Mohawk or Nohawk?

One day this week, when I picked Boss up from his Christian preschool, he told me he was sad because Spike (name changed for privacy) didn’t go to his school anymore.  I asked him why, but he didn’t know.

Last night, we attended a Habitat for Humanity meeting at the church that runs the preschool he attends, and we happened to run into Spike and his mom.  I asked why he wasn’t going to school there anymore, and she explained that he was kicked out because he got a mohawk.  This confused me because I remember seeing Spike on the first day of school, and he had a mohawk then.  So I asked her about it, and she said that he had indeed had a mohawk at the beginning of school.  She explained her frustration with the decision and the school’s lack of understanding with her 5 year old’s haircut.  There had been meetings and everything.

Today, I emailed the director of the preschool to let her know that I was frustrated with the decision.  I mean, I read the rules and dress codes and nothing was ever mentioned about haircuts!  Furthermore, what kind of message does this send to Spike and Boss and their school friends?  That Spike has done something wrong, that he’s not good enough, that somehow, God forbid, he’s not worthy to learn in God’s house?  I told the director that my prayer is that this decision would be reconsidered because I’m quite certain that Jesus does not care what kind of hairdo any child has.  I hope that my concern doesn’t fall on deaf ears.  My husband said that some parent probably complained about his hair and that’s why he was expelled.  If so, maybe my complaint about his expulsion for such an ignorant reason will be weighed in as well.

Do you think a child’s haircut should matter?  Or do you agree with me that we should let them learn to express their true selves now so they won’t be so stifled when they reach adulthood?

Huh?

Below is a conversation I just had a few minutes ago with Bubba while we were painting.  I love this stuff and think it’s adorable.  However, it’s also why I crave adult interaction the way a heroine addict craves heroine!  Not the best analogy I know, but my brain cells have been killed by motherhood.

Bubba: I’m making an elephant.  And I’m making a little boat.  It’s a little one.

Me: Is the elephant in the boat?

Bubba: Yea.

Me: Is the boat sinking because the elephant’s too big for it?

Bubba: No.  It’s not a boat.

Me: Oh.  What is it, then?

Bubba: IT’S A GIRAFFE!!!!

I Know God is Real Because…Part 3

I know God is real because Bubba is finally potty-trained!!!  Seriously, people, I was beginning to think that would NEVER happen!  But I dedicated the day Wednesday to trying, without much hope, the potty-train in one day method and it worked!!  Hallelujah!  Cue the choir of angels!

Remember, if you will, that he was having problems going poopoo on the potty.  Well, he passed the test tonight.  He came and told me he needed to go poopoo, so we ran and sat him on the potty.  After 20 minutes, he did the deed.  He cried when it happened because it scared him.  I assured him that it was a great thing to celebrate.  And when he realized what he had done he said very emphatically, “It’s a BIG one!!”

Ha!  I’m SO beyond blessed!

I Know God is Real Because…Part 2

When I was probably 5-7 years old, I experienced a true answer to prayer that further substantiated my already strong belief that God is real.  I was staying at my Nanny & Poppa’s house, this was before I went to live with them permanently.  I was in the house with my Poppa, when we heard a crash outside.  He told me to stay in the house and he ran outside to see what caused the noise.  I witnessed the event from a bedroom window.

The crashing sound was made by my very drunk Daddy crashing his pickup truck through the chain link fence.  He told my Poppa, who was his dad, that he was there to pick me up and take me with him.  My Poppa, realizing this was a terrible idea with the state my Daddy was in, refused to let me go with him.  My Daddy could get extremely angry when he was drunk, and he didn’t take this refusal kindly and told my Poppa in words I won’t repeat that he was taking me whether Poppa wanted him to or not.

Poppa ran in the house, locked the door and retrieved one of his hunting rifles from his bedroom.  Then he ran outside and pointed the gun in his own son’s face.  He told him to leave and come back when he was sober.  My Daddy continued to insist on taking me with him, and my Poppa began begging him to just leave and come back when he was sober or he would have to shoot.

Now, while it was true that my Daddy was an alcoholic and could be very violent at times, he never once laid a hand on me.  He loved me and made me feel loved and special.  Somehow, that anger of his was never directed toward me.  I loved my Daddy probably more than any other person on Earth, and I did not want to see him hurt by my Poppa even though I knew that Poppa was right to not want me to go with him.  So when my Poppa told him he would shoot him, I ran into the living room and knelt down at the red floral vinyl couch and began to pray earnestly that God would keep my Daddy safe.  I believe my actual words were, “Jesus, please don’t let Poppa hurt Daddy!”

Then I ran to the window to see what was happening.  The shouting was escalating and I could tell that, while neither of them wanted to hurt the other one, they were both willing to do whatever it took to get what they were after.  So I ran back to the couch and prayed some more.  I begged and pleaded God to keep my Daddy safe from harm.  It ties my stomach in knots even now to think of how earnest and desperate that prayer was!

Then I ran back to the window to assess the situation.  The fight was getting worse.  Tears were streaming down my face and my heart was racing.  Then it happened…Poppa pulled the trigger just inches from my Daddy’s chest!

Everything stopped.

No more shouting.

No more movement.

Just silence.

Poppa had pulled the trigger, and it had jammed.  Both men, father and son, stood staring at one another in shock and disbelief.

Fortunately, the fact that his own father had just tried to shoot him sobered my Daddy enough to make him realize that he should leave, and he did.  My Poppa sat on the steps and cried.

I ran back into the living room, knelt at that vinyl couch one more time and cried my eyes out.  This time, my prayer went something like this: “Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you, Jesus!  Thank you!”

I know my God is real because He hears and answers my prayers.

I Know God is Real Because…Part 1

I promised a series about how I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that God is real.  It took me awhile to get to it, but here is part 1 of the series.

When I was in third or fourth grade, I lived with my dad and stepmom in a run-down trailer house on the wrong side of town.  Daddy and his wife were avid bird lovers and owned over 100 birds.  Daddy was a carpenter and had built a green house that housed most of the birds right outside my bedroom window.  On colder nights, he would place space heaters in the green house to keep the birds warm.

One night, I was lying in my bed, which faced my bedroom window, sleeping when I heard a voice saying, “Jodi, wake up.  Wake up, Jodi.”  I woke up to a surprising sight.  It was Jesus surrounded by a bright light!  Almost as soon as I saw Him there, He disappeared.  I then noticed a flashing light coming from the window.  I got up and looked outside my window into the green house to see what was causing the flashing light and saw that there was a fire!

I ran out of my bedroom into the kitchen where my stepmom was sitting and told her.  She told me to go tell my dad, who was sleeping in their bedroom.  I ran in to tell him, and he got up and put out the fire before any of the birds were harmed.  One of the space heaters had started the fire because of an exposed wire.

This was very clear to me that God had woken me up in time to get the fire put out before it harmed anyone.  Trailers are notorious for burning very quickly.  If that fire had reached my bedroom wall, I most likely would not have had time to get out of my room because my bedroom door was directly adjacent to that wall and the only window out of the room was the one looking into the green house.  Say what you want, but that was proof to me that God is real, God cares about us and God has a purpose for my life.

Missing parts?

As I was changing Sissy’s diaper today, Boss exclaimed, “Uh oh, Mom, Sissy doesn’t have her peepee yet!”

I laughed and said, “She has her peepee, buddy.  She’s a girl and her peepee is supposed to look like that.”

To which he replied, “No, it’s missing.”

I told him, “Girls’ peepees look like that, and boys’ peepees look like yours and Daddy’s.”

He said, “You’re a girl and you have a peepee like mine, so she just hasn’t gotten hers yet.”

I almost rolled over laughing at that!  I told him most assuredly that my peepee most certainly does not look like his or Daddy’s and explained very briefly to him that all girls look like Sissy and all boys look like him.  I have no idea why he thinks mine looks like his; he hasn’t even been allowed to see me naked for almost 2 years!  Ha, my kids crack me up!

Grossest Mommy Moment Yet

As a mommy for over 5 years now, I can tell you I’ve experienced some very gross things, but this weekend I experienced the grossest one yet!  I had just finished breast-feeding Sissy, who’s 7 months old now (sad face).  I had laid her back on my knees and was talking to her when she started trying to sit up, so I lifted her to a standing position on my lap while I reclined back on my pillows in my bed.  I was saying, “Oh you are just so cute” when she spit up warm breast milk right into my open mouth!  It was gross on several levels!  Ooh!

Love’s a Mess!

I know I promised two posts ago to do a series on how I know God is real, but my son is pre-empting that; I will get to it next.

Each night before the boys go to bed, I read them a chapter from the Bible and then their individual life texts.  With each of the kids I started reading from Genesis 1.  I haven’t come anywhere close to getting the readings in everyday of their lives, but I’m doing my best.  So tonight I read John 9 to Boss and 1 Samuel 24 to Bubba.  I read Bubba’s life text that we chose for him when he was born first, which is Proverbs 3:3-8.  Then I read Boss his life text, which is 1 John 4:1-16.  I have read these to them so many times in the last 5 years that I have them both memorized.

As I was reading Boss his text, which is all about Love, he interrupted me with the following statement: “Love’s a mess!”  Confused, I asked him what he meant.  He explained without even thinking about it, “Everybody’s supposed to love everybody, and everybody is all over the place!”

Wow!  If you sit and think about it, he’s right.  Love is a mess.  That’s why it’s so hard.  It’s not just about loving our family and friends.  It’s about loving total strangers, the unlovable, the unkind, the unapproachable; the Bible says to even love our enemies.  And I would venture to say that a lot of those we find hard to love that fit into those aforementioned undesirable categories are really just misunderstood.  Just as one verse in Boss’s life text says, “If God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.”  So let’s get to work, People!

Mommy, I want to be a Christian

Last night on our way home from having dinner with wonderful friends, Boss said, “Mommy, I want to be a Christian.”  There was chaos ensuing in the car since it was time for Sissy to go to bed; she was screaming to let us know what time it was.  So I told Boss that we wanted to talk to him about that at bedtime.

After showers, getting teeth and hair brushed and getting PJs on, we finally sat down for Bible time.  We asked Boss why he wanted to be a Christian, and he said he didn’t know.  So we asked if he knew what it meant to be a Christian.  He said, “It means that Jesus comes to live in your heart and you can tell other people about Jesus.”  My thought was, “Wow, that is so unselfish of a 5 year old!”

We asked if he wanted to pray with us to ask Jesus to come into his heart, and he said, “Yes!”  So we prayed a 5-year-old version of a sinner’s prayer (which, I suppose, would work for any age) and he repeated after us.  When we finished, he gave us the biggest hugs ever!

Then I got to do something I’ve been looking forward to for 5 years.  I read him the letter that our senior pastor at the time he was dedicated, Dr. T. Scott Daniels, wrote to him when he was dedicated to the Lord.  The questions Boss asked and statements he made, revealed that he really has given some thought to this.

I am so ecstatic.  At the same time, I feel an increased pressure now to nurture his relationship with Christ so that it will grow as much as possible!  This is such a sweet time in our lives!  I’m so thankful to God for blessing us as He has!  Thank you to all of you reading this who have prayed for Boss over the last 5 years; please keep it up!

Real or Fake

There seems to be an epidemic in the Church of young adults choosing to leave once they are out of their parents’ homes.  I know it has been a hot topic of discussion in the board, committee and small group meetings I’ve been a part of in recent years.  The question posed is always, “Why?”.  I think the answer for many of them is that they are not experiencing the reality of God.  They go to Sunday School for 18 years in their mostly-safe suburban worlds and never are forced to depend on God.  The only reason they are left with to believe in God is that their parents believe in God.  And for many, that’s just not good enough…nor should it be.

Several weeks back, I taught the Kids’ Time in our church and focused on Real vs. Fake and emphasized that God is real, unlike many of the superheroes our kids hear about all the time (i.e.: Superman, Optimus Prime, Spiderman, etc…)  It’s of the utmost importance to me that my kids not only hear the stories of Christ as they grow and learn, but that they understand that those stories are real…God is real…and, therefore, God’s love for us is real.

I had a fairly crappy childhood, and I am convinced that I only survived it, and even flourished despite it, because I knew that God was real and I relied on Him to get me through the mire.  It became clear to me in college that many of my friends, who had not experienced the same kind of childhood that I had, had reached a crisis point as to why they believed the things they believed.  To some extent I wrestled with the same question, but I never doubted for one second that God is real.

In the next several posts I will tell some of the reasons why I believe, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that God is real and really loves me.  Some people may say these occurrences were conincidental, some may say I’m lying and some may say I’m mistaken.  Regardless, these will be stories of how God has reached down His loving arms into my life and proven His love for me…as if giving His only Son to die on the cross for my sins wasn’t enough.  I am so…beyond blessed!