An Unfamiliar Road

This week, there is a 14 year old boy who is dying. He is the son of some good friends of ours. For the past 4 years, we have read about his situation on a Caring Bridge site. He has been tumor free on some occasions and nearly hopelessly sick on others. This week he took a turn for the worse. Friends were starting to gather at the house. On Saturday night we read, "We don't think he'll make it through the night." I was combing Lizzie's hair into ridiculous little puffy balls. We were all sort of settling in. We'd laid out Sunday morning's outfits and prepared Sunday morning's breakfast.We read the update. Emma and I decided it was time to drive to Burnsville.

Our friends' livingroom was full of people. The kitchen island was full of mostly untouched snacks. There was a hospital bed for Victor up against the wall. And what do you do in this situation? Turns out, you sing every single song you know about Jesus. A couple of them you sing twice either because they are Victor's favorites or because you've run out of ideas. You cry a lot but also laugh some. Then he gets tired after 2 hours and you drive back home.

It's Monday and he's still alive, but the latest update said his lips are turning blue.

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. --Romans 8:38-39

More and Less

In the spirit of homeschooling preschoolers, I checked out a homeschool book from the library. I was curious to find out, just what are 4 year olds supposed to know?

One concept is more and less. Lizzie has that one totally down. She always has less. It doesn't matter what's in the cup or on the plate or in the bowl. It's less. Than anyone else.

I learned this one day at Starbucks. Zeke and Liz were splitting the rest of someone's drink. I poured some into her cup, the rest into Zeke's. "Look how much Zeke has," she commented dryly.

"Liz, you have more than he does. Look." I showed her the two cups side by side. "Who has more?"

"Zeke does."

"Liz, THIS is your cup," pointing to the one with more. "Who has more?"

"Zeke."

So, the next day, we did lots of more and less. I let Liz control the amounts even though I told her who should get more and who should get less. Then, I had my most brilliant idea. I'd talk about how much we loved her and Zeke using cups of water. I started out showing her, "This is how much we love Zeke." I filled the glass to the very tippy top. She smiled. "And this is how much we love Liz." I started filling the glass. And just then, (all adoption experts are holding their breath,) I ran out of water. Yes, halfway to the top, my cup ranneth dry. I leaped to the sink to put more water in my measuring cup. I didn't even look at Liz, just filled her cup to the top and then let the water spill over the top.

She smiled at me. But it was the sort of smile that said, "Yea, that was a great lesson, Mom. Now my neurosis is permanent."

We'll keep trying.