ash wednesday

Ash wednesday is here again, and it is still just as hard on this mother's heart as it has ever been.

It is an odd thing for Christians to take time out to observe this kind of holiday. I do not believe I have seen a secular adaptation of Ash Wednesday at Walmart.   The world may be able to make its own version of Fat Tuesday, Easter and Christmas by subtracting substance and adding bright colors and materialism, but it is hard, even for the best marketing experts, to make a holy day that focuses on our mortality something that will sell.

Today my little girls will come home from school with ashes on their heads.  They will have heard those words,  "From dust you are, to dust you shall return." They will have heard them from the lips of their own father, and have received a reminder of this awful truth from the same hand that feeds them.  They will sport the black reminder of it on their foreheads all day long, but it will likely be forgotten to them, as they rush home to show me their special papers and cheerfully devour whatever it is I set out for an after-school snack.

But I will not forget.  The ashes on those pretty young heads shout to me, and tell me things I would rather not hear.  Especially those ashes smudged on the forehead of Aggie, whose life we will never take for granted.  Will her tumor return this year?  Will she return to dust even before I do?

This holiday cannot be sold without Jesus.  This reality, death itself, cannot be conquered without Him.  But He has conquered it for us, and with the church we look forward to the day when fear and dread will be no more. 

And so, even on this holiday of death, even in this world covered in death, we can sleep in peace.  Whether we are speaking of sleep in our beds or sleep in the grave, we take refuge in the one place that is safe:  in the blood of our Savior, Jesus Christ, poured out for our sins.

I shall lie down and sleep in peace, 

for You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

Psalm 4:8

Today, we just survived!

Mommy, my tummy hurts so bad!  My tummy wants you to come and sit by me!

It has been a long and germ-filled day in the Cook house today.  Nothing like a little bit of sickness to remind me how selfish I am!  Nothing serious, just a bit of stomach flu for some, horrid coughs for others, pneumonia for the pastor, and cooped-up super energy for the ones without the ailments.  When the germs hit, I start out sympathetic and doting, but add in a headache for mama, and forget it! I am just plain all out of compassion by the end of the day! (Before the end of the day today!)  I hate those days when you work all day to meet needs and still nobody's satisfied at the end of it!

To wind down, I am indulging in a hobby of mine, and you can probably guess what it is!  Wow, now I have two blogs to play with when I want to neglect other things, yahoo!  I changed my Queenmommie background  to better coordinate with my springtime feelings, and just wait until you see what I can do with labels...  coming soon!  I know you are as excited as I am!

I think I'd better get to bed.

I am too tired to enumerate to the Lord exactly what I need to get through the day tomorrow, but I assume He knows I am all out of all of it.  I pray He will provide whatever it is I need as I sleep tonight.  How good that He is generous to me when I am empty of generosity.  

Into Your hands, O Lord, and into my bed, O head.

Report from the CDC

A mother from a small town in Indiana had an unsettling experience this morning. Upon waking, she discovered her son Eldon had evacuated his stomach contents in his bed during the night. Later that morning much to her surprise, the little boy's pillow pet also lost its stomach contents in the washing machine.



Initial reports indicate the pillow pet may have contracted a viris from his sick owner. If this is the case, it would be the first documented incident of person-to-pillow-pet contamination. Government officials are beginning an investigation. Until official finding are released, all persons owning pillow pets are urged to use proper handwashing precautions around all sick children and sick pillow pets, and to follow carefully all washing instructions for both little boys and pillow pets.

The little boy is unaware of the pillow pet's critical condition, and will be sheltered from the dreadful event until "dog dog's" prognosis is confirmed. Medical officials expressed tentative hope that the pillow pet will make a full recovery after his surgery, scheduled for this afternoon.

To my oldest son on his fifth birthday,

Before my eyes, my third baby becomes a little man. You are the oldest of the stay-at-home children right now, the biggest big brother, and my most reliable helper.


Your body and your brain grow stronger each day, and you can't wait to use them both in Kindergarten next year. I am excited for you too, even though I know that school will change everything for you. It will make your life more complicated, and your small world so much bigger.

You and I have a complicated relationship already, don't we, my son? You love and adore me like most little boys and their mothers.... and yet, already you wonder how in the world a kid like you could come from a mother like me. Truth be told, I sometimes wonder too, and often credit (or blame) your father.



You have a wonderfully analytical brain, a brain that works in ways utterly foreign to your mother. It is a brain that comes up with questions constantly, questions that already puzzle me on a daily basis. You care about things mechanical and scientific, and you are very detail-oriented. You have discovered that your mother is none of these things. "I don't know honey, that's a daddy question," I say frequently. So I have only myself to blame for your chauvinism: the kind I saw the day you actually withheld your question from me, and then quietly reminded yourself, "Oh that's right, only just daddies know stuff, not mommies."



You taught yourself to read this year, and are trying to learn to spell every word on the planet. I can actually help you in this area, so I do my best to spell as you command me. When you get tired of spelling, you switch to math. Sometimes you follow me around the house with a calculator, asking "Mommy what's 9+9? What's 7 + 8?" When I give you a right answer, I see you are greatly impressed with me, so I have decided that we should linger in this stage for a little longer. I will continue to answer those questions correctly for a few more weeks, thus becoming a bit more respectable in your eyes, before I let you learn about numbers with double digits.


To my relief, you also care about food, so I still have that reliable way into your heart. You were very appreciative of your backwards dinner today: the Spiderman birthday cake, followed by shells and cheese and brats, per your request. Perhaps daddy knows stuff, but mommy cooks stuff, and that definitely counts for something!



You and Marcus were watching Spiderman the movie last week, and I happened to pass by at one of the kissing scenes. I teased, "Oooh, boys, Spiderman is kissing a girl! What do you think of THAT?" I expected your reply to be either blushes or gags, but instead, you said to me, "Mommy me and Marcus are Spiderman, and we just rescued you from that building. Now it's time to give you a kiss." You crawled up on my lap, kissed me on the cheek, and smiled proudly.

My dear son, I am happy to be the woman in your life for just a little bit longer.

Happy fifth birthday, Seth!
Love, mommy

she SO means what she says!

"Mommy, mommy please please can I go?"

"Alright, I guess you can go, if you will behave..."

"I WILL behave mommy! I will Be-SO-have!"

Can't have anything nice...

Our DVD player has been acting funny lately. So we wondered, is it just getting old, or might there be something else going on?

Josh took it apart to investigate, and as he was cleaning it out he discovered THREE extra DVDs (or, to be exact, 2 dvds and one Wii game) had been crammed inside it.

Why you looking at me?

Temptation

"Wise, esteemed older brother, what say you of this curious phenomenon? Do mine eyes deceive, or is it indeed a gift to us from the highest heaven?"

"Ah, yes, my young apprentice, that is something exceedingly precious. Our mother calls it "No No," and decries its messiness, but alas, she blasphemes! But behold, we must be wise in our approach, as her eyes are in every place."

"I see, Teacher, but what then shall we do? The entity pulls me towards it with mysterious gravity, and I find myself unable to resist its overtures."

"Indeed, she beckons me as well. We needent wait long, young one. Let us begin with innocent rock throwing, and await the moment when our immersion can be conceived as accidental. "

Weak and Loved part 2

My children have a distorted view of me. For one thing, they don't mind when I sing. This is because they don't really know how bad I am, though I am pretty sure Seth already has suspicions.

For the little ones at home with me every day, I am the biggest and best thing in their world. I am the Fixer of All Things Broken, the Filler of All Stomachs Empty, the Cleaner of All Things Dirty, the Finder of All Things Lost. I can extinguish conflicts with one hand, tickle away tears, and revive favorite toys with a mere battery, all while making yummy cupcakes. I am mom, and so, I am the Meeter of All Needs.

To be honest, I like thinking of myself this way too. I like to pretend I am strong, that I am one who is always giving and never has to receive anything from anyone. I might say that's not true, but I still try to live like it is.

For example, how often do I actually ask for help? I mean really ask, not hint, not attempt to project loud thoughts, not angrily imagine my husband can read my mind but chooses to ignore me, but ask with real words and humility? Can I admit, out loud, that I am not the Meeter of All Needs, but am myself poor and needy? Do I have to be at the end of my rope before I can say out loud what everyone else around me already knows-- that I cannot do it all?

If my kids (and I) were right about my superpowers, I would never find myself floored by a stomach bug or depression. I would never be out of patience or simply burned out. And yet, when these things happen, I am always surprised. I fight against weakness, and try to deny it, as if I really am supposed to be the Superhero that my kids think I am.

But I am not, as my children imagine, all-sufficient, all-knowing, all-loving, and all-powerful. There is One who is, and I need Him just as badly as they do. How good it is to be loved by a God who cares for needy children.

But as for me, I am poor and needy;

may the Lord think of me.

You are my help and my deliverer;

you are my God, do not delay.

Psalm 40:17

* Weak and Loved *