Dear Micah: My Sunshine

Dearest Micah,

Sorry your letter is so late in getting out.  You turned one over a week ago and I am just getting to this all important letter.  Lord willing, you will someday get to read these little notes I jot down here.

Every day before I lay you down for nap I sing you a song.   

You are my sunshine, my Micah sunshine (I had to change the words since there are four of you sunshines running around).  You make me happy when skies are grey.  You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.  Please don't take my Micah Sunshine away.

Then you lay right down with the dinosaur blanket your Aunt Sara bought you and go to sleep.

It wasn't always like that for us.  In the beginning you thought naps were for cats.  I'm glad you've come around. You grew so much this year.  I've seen it happen three other times but I think I was paying extra attention this time since I knew you were the last baby.  You learned how to roll, crawl that adorable army crawl, and now walk a few steps.  {You made John's day when you walked three steps to him today!}  You've learned to sleep through the night, take a great nap, and lay {mostly} still for a diaper change.  You have learned that Elijah is the one to go to when you need to be held.  Daniel plays the most.  And John is the one to find when you need to roll around and have crawling contests. 

You are a ray of sunshine, Micah.  Your smile and enthusiastic greetings warm my heart.  Your squeals of delight when Daddy comes home from work are so delightful.  Your tenacious attitude and love for banging things together makes me smile.

You even pose for pictures.

I keep praying you love Jesus as much as your brothers do.  The way you follow them around, I suspect some of that love will rub right off and grow into a relationship all its own.  

I love you nose to toes, Micah Moomer!

Choosing Where to Dwell

"One person had minor injuries after hitting a culvert in an accident on Cliff Avenue, south of 77th Street."

That's how "IT" got described in the Argus Leader.  Nineteen words.

I am thankful "IT" only amounted to nineteen words.  "IT" could have amounted to many more words in an entirely different section of the newspaper.

I choose not to dwell on that. I choose, instead, to dwell on giving thanks for a God whose hand of protection extended over us at 8:25 on Wednesday, November 26.

Us.  My baby and I.  My baby who won't remember a single thing about "IT".  Who has not one scratch.  Not one bruise.  Not even a sore muscle from being whipped around.  He didn't even have a shard of glass on him from the blown out window.

I choose to dwell on giving thanks for a God who brought along a calm and loving good Samaritan.  Who calmed my baby when I could not get out of the car.  Who warmed him up and then showed me his picture so I could know he was really okay.  Who summoned my dearly beloved.

I choose to dwell on giving thanks for a God who swipped our van into a ditch and culvert instead of an oncoming car.  Who allowed sore muscles and pretty purple bruises instead of surgery, casts, or coffins.

A split second was all it took.  A fishtail followed by panic followed by a scream.  But still I choose to dwell on giving thanks for a God who knew it was happening, who knows the outcome, and who knows me.

Dear Elijah: A heart like yours

Oh, boy!  You turned 9 this week.  Nine!  How can that be, Elijah?  I won't bore you here with the long, dramatic version of your birth that I regale you with every year.  You've started to roll your eyes at my dramatics.  {Is that something that happens when you are nine?}  I just wanted you to know something. 

You have a great heart!  I think the thing that cemented my suspicion was the first time I witnessed you give sacrificially.  Totally unprompted.  Someone had come to see Dad and had brought their son along to play at our home on 131st Street.  Before he left, he raced back to your room with a book you wanted him to have.  You presented it with a simple, "I want you to have this."

Your giving has not waned.  Once you started gathering money from various birthdays and holidays Dad started you on the road to tithing and saving.  10% was the minimum but you always gave the most to the tithing section.  Your little heart hurt for other children who are in need so you made a gift to Children's Hunger Fund. 

We celebrated your birthday on Wednesday.  There was not much pomp or circumstance about it but the money from relatives poured in.  On Sunday you had a grand plan to buy some Pokemon cards.  What you wanted would take most of your money.  During church you saw David and Mrs. Hill.  You've come to really like them and their desire to obey God by building a school in South Sudan.  Suddenly, during church you leaned over and said, "I want to give them some of my birthday money so they can help the people in Sudan."  I have to confess I had a hard time holding it together for the rest of the service.

I love your heart, buddy.  You have a heart like His.  A heart that cries for the orphan.  A heart that yearns to help and lift the spirits of the downcast.  You teach me a whole lot about loving people and about giving sacrificially. 

You are my sunshine and my joy.  I love you and am so proud of the man you are growing into.
With Joy,
Mom

A Glimpse at the List

2014 is the year of Gratitude for me.  I should have known that meant curve balls were coming and I would have to look extra hard some days to find the blessing.

300.  New babies:  Evelyn Marie

295.  Getting to know neighbors

310.  Micah clapping with pride or for randomness

244.  Morning dance parties

305.  Worship that brings tears

320. Falling leaves that blow into the neighbor's yard

240.  Daniel singing praise at church

And this.....

Daniel and his co-conspirator Caleb.  These two can giggle like nobody's business.  It warms my heart!

And her....

My Lydi Girlie!  Those eyes and her sweetness, a cure for all that ails me.

And don't forget...

Micah Mookie, Micah Man, Moomer, whatever you call him his smile calms frayed nerves.

 There are four other young men but they move too quickly for me to capture their joyful faces which I also count among my blessings.  One of them calls me Aunt Suzie.  One of them has a uniform that ensures he can sell popcorn to just about anybody.  Two of them entertain with hilarious magic and charm. 

Like Mom

I've been told I am like my mom twice.

The first time I took it as a compliment.  My mom was organized, efficient, a super multitasker, and loving.  That woman could make a list and get it done like nobody's business.  And at the end of the day, despite any butting of heads, I knew she loved me; she told me so.

The second time, I stopped in my tracks.  Maybe this was not a compliment after all.  My mom had trouble pushing past the dark.  She had an addictive personality.  She was rigid and needed things done her way and in her time.  {Someone I love calls that putting the process before the people.}  She yelled when she was angry or frustrated.  She hated asking for help or appearing weak.
 

The hard thing is I am like her.  I am rigid.  I love a list.  I have trouble with the dark.  I yell.  I ...

But the better thing is I have something she didn't.  I recognize my weakness but I'm not afraid to call out for help.  The help I seek is eternal.  I continually go back to the worn pages of Philippians and Joshua and the Psalms.  The help I seek is rooted in promises centuries old from one who has never broken a promise.

Being like Mom doesn't have to be a compliment or an attack.  But, for me, it has to be something I consider as I go to my Father seeking wisdom and growth; mercy and grace.