Investing Pennies
Have you heard the joke about the minister who glanced down into the collection plates after the service and saw three pennies? He observed aloud, “I see we have a Dutchman among us!”
A man in the congregation stood up. “Actually sir,” he said, “There are three of us.”
Well, we have quite a few Dutchmen in our church, but if the deacons are noticing an increase lately in the contribution of very small change, apparently we’re the stingy ones. The other week when we were discussing ways we can try to show our thankfulness to God for His saving grace, Jo declared with a note of pride, “And we all the time give pennies to the collection, hey?”
I resisted the urge to wax eloquent then and there on the fact that “money” and “pennies” are not synonymous. The fact is, Jo and Anneke have occasionally brought pennies from their piggy banks, and since hearing the presentation by Word and Deed last Friday night, they have been inspired to do so more regularly. On the way home Anneke was overflowing with what she had learned and seen in the slide show, and before long she and Jo had resolved together to give each week until they had no pennies left, then work hard to earn more so they would have more to give.
Great intentions, and so far so good... If you were waiting extra long for the washroom before the service Sunday morning, it was because Jo was inside “venting” – with a coin in each pocket and a broad grin, he was dancing a jig to the tune of, “I - can’t - wait - fer - the – col – lec - tion!”
God loves a cheerful giver!
Jimtalk
We love hearing Jimmy’s attempts to converse with us as a family. He always wants in on the dinner table conversation even if only by parroting something Anneke and Joseph have said. Once in a while he picks up a phrase and tries it out on us out of the blue. Like when we were praying the other day, I thought I heard him murmuring "High Five". Sure enough, I peeked just in time to see him and Jo slapping hands in the air. :z Another time when M asked him, "Shall I change your diaper, Jims?", his profound response was: "Change the World, Daddy."
A Tea Party
Growing in Wisdom and Stature
So Anneke is 6 years old now, and Joseph is 4. The other day they were wondering together during lunch about what Heaven will be like, and Anneke said, "I already know I'm going to Heaven, because I've prayed and asked Jesus to forgive my sins!" She added, "I sure wouldn't want to go to hell!" Joseph looked troubled for a moment, and then said, "I want to pray and ask Jesus to forgive my sins, too. Can I pray right now, Mom?"
Clearly he wanted to get this matter settled for once and for all, "While it is still called 'today'". Without further ado, he folded his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, and rattled off, "Dear Lord, thank for this food in Jesus name Amen!" With an almost audible sigh of relief, and with the joyful abandon of a man with a clear conscience, he grabbed up his sandwich and took a huge bite.
"Uh, Jo," I said gently, "Didn't you want to ask Jesus to forgive your sins?"
He stopped chewing with a look of dismay, and without pausing to swallow quickly resumed his posture for prayer and tried again: "Dear Lord, thank-you for my sins in Jesus name Amen!'
He would have happily dove into his sandwich again if he hadn't caught the amused look Anna threw me.
"Uh, Jo..."
Third time around he got the wording right, and if he was not as contrite sounding as one might have hoped, at least we know that our loving God has provided His Spirit to intercede for us with groanings that cannot be uttered! Incidents like this remind me that "all my prayers and sighs and tears" are no more worthy to be received by God than the simple prayer of a relatively ignorant four-year-old. "No strength save that which is divine can bear me safely through."
Story Time
Anneke not only loves reading good stories, she also enjoys telling them. The other morning I was about to check on the oatmeal, which I suspected was near to boiling over, when she called me.
"Mom!"
I anticipated her next words were going to be, "it's boiling!", which is her usual way of alerting me to the disaster of an overflowing pot, so I raced downstairs to the kitchen, passing her at a run just as she was launching into this story:
"I was walking into the kitchen…"
By now I was in the kitchen and saw the pot oozing with oatmeal.
"…And I saw that something didn't look quite right...."
I don't know when, if ever, she got to the punch line... Suffice to say I requested the abridged version for the next crisis.
Sometimes I Wonder Why I Bother
Baby William is overdue for solids according to all the experts, but apparently Willie himself isn't convinced. It's not like I'm asking a lot of him - I mean, Anneke ate food by the yogurt bucketful when she was about this age, and all I'm trying to do is get what amounts to a few large spoonfuls down the hatch before bed each night. For a boy who spends most of his waking hours sitting or lolling about the floor with his tongue hanging out (puppy dog style), it's amazing how closed-mouth he can be when a spoonful of baby food is waiting to gain entry.
I usually resort to making all sorts of crazy faces and sounds to get him to pop his mouth open in a grin, then I quickly insert the spoon. The next minutes are spent spooning up all the food that has oozed of his mouth - which pretty much amounts to a spoonful minus approximately the quantity that is smeared on his bib, chin, cheeks, and in the crevices of his neck. As we repeat this seemingly futile exercise again and again, I also have to be constantly on guard against his flailing feet and hands. He seems to have a dozen of each! First he has his thumb in his mouth... Now he's patting me with food-covered hands... Now he's grabbing the spoon... Now he's making motor noises which spews a mist of baby food over the surrounding area... Now he's chewing a toe... Now he's kicking me in the stomach... Now he's trying to grab the bowl, but I'm too quick for him and move it out of reach of his groping hands... right into the perfect position for a swift kick from his chubby food to knock it out of my hands and into my lap.
I wipe up the mess, concentrating on the worst spots and trying to forget about the fine spray which has settled down around me. I am happy to see that we're almost done - down to the mere scrapings around the edges of the bowl! - and I try to forget that if the bowl is near empty it's not necessarily because Willie's tummy is near full.
We're both happy when we're done, and baby is triumphantly borne off to bed, "all tanked up" for the night.
Surely something made it down to his stomach..... ?
By the Shore
"It is the nicest thing in the world to have a baby. What marvels they are in every respect, but especially in their royal power over us!" - Elizabeth Prentiss, 1873
Baby William is crawling now. For weeks we've been proudly watching him on hands and feet, swaying back and forth with his diapered bum high in the air, willing himself to move. We cheered him on, even baited him, as if nothing could please us more than having him grow up. Alas! To think just Yesterday he was a helpless babe, sleeping in our arms! And Today – Today he's happily marching off to discover the world.
Tomorrow – what next? Ah, but we know too well what next. Tomorrow is right on the heels of Today and it’s going to mean a whole new order of things in this household. Tomorrow means fewer leaves on the houseplants and less dirt in their pots. Tomorrow means pages ripped out of my book. Tomorrow means a cleaner kitchen floor, but not because I swept it. Tomorrow means you better close the toilet lid or else.
But before tomorrow arrives, can I just reminisce a little? Can I tell you about this special boy while the news is still good news? There may be precious little opportunity to brag about “Sweet Wills” in the next few years...
Willie has been such an easy, sweet tempered little boofer. Sure, life got a little busier when he joined the family, but that's mainly because I have to spend a lot more time protecting his vulnerable personage from adoring siblings. As Jo put it so eloquently, "When I see Willie I just want to kiss him and things." ...You know, things like dancing circles around him, pressing your cheek against his, entertaining him with crazy grins at close range. Why? Because Willie loves it. He makes you feel special. His eyes light up and he smiles right at you. He reaches out a soft, open palm to pat you appreciatively, maybe tug your hair just a little.
One day over lunch we were discussing the depravity of man, though not in those words. The four-year-old did something that ought not be done, and the two-year-old was quick to point out, "You bad, Jo!"
Responded the four-year-old, airily, "Everybody's bad, Jim." He'd learned this comforting line of reasoning from the six-year-old, of course. But apparently he was a little doubtful about the truth of the statement, as soon afterwards he asked me, "Are even missionaries bad?" After that it was, "Even Dad? Even Mom?"
At last came the biggie: "Even baby Willie?"
"Yes, son," I said with considerably less conviction than in my previous responses. A long silence followed, in which there was a significant amount of chewing and not much swallowing happening, as if this info wasn’t going down easily.
At last apparently a light bulb went on for Jo, and he piped up, “Oh, I guess Willie is bad because he spits up on the carpet.” :D
Truly, in the past we have searched in vain for real symptoms of depravity in Willie. In fact, he’s been so super sweet, he doesn’t even cry during near death experiences like getting shampooed (at least, some kids around here seem to consider that a near death experience). If braving the shampoo doesn’t impress you, here’s another example... The other day when I went to get Willie out of bed because I figured he was overdue to wake up from his nap, I found him lying awake with his leg caught between the bars of the crib. It was squeezed to the point of being bruised. Had he cried about this problem? Only tears of relief when he saw help had arrived at last. Way to break your mama’s heart, Willie.
