May 13, 2018

Not-so-little piggies

My kids were getting ready for bed a few weeks ago when Jack told me he had a cut on his foot that he wanted me to look at. I told him to go get in bed and I'd come up and look at it in a minute. As I finished what I was doing in the kitchen and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, I had no idea what I was about to encounter.

I sat on the edge of his bed and asked to see his foot when suddenly, a giant man-foot plopped onto my lap. I stared at it for a what seemed like an hour, until Jack said, "Mom, what's wrong?" I looked at him, and then his foot, and then back at him, just to make sure that this lower extremity truly belonged to my little boy. This was not the foot of a little boy. It was the foot of a young adult.

When did this happen? When did his sweet baby feet disappear? I missed it. The transition came and left without any notice at all.

You know what? I can't remember the last time I played "this little piggie" with his toes. I mean, I know there was a final time, but I can't remember it. When I was sending that last little piggie home yelling "wee wee wee" I had no idea it would never happen again. I can't grab his big toe and send it to the market now, because that would be weird. (Right? It would be weird. I can't do that, can I? I didn't think so. Thanks for keeping me on track.)

The days are long, but my kids are growing faster than I can keep up with. It's painful to think about all of the "lasts" that will come and go, many without notice. Please don't get me started on the upcoming 5th grade graduation (just speaking the words "middle school" gives me anxiety).

Fortunately, the "lasts" still have plenty of "firsts" to make up for them.

March 31, 2018

Easter Saturday

During a conversation tonight about Easter, we were talking about the day before and how little we talk about it. Jack said, "The disciples had it bad, because they didn't know what was going to happen. They just thought it was over."


The disciples had just seen their leader murdered. They had been defeated. The uprising that had been gaining so much momentum had come to an aburpt halt. They were hiding, fearful that they might be next.

During this conversation, Jack said, "If that were me, I'd probably be wondering if I'd just been following some crazy guy this whole time."


I wonder if the disciples spent that sabbath questioning whether or not anything they thought they knew for sure was true.

I wonder if they contemplated whether or not they should continue to pursue this movement they'd felt so passionate about just last week. Jesus told them his death was coming, and said it wouldn't be the end. But he was laying in a tomb, so . . . what now?

I wonder if there was any bitterness about the fact that things didn't turn out the way they thought they were going to. They knew this leader was different, but they had no frame of reference for THIS being a part of the plan.

I love Holy Saturday, because it feels familiar. Real. Raw. The questioning and bitterness. The defeat.

I have an advantage, though. I know what happened the next day and I can cling to that, because nothing will change the fact that Jesus has risen. There was meaning made from catastrophe, the world forever changed.