My Birthday Box

Remember the stories of our past, can be stories that have you rolling on the floor with laughter, deep serious conversations, or stories that you wish you did not have in a chapter of your life.  I have been asked, and I have asked the question, "what are some of your fondest memories of Christmas past?"  Given the  dramatics of my childhood one might thing I run for cover when asked this question.  There is one story I like to tell.  In telling it, it reminds me of a  young girl who loved Jesus and trusted.  A young girl that could turn what most would think tragic into a party.  If you know me, you know I love little parties.  When I think of this story, I smile, even now as I write I smile. Did God design me as a party girl, even at the age of nine years old?

It was December 21, 1974.  I woke up to a special day.  No one said Happy Birthday.  My mother was in one of her deep dark depressions.  Days when she did not get out of bed and the curtains closed.  I got dressed and found my favorite shirt. It was easy to find, I had very few.  My older two sisters always ran out the door earlier. I gathered my younger sister and we walked to school.  She said "Happy Birthday" and we walked the four blocks to school.  It was not often that my birthday came on a school day. Typically school was on holiday, and my birthdays would quietly pass, but today was P.A.R.T.Y. day.  Our class Christmas party.

Mrs. Davidson had Barbara Streisand on the record player singing Christmas songs.  The room was decorated and I went to my desk.  Mrs. Davidson came over to me excited, she asked, "Did you give the note to your mom?  Is she going to come  for the party and bring treats to celebrate your birthday?"  I never gave her the note. I did not want her to feel bad that she could not come that day, or any day.  "She is sick today," is all I said and Mrs. Davidson's smile faded.  Mine did not fade. I knew every word of Barbara's Christmas Album.  I found my friends and the party was getting started.  We said the pledge to the flag, and then we were handed out our crafts for the day.  Mrs. Davidson gave us boxes to decorate, this way we could take our boxes home and put something in them for our parents. 

The day went on with merriment and soon it was time for the treats and parents to show up. It was a party like I had never seen. Plates of cookies, cupcakes, candy-canes, chocolates.  I collected all that I could and neatly placed my treats into my box.  There were Christmas pencils, and glitter pens, and even super balls with Christmas sparkle.  All fit tightly into my little box.  Sometime during that day, Mrs. Davidson had me come up and put the birthday hat on me. For five minutes it was my very own party.  Everyone sang Happy Birthday.  The teacher got her paddle and pretended to spank me, and then she hugged me tight.  Poke her fingers into my dimples, like she did almost every single day and told me I was a terrific kid.  I am not sure those were her exact words, but words that made me feel ten feet tall.  A P.A.R.T.Y.

The party did not end there. I carefully carried my box home. I hid it from my sisters and brother.  I gathered some of my stuffed friends in a bag and then went into the field next to our house. It was bitter cold outside, but today, was going to be the first day I remember being responsible for my joy and happiness.  I sat in the field and laid out my stuffed friends and a favorite doll.  I took my decorated box of treats out and served up the treats to my party attenders. I thanked Jesus for loving me and giving me such a wonderful birthday to celebrate.  A nine year old girl, out in the cold enjoying her party.  It brought me so much joy.

When Emily was three years old, her birthday started with all her stuffed friends gathered around a box.  In her room on the floor I collected her favorite animals. I bought little gifts and placed them in the box, and she could wake to the joy of her birthday.  A tradition that started when I was nine years old, a gift to myself when no one really noticed or cared turned into treasures and fun for my own children.

I do not grieve that little nine  year old girl that did not get birthday parties or notice of a special day. Rather I take joy in knowing that Jesus showed up in my life, brought joy to me, and I could see it, even at the age of nine.  Many have situations and circumstances that are hard.  A time of  year when we get asked the questions of Christmas past.  There is joy in this season.  We have to take responsibility for owning that joy and then passing it along.  I did not live in a home that was filled with merriment and cheer. My home was dark that year, no presents under the tree, no Christmas dinner served, yet today I think it's the most memorable because I saw Jesus blessing me in ways that only a nine year old girl would understand on her birthday.  Now a mother of many kids, so far three nine year old kids on my resume of mothering I see that they see Jesus in their lives too.  He is waiting, He is there holding that box of whatever you want to put into it.  Merry Christmas Friends, Love Elizabeth

Eric the merric

I have wanted to blog about Eric for the past couple of weeks. It's birthday season in our house and I really should be blogging on Emerson who turned three in February, but yesterday was Eric's birthday and so his name is at the top of the list.

Eric is the forgotten child. He does not mind on most days. When he was two years old we had a family meeting with the older kids. Basically to say that we each need to take time each day to draw Eric out. Eric is so content and happy wherever he is. He demands very little from anyone. Thus very easy to forget about. He is articulate. Always has been. He takes the world in, and then spits it back out in his own creative way. If left to himself he would be fine all day long. He is a lover of life, every single part of it and does not miss a beat. He goes off into his own world of play. Often I will respond to something he is saying and he lets me know he was not talking to me. Sometimes I even tease him a little knowing he is in his world of imagination and still responding to him.

He loves like no other. Loves and lets you know it, loves with his words, his arms, and his genuine acts of kindness. He's fair, he's a peacemaker. He is passionate to learn more about Jesus, what He might think or feel.

I have said for years that Eric is a carbon copy of his oldest brother Elliot. I was told on many occasions that Elliot was autistic. Elliot, like Eric will pull away from the crowd and watch. Eric, like Elliot is a friend to the down and out. This is about Eric, but perhaps had I not had Elliot I would have fallen into the labels placed on children who seem to appear a little off. Now at five years old Eric is Eric and no one would think him to be off. He is just one of those kids who finds passion, concentration, and excitement for what he is doing. He will go into long explanations of what is going on in his head concerning a project he is working on.

My most precious times of each day is quiet time. Emerson naps,Ethan is in school and so Eric has me all to himself for the better part of two hours. I need to have some down time too, so often this time is used for reading time. Eric gets to choose as many books as he wants, which is typically 4 or 5 books. We read together and then he hangs onto his special blanket and I will read my own book. Within minutes he is off into sleepy-land snuggled close to me.

Eric is five years old and is so amazing. Each child is so different. Eric has a calm temperament and most people find him to be so delightful. Never pressing on a nerve. I love that Eric does know when to assert himself. He is in between to very willful brothers and he is no push over.

Eric, papa was reminding you last night, while we ate our clown ice cream cones from B&R that you were so calm when you were first born. Kids love hearing over and over their birth story. Even today you are so calm. I love you, love who you are today, and pray over who you will become with each passing month. The world may not always be nice, but Jesus will protect your heart always.

Can a mother have greater joy than to watch her children growing up and enjoying life. Happy 5Th Birthday Eric.

Happy 21st Birthday Elliot

This young man came into my life 21 years ago. For those of you who have had babies, how does a 45 minute delivery sound? May sound good, but totally eliminated any options for a spinal block.

Elliot has been the delight of my life. He is very passionate about things that are important to him. He wears his emotion on his very stylish sleeves and has never been hindered by what other's may think of him. He will be the first one to extend a hand to a stranger. He is blessed musically and walks in favor and humility of our Lord Jesus. When Elliot was two years old we were crossing a big street. Holding my hand and in the middle of the side walk he told me that he wanted to make sure everyone around him would hear about Jesus. I use to sing to him "into my heart, into my heart, come into my heart Lord Jesus". When he was three years old he asked what that song meant. That day in the car he accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior. When he was 15 years old and made the decision to be baptized, he referenced that song and said his mother lead him to Christ. I don't say this to draw attention away from Elliot to myself, only to say mother's you may never know the impact you will have on your children's hearts.

Elliot loves to wrestle with his brothers, process his life outward into the wee hours of the night with his sister and seeks council and wisdom from those whose life are a living example around him. He is noted as the question asker from every school he has ever attended. Always asking questions to learn, and for clarity. He walks this home with a guitar in hand and will join a discussion with the beautiful music playing for background. I truly miss that while he is away at school.

How does a mother begin to share the blessings of one fine young man. I only share a little. Enough to know that this is one twenty one year that makes me feel very young as he still believes in holding his mother's hand when crossing in the middle of the street. Happy Birthday Elliot.