Grandparents

I love this picture. In spite of the fact that this little one is holding a hot coal. Children in the villages routinely worked with fire at a young age, because it was the center of the home and a way of life. So while this scene probably would not be playing out in the states, at least not without government agencies investigating afterward, it is one that I love to look at. Grandparents are part of everyday life here. We see them caring for their grandkids, teaching them, holding them...just like in the states. And the grandchildren honor their grandparents. This little boy in the photo is performing an act of service for his grandfather.

Grandparents are a huge part of a family's identity. I love hearing stories about my grandparents. My mom's aunt would tell about her mother not wanting to go home when she was little, and would dig her feet into the sand to keep from moving in that direction. Sounds a bit like me. :) My dad's dad was a mean little man (5' 4") walking around ready for a fight, until he got saved and his life did a 180. He also hated to have anything between his toes. It was a little factoid his boys would take advantage of when he was sleeping.

Hearing our family's stories give us a sense of history and rootedness. It also links our kids to the past, and causes them to realize that things are not just about them.

We are enjoying filling our kids with stories from our past, from our parent's and even our grandparent's past. My daughter knows why the Sears catalogue was so important in my dad's day. She also likes to hear how her Mamaboo and PapaDon met. Her namesake, Mimi, is a wellspring of stories. My sons enjoy stories from their Grandpa's firefighting days, and had a wonderful time visiting his firehouse, seeing their great-grandfather's name listed in the log book from the 1950's. Knowing their drawing and artistic abilities are probably linked to Gramma, or that special connection with PapaDon being the one to baptize them...all of this allows our children to be a part of something bigger than themselves. It is a training ground for bigger things. Grandparents are important. Your turn:

What do your grandparents mean to you? How did you connect with them?

When You're Mad at God

I noticed him sitting in the porch swing as I walked up the driveway of our home. It was a long walk, but I could still see my little brother sitting there, and knew something was not right. I walked up to the porch and took off my backpack, and looked over at him. He had a burden on his shoulders that no nine year old should have to bear. It was called aplastic anemia, a rare blood disease. They just discovered he had it, and were determining the best course of treatment for him.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I have to have another bone marrow test," he said. "I asked God to make sure I didn't have anymore, and now I have to have another one."

I didn't know what to say. He seemed so fragile at that point. He never really seemed fragile before then. But now he was broken. He had put his faith in the fact that if he asked God to help him with the bone marrow tests, God would help him.

It was no small thing he was asking. Bone marrow tests are painful, and done with local anaesthesia and a large needle. The pain killer only helps with the incision. He felt everything else, including the bone biopsy. He had had three, and that was enough. He wanted no more.

I'm sure the news of the test was a trial to his faith. He was disappointed, scared, but more than that he was angry. I left him there on the swing and went about my afternoon business. That was until mom came into the room. She was crying.

Seems she asked Chris to go take a shower. It would make him feel better, she said. So he obeyed. And there in that shower, where he thought no one could hear him, Chris began to talk to God. Not in prayer form. He talked.

"I'm mad at you, God." He was feeling it, and he needed to say it.

"I said I didn't want any more bone marrow tests, and now I'm getting one. I'm MAD at you!"

Mom could hear his anger, his tears, his lamentations. Then she heard silence. The crying stopped. The tears stopped. The anger stopped. But the grace began.

See, God knew Chris was mad. He knew there were even more bone marrow tests in his future, and that he was going to need to get through this one. And he needed a little extra grace for this one as well. So God gave it to him. And in that moment, when Chris met God in that conversation, God revealed to Chris His nature, compassion, omniscience and the freedom that confessing our anger to Him brings. God accepts us where we are at, as is, because that is how He loves to reveal Himself to us and meet our needs.

For our family, it was a huge lesson. We knew God wants us to tell Him everything, but we saw, in action, His grace at work in a difficult situation. And it is a lesson that has remained these 30+ years later: God knows when we're mad at him. Just tell him and then the healing can begin.

Peacemakers

Peacemaking is a lost art, I believe. In the post-Donahue/Jerry Springer world, confrontation is at a premium. It is a desired trait, with even Christians jumping on the bandwagon, their "Speak the Truth in Love" banner waving high. Debate and winning-at-all-cost have become priority, and right-fighters are in their hey-day, seeing peacemakers as weak and even non-spiritual.

One of my friends was truly a peacemaker at heart, and today she reaps the benefits that this particular quality is promised. I envy her, because I am a peace lover, but not necessarily a peace maker. I lack the creative, on-your-feet thinking that she has mastered (which is required in some spur of the moment circumstances).

On one occasion, there was a group of us sitting by the pool, when one of our group started discussing the inappropriateness of a certain bathing suit a teenager was wearing. I personally thought it was fairly decent, and had seen other bathing suits that were less appropriate for that particular environment. I jumped to her defense, and the conversation began to get a little tense. All of the sudden, my friend piped in.

"You know what I hate?" she began. "I hate it when I kneel at the altar to pray, and my thong underwear sticks up out of my skirt in front of the whole congregation."

Dead silence. Then complete laughter, because imagining this friend kneeling in front of the congregation with thong underwear exposed was a funny picture indeed. Of course that never happened, but she was able to, in that moment, combine the very things we were discussing, put them in a laughable picture, and in turn enabled us to see how small and insignificant this debate actually was. What a talent. In that split second, an argument was diverted, and we went on to enjoy the rest of the afternoon, and even relived that moment for additional laughs later in the day.

Peacemakers value relationships. They see the big picture and recognize when a silly argument or disagreement is in danger of fracturing a friendship or even ruining an otherwise perfect day. They have the ability to see people from God's point of view, and realize we are all a work in progress. As a result, they know where their priorities lie and act accordingly.

Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they shall be called "the Children of God."

Quirks

I wrote about differences, how scary they can be, and how people can see differences as something to reject. On the flip side of that, however, are quirks. Quirks are differences, in that they are actions or behaviors that cause us to stand out from others, but quirks are different in that they are endearing qualities, almost comforting. I love discovering the quirkiness in my friends.

Big Dad is quirky. He's got to have a place for everything, especially in his office. If anything has been moved, he knows it. He doesn't like anyone touching his nose. He has a certain way of putting on his socks and shoes, and he has a certain routine when getting ready. No matter how rushed we are, his routine does not vary. It goes a little faster, but he follows the same routine.

Mom and dad Hughes have a quirk that I used to think was odd. Mom Hughes does not fill up her car with gas. She's a very independent woman, but she doesn't fill her own tank. Dad Hughes does it for her, even if it means going out at night so she has gas in her car for the next day. I used to think it was a little strange. Now I know it's a loving gesture. Dad Hughes makes the point that he is taking care of her on this.

MamaBoo's nose turns red when she's emotional. Sad, happy, worried, stressed, it shows up in her nose. She calls it her emotional barometer.

I'll have to ask mom if dad has quirks. I can't think of any. He used to wear those half glasses at the end of his nose so that he could read small print. Said his eyes weren't bad, his arms were just too short. He had a certain way of looking over his glasses at us. But he has new glasses now, so I don't think that quirk is still around. He does have a certain hand motion that he uses when he's preaching. If I could only see his hands when he's preaching, I would know it was him.

Mimi slaps anyone who takes a piece of chess cake. You don't mess with her chess cake.

I don't like anyone else using my pillow. I don't know why, I just don't like it. Big Dad likes to use my pillow. So when he does, I move something in his office.

Quirks individualize us. Make us unique. Define us as couples. They can drive us crazy, but at the same time they are the things that we miss when that person is gone.

Thank God for quirks.