Wednesday, July 15, 2009

it's been a while since I've had one of these mornings

I put Carter down around 11—he’d been up since 5:30, so I figured an early naptime would work.

He played for a while and then started calling, “Mommy! Mommy!” I called his name back, but he wouldn’t stop.

So, I went into his room and he’s standing in the corner of his crib, pointing at the black poop that was smeared all over his bedsheets.

After his shower, load of laundry and change of sheets, I put him back into his crib.

Take 2.

I’m in the garage, looking for some random tools and I hear Carter crying. Just for a little bit.

He’s okay, I thought. The cry even sounds a bit fake.

Then, I hear him, a little louder than he should be. Knocking on his bedroom door, yelling, “Hello!!”

I go to his room and sure enough, he’s right behind the door.

I screamed.

He cried.

My mind is spinning—Carter can now climb out of his crib. What am I going to do when I need a shower? Or, when he needs “quiet time” with his books? I guess I have to bolt all of his furniture to the wall now—there’s no guaranteeing I can supervise him in the room all the time now.


I feed him lunch because we’ve missed the early nap window. Change his diaper, wrap his hand up (another story) and wonder how he’s gonna nap.

I remember this great contraption that we used a lot when Carter was younger--Baby Jail. So, I find it, put it up in his room, drop him in and wait to see if he can figure this thing out. He stays put, but commences to cry. Loudly.

Take 3.

The crying doesn’t stop as soon as I thought it would. I go back to his room, pick him up, and rock him. He refuses to let sleep overtake him.

So, only 2 ½ hours after my first attempt to get Carter to sleep, I’m hunched in the corner of Baby Jail, knees held to my chest, patting my son’s back as he fights to fall asleep on the carpet.

Take 3 worked.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Hidden Jesus

There is a Jesus and a Gospel that is hidden from most of us because most of us cannot see Him through the lens of our life-experience.

We read about the poor inheriting the earth, faith like a mustard seed, and the little children dancing about Jesus’ feet and sentiments as sweet as Precious Moments images are stirred.

It’s all very sweet and endearing and we chalk Jesus and his life’s message up to a Christian version of Ghandi or Oprah. His message was just another version of the Golden Rule.

The Hidden Jesus awaits our discovery.

He is there, loudly denouncing unrepentant cities in Matthew 11.

He is there, aggravating the established religious authorities in Matthew 12.

He is there, passing out invitations to the Royal Banquet to street rats and prostitutes in Matthew 22.

He called their bluff.

He said only a few would follow.

He offended.

He crossed racial, socio-economic and cultural boundaries.

He healed a leper by touching him.

He gave kingdom-rights to the poor.

He didn’t come home for dinner.

He submitted to death.

He overcame death.

The Hidden Jesus awaits our discovery.

And it’s only when we obey the few truths we’ve heard, that He will show himself to us. That true revelation will be ours. That a knock on the door of our hearts will be heard and a Guest will present himself for dinner.

You can read and read and read.

But until you obey with what you know, Hidden Jesus will remain.