Birthdays in Heaven

Do you think we celebrate birthdays in heaven?  Do we celebrate the day of our physical birth, spiritual birth, or conception?  Do we celebrate the day God imagined our days?  If birthdays are a way of marking our passage through time, how does that work out in eternity?

And do such mind games matter when what you really want is to celebrate the birthday on this earth, in this reality, at this time?  And isn't that, after all, why we celebrate birthdays...because we survived another year.  Because we are still together another year.  Because I still have you this year.

I am working on a sermon this week called A Day Submitted.  It is from the fourth chapter of James.  James is really giving the church a tongue lashing at this point regarding their treatment (or mis-treatment) of others.  He challenges their "control issues" by making the point, "You should know better than to say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into the city. We will do business there for a year and make a lot of money!" What do you know about tomorrow? How can you be so sure about your life? It is nothing more than mist that appears for only a little while before it disappears. You should say, "If the Lord lets us live, we will do these things.
          
I am trying to let this word challenge my schedule.  It has helped that I keep forgetting my calendar at home this week.

This prayer by Ken Gire has also helped: Forgive me, Lord, for being so concerned about my other commitments that I am unconcerned about my commitment to others. Help me to realize that so much of true ministry isn't what I schedule but what comes as an intrusion to my schedule. Keep my schedule flexible enough, Lord, so that when my path comes across someone in need, I would be quick to change my plans in preference to yours.

It has also helped that I am preparing for a wedding for a bride who won't have her mother there because her mother wasn't given another year on this earth.

It has also helped that I went to lunch to celebrate a friend's birthday...only she wasn't there because this year she celebrates at the Lord's table, at the wedding feast of the Lamb.

Which begs the question, do we celebrate birthdays in heaven? Maybe we celebrate the day we arrive home.

What do you know about tomorrow?
I know we make a lot of assumptions when we plan for it.  I don't think that's sinful.  But I don't think it's fruitful when we forget Who causes the sun to rise on our world, Who puts the breath in our lungs or the beat in our hearts.

Teach me to count the days...teach me to make the days count.

What would you do with one day left to live?  Not a very original question...it has been fodder for books, movies, blogs, songs.  What is moving is watching someone with one day left to live.

She brought them in, one at a time, and she told them how much she loved them.  She told them how much they meant to her, all she had learned from them, gained from them, grown from them.  She summoned strength from heaven knows where to wrap tired, thin limbs around each neck, to place dry, cracked lips on each cheek.  She spoke words that each of them needed to hear.  She knew her children needed her to say, "It will be okay.  I'll be with you.  I have everything worked out for you."  She knew her mother needed her to say, "Thank you.  I need you so much.  You taught me to be strong."  She knew her friends needed her to say, "I have loved being your friend.  Thank you for being mine."  She knew her pastor needed her to say, "I have learned so much from you.  Thank you for the faith you've taught me.  You have comforted me and my family so much."  She knew her husband needed her to say, "I love you.  You are my soul, my heart.  You have faithfully loved me, fought for me, done everything you could do.  I know I am loved by you."  How did she know to say all those things?  Because she lived all the days beforehand loving, listening, serving.

A few days before she died, she and I retold the story of Jesus's words to his friends the day before his death.  How he pulled them all around one table.  How he told them that he was praying for them, how proud he was of them...of all that they had done, of all that they would do.  He told them he wouldn't leave them, not really.  He told them he loved them.  He told them that if they ever struggled to remember, to celebrate this way:

Share a loaf of bread. 

 Remember the way he gave himself.  Remember the way he fed their hungry mouths, their hungry souls.  Remember the way he so easily brought up the nets, lifted their heads.  Share a loaf of bread...with each other. And then with someone hungrier.  And He would be right there.

Share a cup of wine. 

 Remember the way he poured himself out. Remember the way he gave water. Remember the way he redeemed water.  Remember the way he controlled the water, walked on water...trampled on fear.  Share a cup of juice...with each other.  And then with someone thirstier.  And He would be right there.
How did he know what they needed to hear?  Because he had been there, the day before and the day before that.
He was there when they decided to follow.  He was there when they turned away. He was there when childish imagination gave yield to adult anxiety. He was there when the first breath of oxygen was inhaled.  He was there when the first kick against warm womb was given. He was there when the first beat of the heart screamed LIFE! He was there then, loving, listening, serving.

Which leads me to think, He celebrates when we get home.  Who knows, maybe we celebrate lots of birthdays in heaven.  Maybe there are all kinds of "births" that God has noted in our book of days, proud of the passages we have braved, trusting the shepherd that has guided us through the valley of the shadow.  Jesus does make heaven sound like one huge celebration.

I guess I'll have to wait to find out.  And that's ok.  I have a lot to celebrate here in the mean time.

Jus' Jon

 
Today we celebrate a freckle-faced, uber-smart, high-energy, all around great American kid: Jon Burris!

Let me tell you about Jon.  I tell Jon, "You've been arguing with me and insisting on your own way since 30 weeks in utero."  He just tilts that squirrelly head sideways and grins.  I was the full-time, student mother of a 7-month-old, high-maintenance baby when I found out I was pregnant with #2.  I cried.  I went to the little altar at the country church Cliff was pastoring and prayed: "God I can't have another baby.  I already have a baby!"  The OB/GYN (who encouraged me to stop breast feeding the 10 month old, as it is difficult to support 3 life forms) told me: "You will hate yourself for about 3 years, and then you'll be so glad they're so close in age."  I tried to believe him.  When we found out that #2 would also be a boy, we began praying over him a spirit of friendship for his brother.  If they were going to be "Irish twins", we wanted them to be best friends.

I woke up from a pregnancy dream (you know, those really vivid, crazy dreams) knowing his name would be Jon.  In the dream, I was standing next a "holy figure"....I don't know a better way to describe it.  Maybe an angel?  He was "testing" my knowledge of Bible hero stories.  Maybe a seminary professor?  Anyway, the final character presented in this test was John the Baptist.  I identified him correctly and the figure said, "There arose a prophet named John."  And I woke up.  We decided on Jonathan, David's best friend.  We would call him Jon.  Just j-o-n.  Jon.

I was six weeks from graduating from seminary, and 30 weeks pregnant with Just Jon when he decided he was ready to enter the world.  Always ready, that kid.  The doctor and I agreed to override his decision, but it required medication and some compromises on my part.  While I wasn't willing to drop out of school (6 weeks left in a 4 year journey, people!), I was willing to watch some classes by video and drop out of all other activities.  It worked.  Jon stayed put until 37 weeks.  The week of graduation I was selected by my class to participate in the senior worship service.  I was worried that the mere activity of walking up the aisle in the processional and standing in the chancel would trigger labor.  We sang the following hymn during that service:

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth;

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide.

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow

Blessings all mine, with 10,000 beside.

Great is Thy faithfulness, great is Thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning, new mercies I see.  

All I have needed, Thy hand has provided.

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

Jon as Houdini in the 4 Year Old Circus

Feeling the kicks of that little guy as the organ and the congregation affirmed God's great watch-care over His creation was an unforgettable experience.  As was his birth.  A week after graduation, and three weeks before his due date, I went to bed thinking we would end up in the hospital.  I packed all the bags, and went to bed ready for whatever.  I woke up about 5 a.m. with contractions.  As I laid in the pre-dawn stillness of our parsonage, I read the day's Upper Room while watching the sun rise and counting minutes between contractions.  The chosen scripture reading for that day, June 4, 2002 was the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth naming John.  Wasting no time (Jon received the "wastes no time" award last year in school), Jon arrived before noon.  It was only after he was snuggled into my arms that I had time to tell Cliff about the devotion.  Jonathan Zechariah was finally allowed to make his debut into the world eleven years ago today.  His attitude has ALWAYS been, "what do I get to do today?"

Jon posing with "Tiger Woods" at Madame Tussaud's

That kid has packed a lot of life into 11 years.  And a lot of smiles.  His mouth has been open since birth...and not to eat, either.  Oh, to get Jon to sit still long enough to eat a plate of food!  He is either laughing or telling a story or both.  With a grin that literally splits his face wide open, his smile is infectious and life-giving.  And behind that smile comes friendship, creativity galore, and just enough mischief to keep it interesting.

We had Josh attending a preschool in Morton where we lived.  Jon was too young to go, so I would bring him with me to the Hispanic mission where I worked.  The pastor's wife would keep Jon (and teach him Spanish).  But he desperately wanted to go with Josh.  Finally, when he was 18 months old, the school decided he could attend...but he had to wear a uniform.  So we found little navy and white onesies, had them monogramed with the school insignia, pulled the khakis over the diaper, and sent Jon to school.  That's where he met Ms. Thelma.  Ms. Thelma loved her some Jon Burris.  While all the other children were napping, she and Jon would sit and talk.  (Wait, how old was Jon?  That's right, 18 months old.)  She told us one day that she tried to call him Jonathan, but he said, "Ms. Thelma, I'm jus' Jon."  Every day at the preschool, after reciting the pledge and their Bible verse for the week, the students would recite a poem in which they proclaimed, Excellence, I pursue you!  Jon would muster up all the seriousness he could find in that little mischievous body and declare boldly and proudly: eskalence, I p'sue you!

Getting Jon to sit and eat has always, always, always been a challenge.  We had gone out as a family to a bbq restaurant (not Jon's favorite because he has been a self-declared vegetarian since 6 months old).  Jon was, again, standing in his seat and being loud.  Cliff and I had already corrected him multiple times.  Finally Cliff, in a very controlled yet firm voice said, "If you don't sit down and eat your meal, I'm going to take you to the restroom and spank you. Do you hear me clearly?"  Without missing a beat, Jon said, "My name's not Clearly, it's Jon."

Later that year Jon found out he would soon become an older brother.  Josh was not the least bit interested in this new phenomenon, but Jon's imagination was completely engaged.  He stood about as tall as my belly button, and he regularly noticed my blossoming shape.  One day he said, "Mom, can the baby see me?"
"No, Jon, but the baby can hear you."  Jon pressed his face to my belly and said in a very low man-voice, "Baby, it's me Jon."

As Jon continued to watch my shape change, he became very concerned about the baby's exit strategy.  "How will the baby get out, Mom?"  I was not prepared for the birds and bees talk, especially with this particularly verbose preschooler.  "I will go the hospital, and the doctors will take her out."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"How will the doctors do that?  Will they cut your stomach open?"
Now this is where you and I will probably have a difference of opinion because it would have been very easy to say, "yes."  But I knew I wasn't going to have a c-section, and while I didn't want to have an anatomy conversation, I also didn't want to give him false information.
"No.  God gave mommies a tunnel for the babies to come out of.  The doctors help the baby come safely through the tunnel."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"Do they crawl like this?"  I nearly ran off the road laughing as I witnessed him through my rear view mirror doing a mock military crawl in his car seat.
"Uhm, no.  The doctor and I push on my tummy and she will slide out."
"Like going to the bathroom?"
"yeeeeahhhh....something like that..."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"What's at the end of the tunnel."
Oh Lord.  Why is my house so freakin far away.  "Uhm, a hole for the baby to come out of."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"Can I see the hole?"
That's gonna be a "no."

Jon wakes up talking.  His dad doesn't.  His dad takes him to school every morning.  (Oh to be a fly in that vehicle.)  Jon has this cute way of tilting his head and raising his voice an octave to ask questions.
"Dad, do you think we'll ever be able to see the internet?"
           "Dad, how cold does a cold-blooded reptile's blood get before hypothermia sets in?"

"Dad, would you rather die of hypothermia or heat stroke?"
               "Dad, who had more faith, Noah or Moses?"
"Dad, when you were a teenager (Cliff LOVES these questions) did you hate smoking like I do?"
      "Dad, how many children do you think I'll have?"
Cliff has learned to engage the children in prayer on the way to school.

But Jon's head is not just full of thoughts; his heart is very thoughtful.  He told Josh recently, "We really are best friends."  Just this morning he gave Zoe some of his birthday money to buy a ball cap.  His teachers always tell me about the acts of kindness he performs at school.  Jon probably has a million thoughts a minute...and a sizable number of them are about how to help you.

My OB/GYN was more right than he could have known.  What is the source of laughter, debate, experiments, mischief, and delight in our home?  Jus' Jon.

What a month!

Joel as Easter Lovey Bunny

Ahh, Easter!  I love Easter.  It's what I do, you know??!?  Really, I've loved Easter since I was a kid.  But wowser, it does a number to my calendar.

Easter Love

Add to that a birthday...a vacation...confirmation...youth Sunday...sickness...sickness x 3...a new dog...a tragic loss...baseball season...

3 Kids in 3 leagues = 5 days of baseball per week = crazy town!

...well, you get the picture (and just in case you don't...I've attached a few).

Confirmation 2013: Josh was in this class.  Perks of being a pastor--confirming your child.

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I have been busy writing all the while, just not busy publishing.  So, hopefully soon I will start rolling out some of these thoughts that have spilled over to paper-screen as I have celebrated LIFE over the last month.  I hope you stay tuned.

Zoe is 7.  Pink and purple are still her favorite colors.  She is still my favorite princess.

We've grown by four feet: Meet Winston.  He's a Labradoodle.

Josh stealing, Jon catching, Zoe batting

 Fun times in Kentucky.  Josh and Jon were born there...and were ecstatic about posing outside of the hospital.  Will (the big kid in the picture) was a Kindergartner when we lived there.  His mini-me look-alike is Luke, his ten year younger brother.  Zoe and Luke hit it off big time.  Joel fit right in too!

Youth Sunday

The youth group at Trinity led worship the Second Sunday after Easter.  Their theme was discipleship.  Over the next several weeks, I am going to post some of their essays.  Amazing!

Last week our congregation said goodbye to a beautiful lady.  Julie's friends and family gathered to celebrate her life and encourage her precious family (mother, husband and 3 children).                        I love this picture of Julie.  It speaks of a promise, a secret that Julie knows.  There's more!

Milemarker~Joshua Zion is twelve years old

Josh #12; Jon #61

...which means I have been parenting for some 12 years, nine months...give or take a week.   Reading this post will require you to travel down memory lane with me and remembering some of my favorite Josh moments...to know him is to love him.

When Josh and Jon were in preschool they became consumed with acting out some of their favorite Bible stories.  They saw the children’s movie Prince of Egypt and were very inspired by the drama.  One afternoon I caught Josh playing in the yard with no shoes.  This irks me.  Either put on your shoes or take off your socks.  My preference, because we had dogs in the yard, was that he put on shoes.  I told him as much. 

“Josh, put your shoes on, please.”

“Mom, I can’t.  The Lord says I’m standing on Holy Ground.” 

This Easter outfit had a tie at one point.

Another afternoon, close to Easter, I went out to find all of their superheroes (Batman, Superman, Flash, Incredible Hulk) laying on the driveway.  I assumed there had been a nuclear disaster on some alien planet far, far away and went to investigate.  Upon closer inspection I realized that each hero was laying atop a little pile of sticks. 

“Josh, what are you doing?  Are they getting burned?”

It was then that the neighbor walked over.  He had been doing yard work and had come over to investigate the scene a little earlier.  “ They've been crucified,” he explained.

I looked again and realized it was true.  Each hero was carefully placed on two perpendicular sticks.  They had crucified their heroes. 

“What happens now?”  I really wanted to know.

“Now Jesus saves them.”

Jedi cowboys with swords

A few weeks later I caught the boys tying ropes around each other and leading each other through the yard.  I went to intervene.  I assumed they were playing cattle drive or something like that.  But we have a couple of non-negotiable rules in our home.  Rule number 5 is that we keep our promises…to each other, to our friends, to our baseball coach, to our teachers.  Rule number 4 is we use our words in kind ways and we don’t hit girls ever.  Rule number 3 is we take a polite bite of our food and we say thank you for food, even if we don’t like it.  Rule number 2 is we go to church on Sunday and we participate with the Holy Spirit.  Seem to hit most of them?  What could rule number one be?  Burris Family Rule #1 is (and I do not lie)  "no ropes around the neck."  This does not have a dramatic story to go with it, and it may seem to some to be a bit of an overkill (pardon the pun).  But it became obvious as boy number 2 became mobile only 14 months after boy number 1 there would have to be preventative measures taken if they both were going to make it to adulthood.  (You know, of course, that goal number one of parenting is keep them alive.)  So Burris Family Rule Number 1 (this is how we refer to it…regularly) is “no ropes around the neck.”  I realized on this afternoon I would have to expand the rule to no ropes around the waist and I was trying to decide if I would include no ropes around ankles and wrists and heads or just take the rope away (my sister says I could make fewer rules if I were less specific and more pro-active…she was very critical the day I said, “Please don’t cut your sister with the knife at the table.”  My sister doesn’t have kids yet).  Then I was close enough to hear their dialogue.

“Take him to the cross!”  Josh exclaimed this to an unseen guard.  Jon, with imaginary bindings on his wrists and a lowered head stumbled behind his big brother in pretend agony.  Josh then loosened the rope and mimicked nailing Jon’s hands and feet to an invisible cross.  After a moment Josh lowered the now relaxed body of his younger brother to the leafy ground and dragged him to the swing set.  Jon lay still for a moment then rose to his feet and walked toward Josh with his arms raised.

“Okay, Jon, my turn to be Jesus.”  And the re-enactment started over again with roles reversed.  I let them keep the rope.

The game was called “Take Him to the Cross” and they played for weeks.  My sister said they were getting too much church.

Josh is a warrior.  We named him Joshua Zion because we wanted to claim God’s promises for our future family that God would fight for us.  We did not have to be afraid, only believe.  We would choose, our whole household, to serve the Lord.  We believed that the Lord is Zion’s champion and we wanted “in” on the promise.  So our first little blond-haired, blue-eyed, Protestant, southern baby boy was named Joshua Zion.  He was born with a warrior’s heart.  It used to bother my mother that he was constantly fighting with sticks.  He never hit anyone, but he swung sticks like his life depended on it.  She bought sword after sword: plastic, Styrofoam, retractable, glow-in-the-dark, rubber.  It didn't matter.  Oh, he would swing those too.  But sticks worked well enough.  He is twelve now and still carries a stick.  We find sticks in our cars, bedrooms, tucked into corners, on the porch, under furniture…he stores the good sticks. Albert Einstein said,"I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." Josh will be ready.  He’s never been in a fight.  Well, okay, he has scrapped with his brother plenty and has had to put up with sister brawls.  But this warrior-child has never, ever lifted a hand against a friend or enemy…nor has he been hit by someone else (which says something of its own).  He talks to us a lot about the violence in the world.  He creates stories in which those who are violent are put down by warriors who don’t love violence, but use force to stop it.  He loves action/adventure movies: Star Wars, Pirates of Caribbean, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Marvel Comics, X-Men, GI Joe, Transformers, Chronicles of Narnia…he loves it.  He loves war stories.  He can discuss generals, battle plans, dates, and strategies from the Civil War, the Alamo, and World War II. He has a copy of the Preamble and the Declaration of Independence hanging in his room…next to the Marvel Comic poster.

 He recently was confronted with a situation that frightened him:  a new class.  Our family moved mid-year.  He had a new school, new home, new church, and now was expected by his preacher-mom to go to a new 5^th and 6^th grade Bible study.

 “No.”

 That was his final word.  “Punish me however.  I won’t go.”  Did I mention Josh is a stubborn warrior?  After several moments of frustration on my part, I decided to stop focusing on my needs in the situation and discover his.

 “Why Josh?  Why can’t you go in there?”

“I’m afraid.”

“I understand that.  I have been afraid, too, moving to this new place.  I think you’re doing a great job.  Hey, can you think of someone in the Bible who was brave?”  I figure Josh is going to pick Moses or Joshua or David…his favorite warriors.

“Jesus was brave.”

“Wow.  He really was brave.  Can you think of a story of when Jesus had to do something really hard or that he was afraid to do?”  I assume at this point we will talk about Jesus dying on the cross.

“I think it must have been really hard to let Lazarus die.  Jesus could have healed him, but he needed to let him die so the other people could see the miracle.  It really hurt Jesus’s feelings because he cried.  I think it took a lot of courage for Jesus to just let Lazarus die.”

Josh is a warrior serving the God-of-the-Angel-Armies.  He did not get punished for missing Bible study that night.  I don’t know if Josh was identifying more with Jesus or Lazarus that night.  The next week he found the courage to go in.  

Mile Marker~ Happy 5th Birthday Joel!

Joel at Disney's Castaway Cay

Joel entered our lives on a cold (for South Mississippi) December day 5 years ago.  By the time we made it home from the hospital, the weather had completely changed...and so had we.  We had been told that there was a possibility that Joel would be born with Down Syndrome.  After several inconclusive screenings, plus multiple reassurances that the fetus was otherwise developing in a healthy manner, we stopped testing and started waiting.  On the day that he entered the outside world, we had all but forgotten that the possibility existed   As a matter of fact, the OB/GYN had forgotten and failed to notify the OB floor staff...they were quite surprised!  I remember the day of Joel's first sunrise.  I prayed, wondering how we would ever adjust to this new reality.  Everyone assured me "everything will be fine."  I didn't understand how they could say that.  Then sweet Joel snuggled into my arms, and my warmed heart understood, "everything is going to be fine."  A warm front came through our area and the temperature was twenty degrees warmer.  Nothing in my suitcase was appropriate for me or the baby.  I would need to adjust...that was 5 years ago.

I've learned so much from Joel in these 5 short years.  It would take more than a blog to share it all.  Maybe one day I'll write the book.  But for now, a lesson for each year...

Joel completed his first soccer season this year

1.  Take Your Time Another mom I know with a most handsome son toting extra chromosomes refers to "Noah-time".  She is referencing how patient one must be because her son will arrive/finish/move/go/sit/stand/speak/leave at his pace.  Joel is the same way.  Some days, we don't move fast enough for Joel.  But most days, there is a methodical pace that I must choose to take if I am to walk hand in hand with him.  Because holding his hand is absolutely one of the most precious gifts in my life, I choose his pace.  Oh sure, there are days he gets swung onto my hip, or onto Dad's back, or onto brother's shoulders, or into a stroller to move a little faster.  And he enjoys the ride (see smile and celebrate below).  I have learned to love this new pace, however.  I had learned a different pace, one conducive to mothering 3 small children, being a part of a clergy couple where both of us worked full time in a large church, and still volunteering throughout the community.  My stride was long, my heels clicked the floor with purpose, my arms pumped the air as blood pumped through my veins with ever-increasing urgency.  I was going places!  It wasn't until Joel took my hand and slowed my step that I realized I was missing the journey.  Joel took his first steps at 20 months, nearly 10 months after his typical peers.  Although he has had physical therapy most of his life and wears braces on both ankles, his gait is still a bit awkward and slow for his age.  Me too.  I've been practicing this new pace for only 5 years.  There are still days that I rush right past the most important people to get to some incredibly important meeting *or so I thought*.  Joel's gait will get stronger, more stable.  I only hope I can grow as fast as he.

Joel hunts for a Christmas tree

2.  Listen to People As a pastor, I do a LOT of listening.  Word to the wise: having the opportunity to do a lot of listening doesn't necessarily mean you are a good listener.  For several years I worked as a children's pastor in a large church.  I remarked after my first quarter that every kid there had letters: ADD, ADHD, ODD,  AS, ASD...I had a perfunctory conversation with each mother: "How can I help your child's experience within our ministry be a positive one?"  I was proud of myself for asking.  I felt like I implemented as many of the suggestions as were practical.  Then we got letters: DS, TS21, SPED, PT, OT, SLT...I remember the first mom I went back to and said, "Tell me your story again."  I wasn't listening for a certain set of pre-determined answers that fit my to-do list.  I was listening for her voice, the voice she gave her child, the wisdom she had gained from learning his pace, the hope I could muster from warriors like her.  Joel's speech therapist started coming to see us around his first birthday.  His typical peers had already mastered 50 words or better.  His older brother was speaking eloquently by 12 months.  Joel had no words.  The therapist reminded me of the importance of speaking to Joel, reading to Joel, exposing Joel to lots of language because he was listening.  And slowly he would begin to process sounds, then words, then ideas, then language.  But I had to listen to him too.  Repeat his sounds.  Mimic his expressions.  Engage in "conversation" with him because he needed the encouragment to keep trying.  How many people around me have "lost their voice" because the world stopped listening and no one has encouraged them to keep trying?  I never get tired of hearing Joel's sweet voice.  Okay, exaggeration...sometimes he makes these horrible sounds: yelling, crying, screaming.  I get tired of that.  Those sounds stop when I listen, attend, help him solve his problem.  Then, the sweet voice comes back: "mymama" is my name.  "Iuhnyootoo" is I love you.  I am learning to listen.

Joel enjoys a little yogurt

3.  Smile My 4 children have been blessed with beautiful smiles.  My oldest son has the smile of an angel.  He is absolutely beautiful.  My second son has the smile of mischief.  His smile assures you that you wish you knew what he was thinking!  My daughter has the loveliest of smiles that melts our hearts.  Joel's smile is pure joy.  You have to smile back.  I have friends whose children also sport the extra chromosome who tell of their child's uncanny ability to recognize the hurt souls in our midst.  I heard one mother tell the story of her son entering a restaurant with them.  Upon entering, they quickly recognized a fellow church member who was known for her critical words and overbearing spirit.  They quietly requested to be seated in another part of the restaurant, not wanting to hear the scathing comments she would surely make about their son's poor table manners.  Their son saw her too, recognized her immediately, and went and sat in the empty seat at her table.  You see, she was alone.  She was a widow, and no doubt her bitterness came from a broken heart.  My friend's little boy sat with this woman for his entire lunch.  Joel seems to have a similar affinity for those who need a smile.  He has an easy way of placing his hand on your shoulder and rubbing your back.  He seems to know who in the room needs him.  Joel's smile brings joy into a room, but he won't leave until everyone in the room is smiling with him.

Super Joel

4.  Forgive Easily Like all toddlers, Joel has had to be taught to say "I'm sorry" when he hurts someone.  He can pack a mean punch!  Because his words don't come as quickly as his friends' words, he often resorts to pushing, pulling, and hitting to get his way.  (But really, who doesn't??)  When we witness this behavior, we intercept the action, telling Joel he can't hit and now he must say sorry.  "Isorree" the words come out slurred together.  His head is usually tilted downward, eyes peaking out from under long eyelashes to see if you accept.  And a hug.  Joel can't apologize without hugging you.  This is so endearing about him, even his sister can't resist him.  But what is most precious is when he is hurt by someone else, and that person offers an "I'm sorry" Joel goes through the same procedure...almost apologizing along with the offending child, hug and all.  It's as if Joel feels forgiveness no matter which way it is being extended.  The only person I've ever seen Joel hold a grudge against is a nurse.  She was quick to forgive him...knowing how many times she had stuck the poor baby!  I think Joel's smile comes so easily because his list of offenses stays so short.  I would do well to do likewise.

Joel gives Donald a kiss

5.  Celebrate Joel loves mascots: Chickfila Cow, Sweet Pepper Pepper, Santa Claus, Easter Bunny...loves them.  But his heart belongs to Mickey Mouse.  That's why we were all so excited to take Joel to Disney World where he would meet Mickey Mouse and Friends.  Joel's favorite show is Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  At the end of every show, the friends do the "hotdog dance" to celebrate their accomplishments.  Joel has perfected this dance...and uses it appropriately.  Chicken nuggets for dinner: woo hoo! hot dog dance.  Extra ice cream: woo hoo! hot dog dance.  Papa is coming over: woo hoo! hot dog dance.  It doesn't matter if you're in the kitchen, at church, on the cereal aisle at Rouses, any place is a good place for the hot dog dance.  Joel celebrates easily.  Of course, I love finding reasons for him to celebrate.  But really, he finds them more easily than I do.  He reminds me that life gives us hundreds of reasons every day to celebrate if we're looking for them.  And oh, to really celebrate.  Not just a mental acknowledgment that something is swell...but a foot tapping, arm waving, voice lifting celebration.  Joel teaches me to regularly celebrate what is good.  He teaches me that good can be found in a lot of insignificant things.

When we brought little Joel home just a few weeks before Christmas, I knew we had some major adjustments to make in life.  I just mistakenly believed they were about my lifestyle.  I've learned the major adjustments happened in my heart.  Thank you Joel, for the gift of you.  I love you, and I love being loved by you.