Gold Star Day

Well last Saturday was certainly a gold-star day. Remember the feeling of getting that star on your grade school paper, or the taste of the glue when you were allowed to put one wherever you wanted it? Perfection.

My grandson, Carter, was born last Saturday morning. A snowy, blowy, cold winter morning made brighter by the birth of a child. So ironic that this new, beautiful life was brought into my world on the one-year anniversary of a day that almost shattered my faith in humanity. Carter was born on the anniversary of the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting.

That morning, Mark and I were at the hospital with the in-law’s, joyfully anticipating Carter’s birth. We were able to cry, congratulate, hug and love our growing family as he entered the world.

By noon, Mark and I were home celebrating with a champagne brunch.  After a short nap we returned to the hospital with Hannah, Emma and Kate, where for the first time since the same date last year, I truly felt that all was right in the world. We were actually the larger, more boisterous family! A photograph in that hospital room showed every one of us at our smiling best – no scowls, no closed eyes, no one turned away.

I am enough of a realist to know that moment of perfection was fleeting, but I am also cognizant enough to know that particular moment was divine – that despite all the cruel, crazy evil in this world we can find our moments of perfection in the birth of a child.

I was given the true gift of Christmas last Saturday.

Carter & Gramma

Where The Wild Things Are

The night Max wore his wolf suit . . . and made mischief of one kind . . . and another…

Was the night I started to worry.

That very night in Max’s room a forest grew . . . and grew . . .

And I looked for Max – in the forest – I cried out to him, held out my arms  for him.

And when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.

Those claws sunk into him, they ripped him up, they shredded his suit, they tore his life apart, and they…

…made him king of all wild things.

Max was empowered, he was living life in wild rumpus mode, he felt invincible.  We couldn’t find him.

Then all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat so he gave up being king of where the wild things are

My beautiful boy was home.  The child that has so much heart, so much love, so much feeling was back.  He had…

…sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day

Max worked so hard to become all he was meant to be.  He smiled, he loved, he soared.

But the wild things are calling him back.  They are gnashing and clawing and rolling their eyes at him again.  He wants to be king, he wants to work, he wants to love, he wants to live.

Please pray that Max finds his way to sail back to us.