A Spring of Joy

And I love it!

The only question I have is, “When did his legs get so long?!”

Lying in her bed and reading to my Bella last night, she grabbed me and cried out. “Mommy,” tears filled her little eyes, “Adam and Eve are so sad. They have to leave the Garden!” She agonized over that for moments as the tears spilled over, and I looked deep into the eyes of my freshly-turned three-year-old marveling at her depth of feeling.

I held her close, “Why did they have to leave the Garden?”

She heaved a deep sigh and wiped her eyes, “Because they listened to Satan and they think God doesn’t love them.”

A few weeks ago, I was in Costco with my three little ones. We arrived at the checkout counter behind an elderly woman who obviously knew the cashier, a fifty-something woman with bleach blond hair and a thick southern drawl. They were conversing loudly as I waited in line, tending to my three and paying little attention until something sparked in my mind.

“There was a girl here yesterday who was wearing a hat and was so self-conscious about it,” said the cashier, “I told her. I says ‘You wear that hat with pride, honey. That hat means you’re a fighter.’”

I think that much exposure to sensuality, banality, and God-absent entertainment does more to deaden our capacities for joy in Jesus than it does to make us spiritually powerful in the lives of the living dead. Sources of spiritual power—which are what we desperately need—are not in the cinema. You will not want your biographer to write: Prick him and he bleeds movies…

One more smaller concern with TV (besides its addictive tendencies, trivialization of life, and deadening effects): It takes time. I have so many things I want to accomplish in this one short life. Don’t waste your life is not a catchphrase for me; it’s a cliff I walk beside every day with trembling.

Please do NOT ever make Bella mad.

I can’t handle this face.

Our home is fiercely protected from a hiding spot well beneath our deck.

That look on Bear’s face makes it very clear he is not to be messed with.

And Bella?

Well, with a stance like that, who stands a chance?

Need I say more?

These days my children ask a lot of why’s. Mostly Bear, but they all do.

Why does the thunder come after lightning? Why do I have to obey? Why do kangaroos have four feet but only walk/jump on two? Why does Daddy have to go to work every day? Why does the dark scare me?

They seem trivial. Then I realize that deeper is a desire to understand the world around them. To learn about the God who created them and all things. To know that everything will be okay.

I ask a lot of why’s these days, too.

I turn the thin pages of Nona’s diary. I like that I can’t read it. This way, the story will change and change. I find places where she underlined, places where it looks like tears fell on a page. The diary whispers and whispers, and sighs and sighs…

That is where my writing is these days… whispers, sighs and tears on the pages of my red leather bound journal. The darkness of depression moves me to write, but not here.

…and then, on one page, yells out loud. It is huge writing, just three words but they are happy. You can tell, the writing is happy.

This. Man.

Happy Father’s Day!