sniff, sniff

Tonight as we were finishing up our Thanksgiving craft (making candles--don't buy the machine), my 4 1/2 year old daughter looked up at me with real tears in her eyes.

"Mommy," Keona said softly, "I'm crying because I think I FINALLY found the man I'm going to marry. After ALL THESE YEARS I think I'm going to marry Chandler." sniff, sniff.

What a relief :-)

"No, it's not my favorite."

Tonight my 10 year old son decided he wanted to round up some of his things to give to "the poor." This isn't unusual for Jonathan. His gift of compassion for the poor has been tangible since he was a pre-schooler.

What always leaves me speechless though is what he wants to give away. Tonight he went to his favorite lamp: a papermache' Saturn. Jonathan loves the planets and this is truly one of his treasures. We get to this point and I'm stumped. I purge the kids toys and clothes quarterly and take things over to the community thrift store, so what is left are things they truly use and enjoy.

But I do not possess his gift. How do I cultivate and protect a heart that is more generous than mine? Jonathan truly does not care about things. He never has. Even his prize iMac is a means to an end--he wants to make movies to rent or sell and raise money to help the poor.

This time I suggested that he consider other toys. "This remote-controlled truck?" I ask. "No." But not because he likes it too much or doesn't want to part with it. "No, it doesn't work as well as it used to and it's not right to give things to the poor that aren't your best."

"Okay," I continue, "how about this set of lincoln logs." "No," he says, "it's not my favorite."

Thirty minutes later Jonathan has accumulated a stack of favorites: clothes, toys, computer CDs, beautiful books. Tonight I have to think and pray about what to allow him to give away and what to suggest he keep and why. He'll ask. And I want to make sure my answer strenthens (as opposed to stagnates) his gifts and leaves unsoiled a spirit that I have so very much to learn from.

I ran into a skunk today

I hit a skunk on the way home from piano lessons tonight. That should be all I have to say about my day. It was a skunk-hitting day.

But my dear webmaster wants me to practice blogging l-o-n-g-e-r entries to check out the system. So here’s the amplified version to “I hit a skunk today.”

My hubby always says not to swerve when a critter crosses the road. Stop if you can but if there’s any chance you might lose control (as if that hasn’t already happened), hold the wheel firmly and keep going straight ahead. I was doing 50 on a curvy road so I placed my hand over my mouth (why?) and kept going and heard that sound.

I had two immediate thoughts. First, was it a mommy skunk and did I just leave orphaned baby skunks quaking in the bushes????? Second, how is it possible that the skunk managed to spray my car at 50 miles an hour! My car smells worse than my dog Tozer and that’s saying something.

I named him Tozer for the same reason I named our first dog Selah. It was supposed to be PROPHETIC. These dogs were supposed to manifest a contemplative life of stillness and silence. But the only thing they tend to be contemplative and silent about is rolling in cow dung. They reek. I should have named them dung and dunger.

But back to the skunk. I’m pretty sure it’s dead. I’m absolutely certain my car stinks. And yes, I've thought several times about heading back to check the bushes...