Giant Baby

Sam and Vava's favourite game lately is Giant Baby.

The idea of the game started back when Kachi first learned to crawl.  He would make his way over to the train track or car mat and grab Sam's car or Vava's train, then throw it across the room or shove it in his mouth.  Sam & Vava, lost in their miniature play world, would make their still-safe vehicles race away from the Giant Baby who was causing all the mayhem. Kachi, always eager to follow his siblings, would crawl after them, and they would shriek in delicious pretend-fright.

Now that he can run, and navigate stairs like a boss, they play this all the time. 

This afternoon, I was vacuuming the bedrooms, and Sam and Vava were running from Giant Baby.  Kachi was gleefully chasing them in and out of every room, clutching his ragged blankie in one hand and holding a monster truck in the other.  Sam's hair was full of sweat from running so hard, and Vava was pink-cheeked and sparkly-eyed.  The giggles and happiness and glad-we're-together-ness caught at my heart. 

I love my weird kids... especially in the way they love each other. 


And it gets me, because I have amazing sisters and a wonderful brother, and we have so many special, strange, shared moments and memories.  And I know there were occasionally times when I would have packed them up and traded them in for the peace and quiet and concentrated attention of single-childhood, but I am so glad that God placed me in my family, with my brother and sisters. 

And I feel the same way about my brothers and sisters in the church.  We get on each other's nerves sometimes, sure, and sometimes we have to have a talk with our Father, but together we have this inexplicable, beautiful, generous, joyful bond in Jesus ...

I'm so glad that God takes the lonely and places us in families (Psalm 68:6). 

Have fun celebrating Christmas together, friends. 

And if you're looking for a game to play, you probably can't go wrong with Giant Baby.

What I've Asked God for, for Christmas

I took the kids to the walk-in clinic at the end of our street today.  It turns out that Vava & Kachi have ear infections, so I'm glad we went, but it's always a little trying to keep three busy littles at a waiting-room level of appropriate behaviour.  It's especially hard lately, because the clinic is under construction, so half of the seating area is walled off.  There isn't extra space for driving toy cars or setting up the entire herd of plastic ponies you brought.  There definitely isn't any good space for a wagon or stroller to hang out.  So you know.  It's crammy.  And people are cranky, because they're already sick.

But our walk-in has the nicest staff on earth.  I am always grateful for their kindness and warmth.

On our way there, Sam asked if he could push Kachi's stroller.  I let him, but when we had to cross a busy street, I took over.  He was so upset.  He yelled and turned his back and refused to cross when traffic thinned.  I had to pull out the big guns and threaten to take his TV privileges away for the rest of the week before he finally, sulkily, came along.

Near the end of our visit, when both Sam and Vava had been examined and only Kachi remained, Patrick knocked on the door and joined us.  (I felt an angels-singing kind of relief, let me tell you!  2:3 is a much nicer ratio of parents to kids.)  He took the big littles home, and I was left in the relatively quiet presence of just one sick baby and gentle NP.

When we were all done, I was strapping Kachi back into his stroller, and the nurse practitioner mentioned she'd been outside on our way in, and had seen Sam pushing Kachi on the way to the clinic.  Embarrassment whooshed in, I could feel the red flooding my face as I remembered his tantrum and my angry response.

"What a helpful boy.  And I could tell he really loves his brother," she continued, eyes crinkled and smiling, warm, "he was so careful to steer around every single puddle."

Ohhhh my heart. Oh my cranky tired heart.

She was right.
She was so right.

We had looked at the same thing.
I saw Sam's disobedience and demand for control.
She saw his love for Kachi and his heart of service.

This is what I'm asking God for, for Christmas: eyes that see the best.  Eyes that see joy and beauty and love, no matter what kind of package it's wrapped in.  Eyes that see out past my own blustery agenda, eyes that see His heart reflected great and small.

I want those eyes.  Those are really lovely eyes.

I walked home quickly, pushing the stroller with the unencumbered ease of a mama who does not need to wait for toddler feet and toddler legs.  I saw Patrick and Sam and Vava just about to go inside, and called hello.  Soon, Sam came running toward me in his big winter boots.

"Hey mama," he asked, "can I push Kachi?"

You bet, kiddo.
You bet.

Come Ye To Bethlehem

O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant

O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem 

Come and adore Him, born the King of angels  

O come let us adore Him ...

Christ the Lord!

We sang that in church this week, and as always, it got me right in the heart.

Come to Bethlehem - come adoring - to see the arrival of Heaven's king, our king, right here with us.

That's my favourite part of this time of year.  Coming to Bethlehem, coming to kneel in starry-eyed gratitude at the feet of my Saviour.

I like to think about that little town, crowded and bursting with visitors, who had all rushed home for the census.  I can imagine it would have felt kind of like my hometown on Thanksgiving weekend - bumping into people you know, catching up on half-forgotten friends, distant relatives suddenly knocking at your door hoping for a warm meal and welcome.

The innkeeper would have been thrilled and filled and more than a little stressed out, sending servants left and right, and stretching his wits to find one more nook or cranny to tuck a bed.

I think kids would have been the first to have to give up their beds, bunking in with cousins in haylofts or spreading out blankets under the stars.  I imagine the starry sky hazed over with woodsmoke, as extra fires cooked extra meals; and the lineup at the village wells stretched long in the dark.

I can imagine myself there, distant family sleeping wall-to-wall throughout the house.  I picture stepping over aunts and uncles to check on the kids in their makeshift bed in the storeroom.  Patrick and I gave up our bed for Great Auntie, and spread blankets in the tiny kitchen, where we could enjoy the sweet luxury of sleeping alone.

I like to think that if I had wandered out into the night for a breath of cool air, and had seen that poor young mama come riding into town with birth pangs, I would have given up my makeshift kitchen bed too.  I would have lined a basket with towels, aprons, anything soft for that tiny new darling to sleep in, til morning would allow me to find our cradle.  I would have held water to her lips, and brought bread for that huge rush of hunger after the baby came.  I would have done what I could - even without knowing she was bearing the Son of God.

But if we had known?

The whole town would have shifted.  Someone bustling and officious would have arranged everyone's best things for Mary's comfort, for Jesus' well-being.  Donations would have poured in, volunteers would have thronged the place, and that mewling newborn cry would have been met with tender murmurs from a crowd of hopeful caregivers.

Of course, we didn't know.  And we weren't there.  And there was no room, no room at all, and Mary brought her baby into the world in a stable, and laid him in a manger.

The crazy and beautiful thing (one crazy and beautiful thing; there are so many) is that He counts it as if we did.  Whenever we reach out in love, in mercy, in justice, to serve the needy, He counts it as if we served Him.

Check out what He says in Matthew chapter 25, verses 31-46:
 “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.  And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’  And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.’
“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they also will answer, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?’ Then he will answer them, saying, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’  And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

In His eyes, we are in Bethlehem.  We do have a chance to serve Him, to wrap Him in warm clothes, to bring Him good food, to welcome Him, a stranger.  Every scrap of kindness, hospitality, mercy, justice we do - He appreciates it as if we were serving Him.  He aligns Himself with the needy - didn't He make Himself poor for our sake? - and honours any service we offer to those in need as if we gave to Him.

But He counts the opposite as unto Him, too.  When we choose not to give to the poor; when we ignore oppression and close our hearts to the hungry, the sick; when we close our door to those who seek refuge ... we do it as to Him.

I don't know about you, but there are times when I struggle to know what His will is in any given circumstance.  My fear, my selfishness, my laziness clouds the way.  But He leaves me no excuse when it comes to this.  It's really clear.  Keeping the Christ in Christmas looks an awful lot like - no, it looks exactly like - seeking out and helping all who need refuge.

Let that holy night in Bethlehem stir our hearts, Christians! Let us swing our doors wide and welcome the weary travelers however we possibly can.

#RefugeesWelcome.

For Topsy, in Memoriam

Grubby little treasure,
You were neither soft
Nor beautiful to behold.
Your list of accomplishments begins and ends with existence;
For no discernible reason, she loved you best.
She wore you thin with her pale hands by day
And cradled you between her long toes at night.
You, an ugly little scrap of wornosaurus
Triceraflops
Topsy, Baby, Precious Darling;
You three-horned lesson on unconditional love.

Three Ways

How To Love Kachi: Three Ways

1. Read any Dr. Seuss book aloud as quickly as you can.
2. Smell his feet and pretend they are woefully foul.
3. Let him splash unhindered in a full tub.

Kachi This Morning

My little nugget broke out a new word this morning. He walked up to the Christmas tree, reached for a light, and said, "sparkle!"
I love this smart darling.

Guest Post: The Difference We Make

Addressed to current arguments regarding Canada's decision to accept twenty five thousand refugees before Christmas.

 

Taking in twenty five thousand refugees before Christmas will not make a great difference in alleviating the suffering in the world. I could demonstrate this with gumballs. It would be more effective for us to help them where they are, you say. Those refugees should stay in their countries and work to make them better instead of bringing their problems to us.

 

But I wonder if you have considered what a difficult proposal that is.

 

Let us consider just the case of Syria. The combatants are Bashar Al-Assad’s government on one side and ISIL (or whatever) on the other side.

 

The west has been engaging in two ways: first by finding and arming groups of “moderate” insurgents and secondly with airstrikes. There has not, so far, been the political will in the west to fully engage on the ground. Add to that the fact that western military interventions have a history of making things worse and there is very little reason for refugees to stay.

 

The airstrikes are not enough. They may be disruptive and annoying, but they will not, by themselves, neutralize ISIL. Arming the “moderates” has proved difficult since they are now becoming increasingly difficult to find. Many “moderates” are now fighting on the side of ISIL while others have themselves become refugees, leaving their American supplied weapons in the hands of ISIL. It seems that Russia’s pragmatic strategy of supporting Bashar Al-Assad’s military against ISIL is the only coherent option in the muddle but the west finds this option unsavoury and politically untenable. Western allies have teamed with Iraqi Kurds to fight against ISIL, which is an attractive option because supporting the Kurds does not strengthen Bashar Al-Assad’s government. What many forget, however, is that while the Kurds are allies in Syria and Iraq, the United States government considers Kurdish groups in Turkey to be terrorists because of the PKK’s independence movement in that country. Without getting too deep into it, supporting any Kurdish groups indirectly supports terrorism because the Kurds in Syria, Iraq, and Turkey all have the same goal: an independent Kurdish state carved out from the territories of those three states (of course, nobody cares about the territory this Kurdish state will carve out of Syria and Iraq). Furthermore, the Kurds are no friends of the Syrian people, and will not move into ISIL-controlled Syrian territory as “liberators”.

 

So Syria’s “Moderates” are caught between the government of Bashar Al-Assad, supported by Russia on one side and ISIL on the other. Also consider that some of the other actors in the area are Iranian proxies and the Iranian-supported terrorist organization,Hezbollah. Do you propose that Syria's "Moderates" arm themselves with sticks and stones to fight against both their government and ISIL? Even if they were armed and supported by the West, their chances of success are slim. These are civilians—even the men among them—not trained soldiers. The more fanatical or the more steadfast among them might fight but even making contact with representatives of the West to procure weapons and training is difficult and has its own risks. The rest, if they stay, risk having their neighbourhoods bombed by government airstrikes, bulldozed by government tanks or ravaged and burned by terrorists. Or maybe they already have lost their homes, maybe they have already tried fighting. For many—not all, certainly, but many—the options are few; they see leaving the area as the best they can do.

 

What would you do? Would you stay and fight, knowing your wife and children would have to stay too? Or would you send your wife and children alone to risk the journey across thousands of unfriendly miles by foot and boat while you stay behind to fight for your country—even though you don’t know what a good outcome might be in that fight or that one is even possible? You might stay, but you certainly could not fault your neighbours for leaving.

 

You say we should help them where they are, but how? Do you want your government to move the ground forces and machinery it would take to beat back ISIL? And even then, we’d still have the miry problem of Bashar Al-Assad’s government, supported by Russia. So far, the overwhelming majority of westerners do not want their governments to engage on the ground. Canada’s government has decided to remove its fighter-bombers from the fight, choosing instead to send more trainers on the ground to team up with the Kurds. Both the airstrikes and the training are token measures. Nothing we’re doing so far is helping the Syrian “Moderates” and there are no good options for us to begin to help them where they are—at least none that are politically viable. Airstrikes are not enough, as stated previously, it would take a comprehensive ground war to make Syria safe again. So Canada’s decision to remove its fighter-bombers from the fight is just as good a decision as any. Especially since Canadian airstrikes have been blamed for causing civilian casualties.

 

Do you oppose the decision to remove the fighter-bombers because you are not interested, really, in helping anybody, you just want to feel like you’re doing something without having to give them refuge here?

 

Do we really want to be on the side that turns away those who seek refuge? We’ve been there before—in the 1930s Canada turned away boatloads of refugees from Europe who later died in the ocean—and it is an embarrassment to us. In the 1930s Nazi Germany offered its unwanted to any country that would take them and all the countries of the west politely declined. In our defense, you say, we didn’t know what was going on! Yes, we didn’t know because we didn’t care to know.

 

There’s so little we can do in the form of effective solutions for the Syrian people in Syria. The best we can do for them is let them come. We are a country of immigrants. It makes no sense for us, who happened to have the good fortune of coming here earlier, to turn away those who would come after us.

 

To take in the refugees may not make a great difference compared to the many, many millions who will remain suffering outside our borders but it will make a vast difference for those we let in and it's the only option that makes a permanent difference without engaging the military.

Booka Booka Booka

Kachi loooves books.  He walks around the house with them, saying, "booka booka booka!" He's even started taking them to bed. ♡
That's my boy!

Twilight Milestones

What do you do when your brave daughter decides today is the day she is getting rid of her soother, because she is a big girl and it's Twilight Sparkle's birthday?
You make a cake and celebrate and maybe you cry a little bit when she's not looking because growing up is hard and she makes it look beautiful.

Make Me A Sammich!

This afternoon, Sam asked if he could make himself a sandwich ... and made one. It was the first time he's done that, and it hit me like a ton of bricks ... my baby is growing up.

Here he is, goofing around with his very own sandwich.

And Vava had a tea party with her "pony pones." Natch.

Gotta Have Goals

Tonight I asked Sam what he wants to be when he grows up.  His answer is so perfectly him:  "I want to be a big police officer, who catches butterflies so the mean guys can't get them."

And Vava, "I'm a pony unicorn, who grows up into a WO-bot!"  

Because Vava :).

How You Know

Sam, to Vava, on falling in love:
You will smile and they will smile and their eyes will start to shine and you just  know that you love them so much.
And you will love each other forever.