Looks Are Deceiving

   Independence comes in many forms.  For my son, it came at the age of ten.  This was a magical age.  The first foray into double digits – Yes!- but, more importantly, it was the age at which he was legally allowed to fill his own plate at the breakfast bar of Shoney’s. 

   Shoney’s was always the choice for us when it came to breakfast out.  There was no wonder, when you walked into the door and your senses were assaulted by aromas of cooking and baking, as well as, the delightful sight of fruit and floral arrangements decorating the buffet tables.  The tastes of the many items offered, insured an all-around satisfactory dining experience. 

   This day found the boys and me enjoying a leisurely breakfast.  We were “vacationing” while my husband worked.  Needless to say, we always got our money’s worth at All-You-Can-Eat buffets. As parents of boys, it was a wise financial move.  Not certain if they ever actually got full, we usually just told them, at some point, they had to stop eating. 

   Finishing up his fourth plate of food, he asked if he could go back for more.  I told him to make this trip count because it would be his last for this meal.  He squared his shoulders, stuck his chin out ever so slightly, and headed back to the buffet.  An act so simple and yet I could hear another apron string snap reminding me, again, how quickly he was growing. 

   Independent though he was, I still watched him as he perused the buffet, making his way slowly up one side and down the other.  When comfortable that he was maintaining a sanitary method of plating his food, I turned my attention back to the other two and became engrossed in the conversation at hand.  As the discourse continued, I looked back toward the buffet and saw him stopped before one of the displays.  Once again, I rejoined the discussion as I finished up my own meal.  When he walked back to our table, I chuckled to myself at the care he had taken in selecting his last item.  Surprisingly, the plate that he returned with carried one, lone banana.

   Joining the ongoing conversation, I watched as he attempted to peel the banana.  After a couple of tries to pull the stem down, I reached across the table and offered to peel it for him, still taking every opportunity to be the “Mama.”  As he placed it in my hand, he said, “You’d think it was  rubber.”  I carefully took it, so as not to bruise it, and picked up my knife to cut it.  It wasn’t until I had the knife on the stem that I realized and exclaimed, “IT IS RUBBER!!”  Without missing a beat he answered, “Well, no wonder it was so hard to pull it off that table.” I smiled to myself as I thought that maybe that apron string had only frayed.

   …I wonder if somewhere there is security camera footage of a little boy struggling to pull an artificial banana from a fruit arrangement, followed by unknown woman, glancing suspiciously over her shoulder, as she struggles to cram an artificial banana back into the same arrangement…

Only the Weak Survive

    The ride home from the hospital had been no different than the previous few.  We had cried, laughed because we were crying, and then, cried again.  We were a mess.   Reality had come and we were struggling to wrap our minds around what we had been told. 

    We had both spent a sleepless night in ICU. The drug trial that had been attempted that day was to no avail.  The doctor told us there was no cure.  No one with this condition had ever been cured of it.   We were sent home to wonder what would happen next.  The best that we could hope for was that the progression of this condition would allow me to be in the 20% of people that survived 2-3 years more, after diagnosis.  Once the scarring of lung tissue had reached a certain level the search for a suitable donor would begin.  In that case, a double lung or heart/lung transplant would increase my chances of survival to 50% for five more years.

    For the first time in my life, I was in the grip of utter sorrow.   And now, back at home and alone for the first time in six weeks, I sought solace from the One who knew me best and loved me most.  Though driven to my knees in prayer, the only words that tumbled from my mouth were, "No one can take care of my family the way that I can!”  Prostrate on the floor, I dissolved into tears.  My tears were replaced by sobs of which I thought I was incapable.  There in my closet, I came to the end of myself.  No longer self-sufficient and able to handle whatever was thrown my way.  The mere thought of what I was up against was obscene.  The only thing that I knew for sure was that I could not carry this burden. Facing the unthinkable, it occurred to me that in order to be at peace, I was going to have to give up that which was most precious to me – my family – and place them in His hands. Though unable to find audible words to convey, my heart spoke to His.  I envisioned myself placing my husband and little boys into the strong and capable hands of the One who had given them to me.  Inexplicably, it was if the walls of my closet were folded away and He was there.  I sensed His Presence as never before.  It was as if He reached into my very soul and calmed my heart.  The sobs that had flooded the room ceased.  

    I stood that day with the understanding that I was powerless to help myself and yet sustained by the Omnipotent One, ignorant of my future and yet certain of the Omniscient One, unaware of where to go but reliant on the Omnipresent One…

II Corinthians 12:9   “But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”

Pride Goeth Before a Fall

With three boys in tow, I whirled into the new dentist's office.  Moving to a new city had caused change all the way around.  Among the things that we left behind was a beloved dentist with which were familiar.

  The office was large and housed several dentists.  Once the boys were settled into separate rooms, I asked to use the facilities.  The receptionist pointed and I turned to follow her direction.  Thankfully, the restroom was at the end of the hall.  No mistaking it, the door stood ajar.

  Upon leaving the restroom, I casually glanced to my left.  Sitting on his stool was a dentist that was looking back at me.  I smiled graciously and headed back down the hall, a little miffed at his obvious stare.  Our visit went as expected and I scheduled two follow-up visits for two of the boys.

  About a week later, we returned to the office.  By now, I was familiar with my surroundings and headed to the restroom while waiting for my son’s appointment.  Again, the open door beckoned at the end of the hall.  Though forgotten before I went in, I was reminded of the previous week’s encounter when I left the restroom.  Sitting in almost the same spot as before was the dentist from last week.  And this time, he greeted me with a look that was somewhere between incredulous and smirking.  A semi-smile on his face made me feel uncomfortable. 

   Now, I was bothered.  What was wrong with this creeper?!  I was a married woman, and I did not appreciate his obvious staring.  The hallway seemed to lengthen as I walked back to the waiting room.  I could feel his eyes boring a hole between my shoulder blades.  How dare he?  Oh wouldn’t I like to give him a piece of my mind!  But on second thought, I surely did not want to encourage conversation of any kind. 

   I made a bee-line for my husband’s office and relayed what had happened.  By now, I was irate and ready to change dentists.  I had not dressed provocatively.  I had not asked for his attention.  And yet, I felt as though I was under a microscope. 

  Our final appointment arrived yet another week later.  I had made sure that I would not need to visit the Powder Room while I was there.  Unfortunately, I had forgotten to do the same with my three-year-old.  Before our visit was over, he was dancing on one foot and then the other.  It was with some trepidation that I rounded the corner to head down the hallway.  As I made the turn, I was faced with a most humbling sight.  There at the end of the hall, no longer beckoning was the closed door of the restroom.  Emblazoned across the front in letters that seemed to jump right off the door was the word, “MEN”.

  If possible, I would have crawled into my purse that day.  Ego completely deflated, I laughed out loud drawing a somewhat agitated glance from the receptionist.  Totally embarrassed, I confessed to my husband what I had done…TWICE.  Humility IS a good thing… right?

Romans 12:3  "For by the grace given me I say to every one of you:  Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you."

Parenting Tip #34 "How to Teach Your Children to Sit at the Dinner Table"

  Our three young boys went through a phase of not understanding the importance of sitting down for a family meal.  Most meals consisted of my husband and me eating and trying to carry on a conversation about our day through a cloud of various little boy body parts and action figures.  Whether jumping up to check out what was on TV, imitating their favorite superhero, or simply hanging on the chair by one “cheek”, it became apparent that they were suffering from a lack of respect for the dinner table.  

   One evening proved too much for my husband.  After several warnings, or threatenings to be exact, he decided to demonstrate what “Sit down in your chair!” meant.    Did I mention that when demonstrating proper behavior for children, it is an excellent idea to practice ahead of time?  Or that when one parent is demonstrating the proper way to “Sit down in your chair”, it might me a good idea for the other parent to grab the car keys and head to the mall?  Did I also mention that you should NEVER demonstrate said technique with an antique chair?

   My husband rose from his seat at the head of our table and demanded our family’s attention by stating, “THIS is the way to sit down in your chair!”  --At which time he added his own exclamation point with his actions.  From my vantage point, what I witnessed was one fluid motion that took him from his full 6 foot frame to disappearing underneath the table’s edge.  With a look of mixed horror and hilarity, all three boys whipped their sweet little heads around to stare at me…

   Did I also mention how very important it is to present a united front, as parents, when dealing with children?  What was I to do?  I slowly pushed back my chair and dipped my head beneath the table to find out exactly what had just transpired.  There at the far end of the table lay my husband in a semi-fetal position amongst the four splayed legs of what used to be an antique chair.

   There have been many times in my life that I have failed miserably as a parent but, none as miserable as this time.  Maybe I should have stoically added, “If you want a spanking!”  Instead, after nearly aspirating the bite of food I had just taken into my mouth I committed a colossal fail.  I, as well as, our children completely dissolved into uncontrollable, belly-cramping, wheezing-because-I can’t breathe laughter.  In fact, I have tears in my eyes even as I write.

   The goal of demonstrating proper behavior to children is to make an impression upon them.    From that point on, I do not remember having any more issues with dinner time behavior.  My husband left a huge impression on our three little boys.  They are still impressed today…along with the kitchen floor.