Ahhh! It's that time again where everything that was seemingly dead is alive again...in spirit, appearance, color, and form. I love Easter and springtime! I look forward to it for a couple of reasons: the vibrant colors of spring, of course, and the resurrection of my own soul. I go back to the way I feel the rest of the year until January. I see signs already...the way the breeze feels, the things I'm willing to do, and in the way that I work. Jesus is risen and that fact really comforts someone like me.
It's Easter Sunday morning in my house and I have the duty of getting everyone up. I like to wake them up to Hillsong music...I think that will make a good memory for them one day, especially the little ones. I get going and leave the music to do its duty while I shower and get ready. I hear the kids playing around and know Rio will be getting herself prettied up while Lathan will wait around for someone else to take the time to wrestle with him in bed as they pass by him. It's a normal morning-the kind when I come to realize I've taken too long on getting myself ready yet I still have wet hair and no makeup, and Lathan still looks like he did thirty minutes ago when he first woke up. So naturally, I stop working on me and start working on him. I start on coercing him to go to his room for me to change him...and the fight begins. "No!" he yells. Crying, fighting, fussing ensues, and I have to start yelling over Hillsong that he's six years old, he shouldn't be fighting or fussing, and I don't want to deal with this all day. "Stop crying! I mean it! Stop!" I yell. Over and over. Ugh. It's like a bad dream and if you've ever dealt with a constant crier, I think maybe you know what this is like. I sure hope I'm not the only one! He finally calms down and I lay down the law. "You will not cry today. You will not act like this anymore. This is God's day. You are going to stop the crying." Well, I say it every Sunday. Yet, every Sunday is the same. We get to church and he cries when we are getting out of the car for some reason or another. He cries when we sit down in the pew for another reason. He fusses about something in the first part of worship. He fusses at the kid's offering. He fusses if there is children's hour because he doesn't want to go, or he fusses when there's not children's hour because he does want to go. He fusses when we have to leave the foyer after the sermon is over to go to bible class. He fusses when we leave the playground after bible class to go to lunch. He fusses when we leave the restaurant to go home. Can we say "transition-challenged" much? So maybe every Sunday isn't the same and he chooses which fussing points he'll have, but he sure makes it hard for us to prepare him to go on to the next step in many cases. So this Sunday I was determined to make it stop. I made him stop crying. Have you ever done such a thing? How do you make a child stop crying? It's ludicrous. Let's just say I strongly suggested he stopped until I was red in the face and made him cry more. Eventually, he decided to stop. And I was thankful he did.
We got to church and he started to fuss and I reminded him he would not be crying over every little thing today. I spoke some of his language and threatened him like a sailor sitting in the car in the church parking lot because it was EASTER and I've been looking forward to it, and I wasn't going to have any distractions on my own resurrection that day. I gave him the "mom" look. He stopped fussing. We walked into church and somehow I end up carrying him into the pew with me as we walked in late and made our way to the second row. At this point, I am drained. I don't know how this is going to end. I had hoped to worship, to resurrect with Christ that day, and be able to feel alive again, but after all I had done that morning, I couldn't imagine God could reach me anymore that day. Lathan lays down in the pew and Rio is there with bells on. I just love her spirit. I watch her and see her standing tall and singing and reading the words while I sit with Lathan and try to talk to his crushed spirit. "You've got to let me worship, bud," I tell him, with a big sigh. I'm pretty sure he didn't hear. I stand up and I sing. I don't know what he's doing behind me on the pew, but it involves his offering and dropping it on the floor. I worship some more. I'm trying. Then something. He stands up and he decides he wants to stand behind me. He stands up on the pew and puts his little arms around my neck and sways with me while we sing together. Rio and Harvey are next to us and I hear them too and finally, a peace begins to settle in. Shalom isn't far from me anymore and I so appreciate his little hands and hold them around my neck while his face rests next to mine on my shoulder. It's like he "got it". For the next few songs, he stands on the back of the pew in front of us while he holds on to me. He's gotten taller and his waist is at my cheek. He puts his right hand around my head and several times throughout the song, he combs my hair aside with his left hand and kisses my head. He looks on me with love as we sing together and he begins to lay on the love and tenderness as we worship. I lift my hands in worship as I finally reach Shalom, and he follows with both hands. I am so entirely grateful.
Part of the worship involved a video with images of the crucifixion-no bodies are seen, but you can hear Jesus breathing, and the actions. The whips lashing, the cross dragging, the hammer nailing, the people shouting. Imagery resounds strongly with Lathan and injustice is a huge issue in his heart. He cannot stand injustice. I've never seen anything quite like it and I feel sorry for him because the world is full of it. He can't stand it at school, in movies, or in books. He cries and lashes out when he witnesses injustice, especially in movies or when he feels it toward him. He doesn't want to witness dark motives at all, not even for entertainment. He pleads to leave the theater when the bad guys are scheming or when the movie plot gets to the point of no hope. He can't wait to see the good guys win. Literally. Fast-forward the movie. He cowers under the sound of whiplashes on the video and hides in my side. He can't help but react to the noises. "Ooh!" and a little whimper. Hides his face. He knows its about Jesus. The video ends and we stand to sing, but he demands my attention. "Do we have to die on the cross too?" he asks. I look down at him from standing and reply, "No, thank goodness we don't. Jesus did that for us. He died for our sins. Now he wants us to be good and love him so we can live with him in heaven." I throw in the "be good" part as an extra for him, as moms often do. A new video during the song shows three crosses, with two men beside Jesus and that sparks more questions. "Who are they? Who are the other two guys next to Jesus?" "They're bad guys," I respond. "I don't understand why Jesus had to die like the bad guy," he retorts. He's using his hands to talk now and he's yelling over the singing and I can tell he really want to understand and is becoming a bit frustrated with the situation surrounding Jesus, so I sit down and tell him what I know. "You're right. Jesus was a good guy. He wasn't a bad guy like the other two. But there were other mean people that wanted to kill Jesus and they wanted him to die like the bad guys.." I'm trying to talk over the singing, just loud enough for him to hear, and have to be in close to his face to do so. "You see, Jesus died for no reason, baby..." I say this and I brace myself. I had to deliver the bad news. The injustice. There's a good chance he's going to act out right there in the middle of some wonderful song in the second row of church and the visions of Harvey having to carry him out, legs flying, because he just can't calm down cross my mind..and it all my fault because I didn't sugar-coat it... He'll lash out, cry out, yell, fuss, do something because injustice...well, he just hates it. He thinks for a few seconds, which seem like they're a growing bubble about to pop, and then he looks at me and smiles. He says, "He did. He did die for a reason." He smiles again and looks at me, waiting for me to get it. HE waits on ME to get it. His smile is confident and joyful, like a father that's playing a practical joke and waiting for the punchline to be revealed. And all at once his sins and my sins come rushing forth, everything he knows he does wrong, and everything I know I've done wrong, that day and before that day, flash in the blink of an eye, they bond in my head, and they commune together only to fall, completely forgiven. His eight words pull out the gratefulness I was longing to feel in my heart and brings it home with that amazing smile and confidence in His God, which gives me confidence in our God. We are One together in that moment, both sinners, and I am truly amazed at the wisdom of this child to remind me, me, an adult, strong and faithful, of the reason for Jesus's death. Yes, he got me. I smile back and we hug. We both know Jesus died for us. I stand up and begin to sing...or whisper really. My breath is gone as I am filled with thankfulness of my own stone being rolled away. As I reflect on our conversation, I realize I meant to say, "He was killed for no reason," alluding to John 15:25 when Jesus points out the scripture Psalms 35:19 is being fulfilled, "But this is to fulfill what is written in they Law: 'They hated me without reason,'" but I was using it in the wrong context. He's right, of course. Jesus did die for a reason-for Lathan, for you, and for me. I am thankful and hold this interaction between me and my son in my heart as I am delivered from my own selfishness.
The sermon that day, like all the other Sundays, is a word from God, and it touches my heart. I amazingly finally get to feel my own resurrection happen and I mentally step into my new life. God had spoken to me through the mouth of a child as well as through the mouth of a spiritual mentor. Lathan doesn't fuss in church again. We leave there and go to my in-laws house, and he's beautiful while there. He doesn't fuss the rest of the day, even as we left the grandparents and we make our hour and a half drive home. He has an incident at 9pm with his father that night, but recovers quickly, puts on a laughing smile, and comes to hug me while I read in bed. I ask him about it and he tells me he doesn't want to talk about it. I get it.
Happy Easter from ours to yours.
It's Easter Sunday morning in my house and I have the duty of getting everyone up. I like to wake them up to Hillsong music...I think that will make a good memory for them one day, especially the little ones. I get going and leave the music to do its duty while I shower and get ready. I hear the kids playing around and know Rio will be getting herself prettied up while Lathan will wait around for someone else to take the time to wrestle with him in bed as they pass by him. It's a normal morning-the kind when I come to realize I've taken too long on getting myself ready yet I still have wet hair and no makeup, and Lathan still looks like he did thirty minutes ago when he first woke up. So naturally, I stop working on me and start working on him. I start on coercing him to go to his room for me to change him...and the fight begins. "No!" he yells. Crying, fighting, fussing ensues, and I have to start yelling over Hillsong that he's six years old, he shouldn't be fighting or fussing, and I don't want to deal with this all day. "Stop crying! I mean it! Stop!" I yell. Over and over. Ugh. It's like a bad dream and if you've ever dealt with a constant crier, I think maybe you know what this is like. I sure hope I'm not the only one! He finally calms down and I lay down the law. "You will not cry today. You will not act like this anymore. This is God's day. You are going to stop the crying." Well, I say it every Sunday. Yet, every Sunday is the same. We get to church and he cries when we are getting out of the car for some reason or another. He cries when we sit down in the pew for another reason. He fusses about something in the first part of worship. He fusses at the kid's offering. He fusses if there is children's hour because he doesn't want to go, or he fusses when there's not children's hour because he does want to go. He fusses when we have to leave the foyer after the sermon is over to go to bible class. He fusses when we leave the playground after bible class to go to lunch. He fusses when we leave the restaurant to go home. Can we say "transition-challenged" much? So maybe every Sunday isn't the same and he chooses which fussing points he'll have, but he sure makes it hard for us to prepare him to go on to the next step in many cases. So this Sunday I was determined to make it stop. I made him stop crying. Have you ever done such a thing? How do you make a child stop crying? It's ludicrous. Let's just say I strongly suggested he stopped until I was red in the face and made him cry more. Eventually, he decided to stop. And I was thankful he did.
We got to church and he started to fuss and I reminded him he would not be crying over every little thing today. I spoke some of his language and threatened him like a sailor sitting in the car in the church parking lot because it was EASTER and I've been looking forward to it, and I wasn't going to have any distractions on my own resurrection that day. I gave him the "mom" look. He stopped fussing. We walked into church and somehow I end up carrying him into the pew with me as we walked in late and made our way to the second row. At this point, I am drained. I don't know how this is going to end. I had hoped to worship, to resurrect with Christ that day, and be able to feel alive again, but after all I had done that morning, I couldn't imagine God could reach me anymore that day. Lathan lays down in the pew and Rio is there with bells on. I just love her spirit. I watch her and see her standing tall and singing and reading the words while I sit with Lathan and try to talk to his crushed spirit. "You've got to let me worship, bud," I tell him, with a big sigh. I'm pretty sure he didn't hear. I stand up and I sing. I don't know what he's doing behind me on the pew, but it involves his offering and dropping it on the floor. I worship some more. I'm trying. Then something. He stands up and he decides he wants to stand behind me. He stands up on the pew and puts his little arms around my neck and sways with me while we sing together. Rio and Harvey are next to us and I hear them too and finally, a peace begins to settle in. Shalom isn't far from me anymore and I so appreciate his little hands and hold them around my neck while his face rests next to mine on my shoulder. It's like he "got it". For the next few songs, he stands on the back of the pew in front of us while he holds on to me. He's gotten taller and his waist is at my cheek. He puts his right hand around my head and several times throughout the song, he combs my hair aside with his left hand and kisses my head. He looks on me with love as we sing together and he begins to lay on the love and tenderness as we worship. I lift my hands in worship as I finally reach Shalom, and he follows with both hands. I am so entirely grateful.
Part of the worship involved a video with images of the crucifixion-no bodies are seen, but you can hear Jesus breathing, and the actions. The whips lashing, the cross dragging, the hammer nailing, the people shouting. Imagery resounds strongly with Lathan and injustice is a huge issue in his heart. He cannot stand injustice. I've never seen anything quite like it and I feel sorry for him because the world is full of it. He can't stand it at school, in movies, or in books. He cries and lashes out when he witnesses injustice, especially in movies or when he feels it toward him. He doesn't want to witness dark motives at all, not even for entertainment. He pleads to leave the theater when the bad guys are scheming or when the movie plot gets to the point of no hope. He can't wait to see the good guys win. Literally. Fast-forward the movie. He cowers under the sound of whiplashes on the video and hides in my side. He can't help but react to the noises. "Ooh!" and a little whimper. Hides his face. He knows its about Jesus. The video ends and we stand to sing, but he demands my attention. "Do we have to die on the cross too?" he asks. I look down at him from standing and reply, "No, thank goodness we don't. Jesus did that for us. He died for our sins. Now he wants us to be good and love him so we can live with him in heaven." I throw in the "be good" part as an extra for him, as moms often do. A new video during the song shows three crosses, with two men beside Jesus and that sparks more questions. "Who are they? Who are the other two guys next to Jesus?" "They're bad guys," I respond. "I don't understand why Jesus had to die like the bad guy," he retorts. He's using his hands to talk now and he's yelling over the singing and I can tell he really want to understand and is becoming a bit frustrated with the situation surrounding Jesus, so I sit down and tell him what I know. "You're right. Jesus was a good guy. He wasn't a bad guy like the other two. But there were other mean people that wanted to kill Jesus and they wanted him to die like the bad guys.." I'm trying to talk over the singing, just loud enough for him to hear, and have to be in close to his face to do so. "You see, Jesus died for no reason, baby..." I say this and I brace myself. I had to deliver the bad news. The injustice. There's a good chance he's going to act out right there in the middle of some wonderful song in the second row of church and the visions of Harvey having to carry him out, legs flying, because he just can't calm down cross my mind..and it all my fault because I didn't sugar-coat it... He'll lash out, cry out, yell, fuss, do something because injustice...well, he just hates it. He thinks for a few seconds, which seem like they're a growing bubble about to pop, and then he looks at me and smiles. He says, "He did. He did die for a reason." He smiles again and looks at me, waiting for me to get it. HE waits on ME to get it. His smile is confident and joyful, like a father that's playing a practical joke and waiting for the punchline to be revealed. And all at once his sins and my sins come rushing forth, everything he knows he does wrong, and everything I know I've done wrong, that day and before that day, flash in the blink of an eye, they bond in my head, and they commune together only to fall, completely forgiven. His eight words pull out the gratefulness I was longing to feel in my heart and brings it home with that amazing smile and confidence in His God, which gives me confidence in our God. We are One together in that moment, both sinners, and I am truly amazed at the wisdom of this child to remind me, me, an adult, strong and faithful, of the reason for Jesus's death. Yes, he got me. I smile back and we hug. We both know Jesus died for us. I stand up and begin to sing...or whisper really. My breath is gone as I am filled with thankfulness of my own stone being rolled away. As I reflect on our conversation, I realize I meant to say, "He was killed for no reason," alluding to John 15:25 when Jesus points out the scripture Psalms 35:19 is being fulfilled, "But this is to fulfill what is written in they Law: 'They hated me without reason,'" but I was using it in the wrong context. He's right, of course. Jesus did die for a reason-for Lathan, for you, and for me. I am thankful and hold this interaction between me and my son in my heart as I am delivered from my own selfishness.
The sermon that day, like all the other Sundays, is a word from God, and it touches my heart. I amazingly finally get to feel my own resurrection happen and I mentally step into my new life. God had spoken to me through the mouth of a child as well as through the mouth of a spiritual mentor. Lathan doesn't fuss in church again. We leave there and go to my in-laws house, and he's beautiful while there. He doesn't fuss the rest of the day, even as we left the grandparents and we make our hour and a half drive home. He has an incident at 9pm with his father that night, but recovers quickly, puts on a laughing smile, and comes to hug me while I read in bed. I ask him about it and he tells me he doesn't want to talk about it. I get it.
Happy Easter from ours to yours.
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