doing OK. When I meet you in Heaven, the only thing I want to hear You say is, “Well done daughter. You were faithful to carry out the task I assigned you. Good job!” That is all I really want, Lord. I desperately need to know I’m doing enough.”

According to national statistics about 29% of the adult population cares for an ill or disabled family member. Full time care-giving is a solitary mission field, with few furloughs. Some people choose it as a career, work eight hours, collect a paycheck and go home. But for family caregivers it is literally about laying aside their own life, putting personal hopes, dreams and ambitions on hold, often indefinitely, for another. This act of love requires daily unselfish sacrifice performed by flawed and innately selfish people…like me.

There’s a constant challenge of balancing my son’s needs against what I want and need and dealing with the tension and guilt this can bring, and it often feels like I’m never enough. So I prayed this prayer, gave it all over to God’s capable hands again and went on with my day.

Later, after arriving home, I changed clothes and left for the restaurant where Jon had gone with his caregiver, to relieve her of her duty. Once there, she informed me the manager of this buffet style restaurant was not happy about my son’s presence in his establishment. He kept sending the waitress over to tell her she wasn’t watching Jon properly and Jon was taking too much food.

Neither was true, never mind the fact it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. I spent the next few hours dealing with the customer-service-inept manager and his sidekick waitress, until Jon finally finished and was ready to leave.

On the way out, Jon stopped in the entrance area to check out the arcade machines. As I waited for him, a man standing near the front door approached me.

“Is that your son?” he asked, pointing toward Jon

I replied by a yes-nodding of my head.

“Well, I don’t know what this manager’s problem is but I’m so sorry for the way your son was treated here. What’s his name?”

“His name is Jon, and thank you. I don’t think we’ll ever come back here again.”

The man looked at Jon then back at me. “Me either,” he said with disgust. “The manager was even going around to some of the customers complaining about Jon, telling them he shouldn’t be here. I finally told him to leave your son alone. I didn’t see him doing anything wrong, other than being slow and that’s no big deal.”

I smiled and thanked him again as his wife came out of the restroom and joined us by the door.

“Look,” he said, “the real reason I wanted to talk to you is because I felt I should tell you something. I don’t know you or anything about you and your son other than what I’ve observed here today, but I felt strongly I should tell you…that God wants you to know…you are an amazing mom, you’re doing a good job with that young man and God is pleased with your faithfulness.”

By then I’d forgotten all about my morning prayer but this man’s words mirrored my own so exactly that I immediately started to cry. Then these two strangers put their arms around me and prayed for me right there, outside that horrible restaurant, prayed for me to have the strength and wisdom I needed to continue to care for my son and for Jon to fit perfectly into God’s plan for our life.

God, in his mercy and kindness, didn’t make me wait for Heaven to let me know He has everything I need to accomplish my task. He heard my prayer and cared enough to whisper His reassurance into the heart of a willing messenger.

On the hard days, I remember this and think of how much God loves me, enough to tell me…

In Him, I am enough.

And that is all the appreciation this overtime mom will ever need!

Isaiah 49:28-29 “Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth does not become weary or tired. His understanding is inscrutable. He gives strength to the weary, and to him who lacks might He increases power.”

Matthew 25:23 “Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a few things; I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your Lord.”

 

Answers to the “How’s Jon?” Question

Question-MarkOccasionally 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 Ill 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

shower wasteI’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.”

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

JonathanThirty 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. happyBirthday_mypage

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?

UN-convention-disability-12.5.12“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. cat

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. plant hope growth in rocks survivor

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. barber

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.

butterToast 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.

angel foodThe 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.