37th birthday boy!

Ahhh, birthdays! I never was that enamored with Birthdays growing up or as an adult, but my wife has always held that they are a time to be indulged and pampered. Generous of her to do that for someone that is indifferent to it (my own, and sometimes hers as well-ouch!); but I admit the idea is growing on me. Unfortunately, that is probably a testament to my getting older and slowing down, as is my accumulating birthdays, 37 of them as of yesterday. It was a particularly sweet birthday on a Saturday, when the kids are all around to worry about me, if I am getting enough attention, to make sure this is the best birthday ever. 
Wifey fried up a mess of fried chicken, one of my birthday favorites. I had a memory brought on by a Facebook family member wishing me well of sharing my birthday meal with my Great Grandmother, on whose 80th birthday I was born. Fried Chicken, of course.
       I can see how being a Provider-Dad makes gift giving for children complex. Especially if I don't have a great deal of needs or hobbies that I can't afford. Or at all.  If I need something; I go get it. Period. Because I needed it. So it makes it difficult for children to find things that daddy wanted or needed for presents, especially in the $4.00 to $5.00 range. They did pull off some pretty good stuff this year, though. What is most fun for me though, is the stuff that I don't "need", which is the stuff that only really matters: The cards, the hugs, the kisses, the furtive looks of sneakiness while running through the room to find more tape to wrap some extra, last minute present. All the affection directed straight at ME! The adoring looks with puppy dog eyes BEGGING me to let them make cookies for me. (Thank you, Lord. I am so blessed.)
       Soon on this birthday, I determined that I was going to connect with each of my children in a real way. (and Wifey, as well, hopefully) I had great fun being the nice dad that lets Grace make peanut butter cookies for me. I told her that I would help her; well, she certainly didn't need MY help. She just needed my stamp of approval, and I so enjoyed seeing her bustle around the kitchen with much like her mama's efficiency, while talking to her.
     Emma helped me clean out my pick-up, something that only happens to one of my vehicals when I sell it or take Wifey on a long weekend, which I am getting ready to do both. I got it really sparkling clean; first time in 2 1/2 years. She so enjoys helping; but where we really connected was when we were done cooking supper and snacks, she was responsible for cleaning up because she got really carried away with the flour (covered, actually, and everything around her-"Because it was FUN, daddy".) and I helped her clean up the huge mess. Emma will always be that friend to others, she is often the cohesive factor between others who don't get along so well.
       Stu wanted to build a house out of blocks. So we dragged all the blocks out of his bedroom and into the living room, and I started building the "WORLD'S TALLEST TOWER" as I always say in my big loud voice whenever I am about to do something really epic, like make a whole-pan sized pancake. You know, "THE WORLD'S LARGEST PANCAKE!!!!" I don't know, it works for the kids; they like me. Well Stu didn't want to build it on top of the trunk, he wanted to build it on the floor. So I put the blocks on the floor, and while I started doing it, I made a big show of how sad it made me. Pretty soon his lower lip sticks out and he looks like he's about to cry. When I asked him what the matter was, he replied: "It makes me really sad that you can't build it on the trunk!" I asked him if he was sad enough to let me build it on the trunk, and he broke out into a sob and said: "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" At that point he stopped crying, because I burst out in laughter...
     Isaiah is easy to connect with. He is sooo sincere; he expects everyone else to be as well. All you have to do is sit down with him and look him in the eyes and tell him several things about him that you appreciate and you can see him soaking it up. He acts cool, though, which I appreciate as well. He says, "I don't know why your always telling me all that stuff. I don't see how I am all that special" And then I tell him he is my favorite kid. And he believes me, because it is true. But the main thing is this. I want each of them to know in their hearts that he/she is my favorite. That's right- Each one is my favorite. I tell them all, too. I don't know if it is right or wrong, but when one of them ask me which one I like the best, I only have one answer: "You are, but don't tell the others!" None of this "I love you all the same" stuff, or "I love you all so much I can't tell". Just "You are, don't tell the others". They may all grow up all messed up in the head, but that is how I feel. 

      As I contemplate the wealth of God's blessings that He has lavished upon me; some in the form of those He has put in my care, it becomes very obvious to me that I am God's favorite, as well. Each one of us.

Christ Returneth!

This morning about 20 minutes ago (4:30 am), the Lord gave me a little something in the way of a foretaste of his triumphant return. Both Brynn and I were laying in bed asleep, when we were both awakened by a mighty trumpet blast that filled the room and yet wasn't from the room. I lay still for a moment as this sound continued; in wonder, then my heart leapt! What else could this be? Christ Returneth! Hallelujah! As I continue to lay there, though, it became obvious as I became more awake that it was (oddly enough) only a train. I've lived here for six years, and slept with the windows open plenty, and can still recollect about 2 times that I could ever even HEARD the train at all, much less have it wake us both up (with windows down, no less). It is depressing to sit in front of my computer, in my freshly 37-year-old un-perfected form, with my joints and back aching, fresh from lying still for 6 hours in my bed. God's creation, THIS creation, this cracked vessel, me, cries out for Christ's return. But I think of those I know, who don't know him, I realize that my desires are selfish; that tarrying is an act of mercy. Lord, come quickly; thank you for your mercy of not coming quickly.

actually, they are muscles...

Stu says, as I am lifting something on behalf of the girls that looks incredibly heavy to a 4 year old: "Those big fat arms he's got? They are ACTUALLY muscles!

So it isn't that uncommon in this part of Kansas to have to wonder if the frost will get your lilac buds before the holiday.  More commonly, though, it is Easter your wondering if you will have lilacs for; not Halloween!  Never seen this one before; lilacs trying to bloom in mid-October?  What a year- I guess the lack of water has everything really confused.