I Want to Remember...

My brain just can't keep up anymore. I know it, I acknowledge it, I own it. There are lists everywhere. I am no longer embarrassed at having to ask someone to re-introduce themselves after a 5-minute conversation. I don't care that I can't find my glasses or my keys. "I'm a homeschooler. I have four kids. I don't sleep well. I'm middle-aged." (whatever...)

I try to keep current journals for each of my kids. Recording the daily stuff was the original intention. HA! I do well to write once or twice a year. Trying to do better these days. The start of school always brings about these lofty goals that I set for myself. I actually think I'm going to do better this year with the journaling. (double "ha"...)

Both of those reasons are why I sometimes record the things my kids do here, on this blog. I will not remember so much of what they've done, and I do a terrible job with the journaling. There are some things I just never want to forget, and some things I think you will get a laugh out of!

Some Things I Wanted to Share

We're working our way through the winter clothes. Piles of them are everywhere. Trying them on two little guys, seeing what fits and what needs to be passed on.

Had my 7-year old trying on shirts; tossed him a black one, long-sleeved, plain. One he wore last year, loved it. It's well worn, so soft.

He took one look at it and said, "Oh, Mom! I could never wear this!"

"What's wrong with it? You wore it all last year. It was one of your favorites!"

"But Mom, if I wore this, I'd be all... well... goth!!"

I couldn't help laughing, which brought about a hurt response from him. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No, sweetie! I just can't think of what to say! I'm just startled!"

"What? Did you not recognize that I knew that word?" He was laughing at this point. Pointed his finger at his 13-year-old brother as the one who introduced him to that idea.

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A couple of nights ago, I went in to kiss the two little guys goodnight. They'd been in bed for about 10 minutes and were almost asleep. The 7-year-old (again, him!) grabbed my neck and told me over and over how much he loved me (don't get that all the time from him!).

I asked him to please, please, don't ever stop telling me how much he loved me.

He promised he would never, ever quit telling me.

"Even when you're 16?"

"Mom, I'll never, ever stop telling you how much I love you! Ever! Well... except when you're dead. Because, well... then you can't hear anymore." (duh!)

It's so hard not to laugh. He's not trying to be funny, and laughter on my part hurts & will probably dry up the amazing comments!

He continues in a serious tone: "Mom, how come people in Heaven can't hear us?" (We're reading through a book right now where a girl talks to her grandmother in Heaven. Sweet idea, but she doesn't pray to God. She asks her grandmother, instead, for guidance. Trying to keep my boys focused on truth, so we've talked about how it's just a story, that people in Heaven aren't listening to us, that we need to talk to God instead. This has obviously been on his mind!)

My answer: "Honey, I don't know for sure if people in Heaven can hear us or not. I don't think they can. I don't see why they'd want to!"

"But Mom, when you die, how will you hear me telling you I love you?"

I'm no longer laughing. Instead, I just want to roll this little (but so big) guy up into a ball, pack him away with some magical "spell" that keeps him from ever getting any older, just keep him here, at 7 years old. Here with his sweet ways and fun comments and warm kisses and massive hugs, brown eyes and two missing front teeth, lack of self-consciousness and a laugh that causes everyone around him to pause and giggle.

With tears starting to sting my eyes, I tell him that, when I get to Heaven, I will lay on the ground and listen as hard as I can. And I want him to go outside and yell as loud as he can, yell up to the sky, tell me he loves me and say "Hi!"

"And when you get to Heaven, I'll let you know if it worked, okay?"

Sleep is close by. The eyelids are barely staying open. "Okay, Mom."

I hold his sweet face in my hands and make him look at me. "Sweetheart, come to Heaven, okay? Come to Heaven with me."

He smiles, and rolls over.

I go into the bathroom, and the tears begin to flow freely. Because I know that I can plead with him all day and not get him through that narrow gate. I will plead with him, in earnest. Over and over.

But the One Who (alone) can save him is the One I need to talk to right now. He is the One Who will take my tears and my prayers for my sweet little guy and work them for good in my heart. He is the One Who has the power to bring my little one Home. His ears are not deaf, and He has granted me access to His listening presence (amazing!). So I go to Him and plead for my son.

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A week or so ago, we were eating lunch. Out of nowhere, Jake pipes up:

"Mom, do John Wayne love Jesus?"

What? I mean, excuse me?

"Do John Wayne love JE-sus??" (as in, "Come on, Mom, simple question here!")

This was funny, profound and startling. And reassuring on some basic, organic gut-level. My son from Vietnam is "getting it" to some degree. There's John Wayne (window into our family life), and there's Jesus. John Wayne is obviously some important guy, and Jake knows that loving Jesus is important. He's hoping for the best.

I mumble-stumble through you-can-never-judge-another-person's-heart, don't know for sure about John Wayne. On top of that, John Wayne is dead.

Sorry, Buddy -- don't have your answer! But I am so thankful that you're connecting dots. That your wheels are spinning.

I'm trusting whatever it is that God is doing, having faith in what I don't yet see.

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Thank you for reading what I don't want to forget. Now if I could just keep up with my keys...