Tonight we took Austin out for his 16th birthday. He already had a party with friends last weekend, and he will be having another get together with friends later this weekend, but Mark told him tonight was for family, and, "Whatever and wherever you want to go to eat - your choice - we'll go." Austin is funny this way, but he's always afraid that we'll overspend on him. For example, a few weeks ago when Mark was working late, I took the kids to an old-fashioned drive-in restaurant. As we stood in line trying to pick ice cream flavors, he said to me, "Mom, I'll just get one scoop, because I don't want to waste dad's money. He works hard for it." I said, "Actually, tonight it's money from my work. So you get what you want." He said he was now even more sure that he'd get a cheaper ice cream cone. As he said this, the cute girl behind the counter who was serving ice cream said, "That's the sweetest, most respectful thing I've maybe ever heard a guy say." I guess I take it for granted. He's almost always like that, which is at the same time nice and a little annoying. Like tonight. He didn't want us to spend too much money on him so he asked to go to Fiesta Cancun. I said, "Didn't dad tell you that you could pick the steak house?" (He lives for steak.) He said, "Yeah, but..." I said, "But it costs too much?" He replied, "Yeah." Levi piped up, "Yay, Austin. Good choice! I love the chips at Fiesta Cancun!" Austin and I talked back and forth about the fact that it was fine to go either place, but if he was only picking Fiesta Cancun because it was cheaper, it was the wrong reason to pick it. (You only turn 16 once, after all.) Levi bounced over to me and whispered loudly, "You know, you shouldn't argue with Austin on his birthday! I like the chips at Fiesta Cancun." Well, despite some salsa-related ulterior motives, Levi was giving good advice... don't argue with the birthday boy. Austin said, "We're not arguing, Levi. We're just discussing something." (Maybe he's heard that a time or two.) Long story short, after his dad assured him again that he could go wherever he wanted, he decided on the local steak house.
I think he regretted his choice every moment from when we walked in the door to when we walked out of it stuffed full, with three big styrofoam containers full of leftovers, and spoiling for a fight. You see, we don't take our kids to fancy restaurants. We don't believe in spending $10/meal for people who will eat the garnishes instead of the meal and who wear the triangle-folded napkins on their heads while shouting, "Arghhh, mayteee... avast ye... land ho." As a result, they (especially the youngest two) don't know how to behave in a largely civilized manner when confronted with even the slightest amount of sophistication. Austin looked like he wanted to crawl under the table, and Mark and I were amused at it all.
For starters, before we left for the restaurant, Mark had been on an important phone call, and Levi and Violet had been running in and out of the bathroom (the only place he'd mistakenly thought he might get a few minutes of peace and quiet) squealing and laughing. I had stopped them, just as he was getting off the phone, and said emphatically, "What were you doing? Couldn't you see your father was on the phone?" Well, I never call Mark "your father". I think it was just sheer irritation that inspired the patriarchal verbiage. Violet stopped in her tracks. "My fahder?" she asked inquisitively. "My fahder was on the phone with dad? Who's my fahder?" I said, "Your dad is your father." "Hmmm... does that make you gramma?" she asked seriously. She was totally weirded out that "father" and "dad" are synonymous. Well, that started an entire evening of her trying to work the word "fahder" into every sentence she uttered. "Can you beweeve this id my fahder? He's not just dad he's "fahder"." "Fahder, can you take me to the bathroom? Fahder, watch this..." fahder, fahder, fahder. Every time she said it, I was more overwhelmed with cuteness. Siblings don't have the patience that mom and dad do. While she was jibber jabbering about her amazing fahder, Levi was marveling at the fact he had two forks and two spoons while, at the same time, being annoyed that he had been given water without having been asked first what he wanted to drink. Claire was slurping up her pop with a straw loudly, and Violet was dipping her whole hands in the water glass to get some ice to chew. They could not calm down or sit still.
Sadie and Claire were painfully quiet, barely wanting to speak to the waitress to order. I finally, and against my better judgment, spoke up to tell the waitress their orders, because I felt it was rude of them to mumble so quietly, and I didn't want the waitress to have to wait (even though "wait" is actually in her job title and description) for another 5 minutes to get our order going. After all, we were on the toddler meltdown clock. After she left the first time, I told the girls, "You don't have to be shy about ordering. They want you to order food and spend money." I then started into a caricature of the response a waitress might give if she didn't want to bring you food. It went something like, "You want Sprite? How dare you order Sprite? We don't serve Sprite to anyone whose name starts with an S." They started giggling, and I think my point was made. Just once, I should order them chicken livers or frog's legs when they refuse to speak up. That'll be the end of that.
I'm a weird mom, I think. I know every mom must have quirks, but Austin (the only one who hasn't been with me since infancy) is apt to point out my weirdness when I say things like, "Get in the shower. Make it snappy this time though! Don't linger - just wash the parts with hair or cracks and get out!" I can't help it. Our kids like to take really long showers at the expense of dish washing, laundry, and everything else that requires hot water. Sometimes I set a timer and leave it in there, and it just annoys them till they get out.
But back to the restaurant embarrassment... All the kids' meals came with soup/salad bar. So there were more oddities with which to cope. Pickled herring... soup cups that are supposed to have saucers under them... the fact that this was not a buffet where you return several times to get more... I gave Claire a soup cup and saucer, and she took the saucer out from under it and put her salad on it. Soup spoons caused another layer of confusion.
Then the entrees came. Panic ensued when huge leaves of lettuce and sliced oranges were spotted beneath their cheeseburgers (that could have thoroughly fed two full-grown adults). Then Levi realized that his cheeseburger was naked - no ketchup or mustard? What kind of low-class joint makes you apply your own ketchup and mustard to your sandwich? Then the refills. She brought a refill for Levi before he was done with his first Sprite. "This isn't mine! I already have water and Sprite too... now another Sprite?!" As the waitress was talking (in a mild Greek accent), to my horror, he mimicked her... high pitched voice and all. No way did he just do that. As she walked away, I said, "Don't talk to her like that." He said, "Well, I was just saying what she said. She talks funny," I said, "Well, maybe she thinks you talk funny. Do you want her to make fun of you?" He responded in the negative, and Austin was shrinking further in his chair.
I asked him what was wrong, and he said, "This is so embarrassing." (As if the elderly people sitting at the 4 tables surrounding us and the young married couple across the way were going to be texting his friends about how lame he was for having *gasp* siblings.) I said, "I think it's kind of funny... all except that last part." He said (as if he was so much more cultured than everyone at the table), "They're acting like barbarians." I laughed, "It's kind of like taking chimps to an opera house, huh?" He smiled, and we relaxed a bit.
As we finished up the rest of our meal, things settled down. As we asked for a box, Sadie whispered to me, "I want an extra sauce to take home." I said, "Well, we don't serve extra sauce to people whose names start with S!" She smiled, and when the waitress came back with boxes, she asked politely, "May I have a sauce to take home?" Sometimes, I think that making people understand that there is truly nothing to fear in most social situations might embolden them. I suggested we sing Austin Happy Birthday before we leave, and he said, "No way, mom!" I said, "C'mon, we can do it quietly!" He refused. I said, "What? Happy Birthday is not embarrassing. What do you think? Everyone is going to stare and point and laugh saying, 'Look at that guy! What a freak! He was BORN!'" Despite his laughter at the commentary, he still refused a birthday song. Well, I guess you win some and you lose some. In the fight against hormones, I rarely come out the winner.
Well, I guess when you think about it, the kids were just stating the obvious - that most of the things we do to impress one another and feel important (garnishes, cloth napkins, soup spoons) are unnecessary. After all, when faced with the vastness of the universe or the diversity of creation or the elegance of a magnolia tree in full bloom, the things we do are pretty much silly. They are just shadowy reflections of the glory for which we were created. 1 Corinthians 13 is most renowned as the "love chapter" of the Bible... the one people like to write on plaques (love is patient, kind, doesn't boast, etc.). The one teenagers use to measure the level of their latest crush. We forget there is another part to that chapter - one that is encouraging to me. 9 For now we know in part and we prophesy in part; 10 but when the perfect comes, the partial will be done away. 11 When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. 12 For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known."
A few years ago, I read a book that detailed the life of a woman who had been a staunch feminist until she gave birth to not just one but a few handicapped children... one of whom was severely handicapped. She related how one of her sons had to be institutionalized because he had a feeding tube and other things that made him too hard to care for at home. She said how she'd had to humble herself completely - taking on what she would have once considered humiliating tasks - in order to provide for the care of her children. She related a story of how, at one Christmas, they had brought their son home from the institution for the day. She said, "As it came time for me to take him back to his 'home', I stalled by washing dishes as he sat behind me in his wheelchair. As I washed, I felt God impress upon me that I must tell him that I loved him. So I knelt by his chair and told him, 'Son, I love you so much!'" She was met with a blank stare, and as she wiped away some drool from his chin, she went back to dish washing. She said that she felt impressed to do the same thing 2 more times, and she did. As she stood there with tears running down her cheeks wondering why God would want her to do such a thing when He clearly knew how her son would (or rather would not) respond, the reason came to her. She said she heard, almost in an audible voice, "That's you and me." In other words, she explained, God is always trying to tell us how much he loves us. He is always reaching out to us - in our face at times - and telling us clearly how much he loves us. Our response is a blank stare and a drool-covered chin. We do not respond. We are handicapped by our fallen state. We are unable to give Him anything He doesn't already own or possess. God's point to her, she felt that day, was, "Would you love your son any more if he was healthy? Would you love him any more if he could give you a smile and a hug in return?" Her response was, "No. I love him for one reason - because he's mine." He reminded her that, compared to His power and perfection, none of our talents amount to anything. We are all severely handicapped by our sinful state - particularly when compared to the Creator of all things.
That's God and us - He loves us because we are His. Nothing we do or don't do can make us more or less acceptable to Him. We are acceptable as the result of a perfect sacrifice - the blood of His Son, through which He sees us as wholly and irrevocably acceptable when we have been drawn to Him as Savior and follow Him as Lord. Thankfully, there are no shades of gray with God. There are no levels of acceptability. You either are or you're not, and it has nothing to do with whether or not you use the right dinner fork - or even how you vote, or even how you love. I don't know about you, but that is an incredibly liberating feeling. I don't have to be perfect. In fact, compared to God, we're all just chimps at the opera.
I think he regretted his choice every moment from when we walked in the door to when we walked out of it stuffed full, with three big styrofoam containers full of leftovers, and spoiling for a fight. You see, we don't take our kids to fancy restaurants. We don't believe in spending $10/meal for people who will eat the garnishes instead of the meal and who wear the triangle-folded napkins on their heads while shouting, "Arghhh, mayteee... avast ye... land ho." As a result, they (especially the youngest two) don't know how to behave in a largely civilized manner when confronted with even the slightest amount of sophistication. Austin looked like he wanted to crawl under the table, and Mark and I were amused at it all.
For starters, before we left for the restaurant, Mark had been on an important phone call, and Levi and Violet had been running in and out of the bathroom (the only place he'd mistakenly thought he might get a few minutes of peace and quiet) squealing and laughing. I had stopped them, just as he was getting off the phone, and said emphatically, "What were you doing? Couldn't you see your father was on the phone?" Well, I never call Mark "your father". I think it was just sheer irritation that inspired the patriarchal verbiage. Violet stopped in her tracks. "My fahder?" she asked inquisitively. "My fahder was on the phone with dad? Who's my fahder?" I said, "Your dad is your father." "Hmmm... does that make you gramma?" she asked seriously. She was totally weirded out that "father" and "dad" are synonymous. Well, that started an entire evening of her trying to work the word "fahder" into every sentence she uttered. "Can you beweeve this id my fahder? He's not just dad he's "fahder"." "Fahder, can you take me to the bathroom? Fahder, watch this..." fahder, fahder, fahder. Every time she said it, I was more overwhelmed with cuteness. Siblings don't have the patience that mom and dad do. While she was jibber jabbering about her amazing fahder, Levi was marveling at the fact he had two forks and two spoons while, at the same time, being annoyed that he had been given water without having been asked first what he wanted to drink. Claire was slurping up her pop with a straw loudly, and Violet was dipping her whole hands in the water glass to get some ice to chew. They could not calm down or sit still.
Sadie and Claire were painfully quiet, barely wanting to speak to the waitress to order. I finally, and against my better judgment, spoke up to tell the waitress their orders, because I felt it was rude of them to mumble so quietly, and I didn't want the waitress to have to wait (even though "wait" is actually in her job title and description) for another 5 minutes to get our order going. After all, we were on the toddler meltdown clock. After she left the first time, I told the girls, "You don't have to be shy about ordering. They want you to order food and spend money." I then started into a caricature of the response a waitress might give if she didn't want to bring you food. It went something like, "You want Sprite? How dare you order Sprite? We don't serve Sprite to anyone whose name starts with an S." They started giggling, and I think my point was made. Just once, I should order them chicken livers or frog's legs when they refuse to speak up. That'll be the end of that.
I'm a weird mom, I think. I know every mom must have quirks, but Austin (the only one who hasn't been with me since infancy) is apt to point out my weirdness when I say things like, "Get in the shower. Make it snappy this time though! Don't linger - just wash the parts with hair or cracks and get out!" I can't help it. Our kids like to take really long showers at the expense of dish washing, laundry, and everything else that requires hot water. Sometimes I set a timer and leave it in there, and it just annoys them till they get out.
But back to the restaurant embarrassment... All the kids' meals came with soup/salad bar. So there were more oddities with which to cope. Pickled herring... soup cups that are supposed to have saucers under them... the fact that this was not a buffet where you return several times to get more... I gave Claire a soup cup and saucer, and she took the saucer out from under it and put her salad on it. Soup spoons caused another layer of confusion.
Then the entrees came. Panic ensued when huge leaves of lettuce and sliced oranges were spotted beneath their cheeseburgers (that could have thoroughly fed two full-grown adults). Then Levi realized that his cheeseburger was naked - no ketchup or mustard? What kind of low-class joint makes you apply your own ketchup and mustard to your sandwich? Then the refills. She brought a refill for Levi before he was done with his first Sprite. "This isn't mine! I already have water and Sprite too... now another Sprite?!" As the waitress was talking (in a mild Greek accent), to my horror, he mimicked her... high pitched voice and all. No way did he just do that. As she walked away, I said, "Don't talk to her like that." He said, "Well, I was just saying what she said. She talks funny," I said, "Well, maybe she thinks you talk funny. Do you want her to make fun of you?" He responded in the negative, and Austin was shrinking further in his chair.
I asked him what was wrong, and he said, "This is so embarrassing." (As if the elderly people sitting at the 4 tables surrounding us and the young married couple across the way were going to be texting his friends about how lame he was for having *gasp* siblings.) I said, "I think it's kind of funny... all except that last part." He said (as if he was so much more cultured than everyone at the table), "They're acting like barbarians." I laughed, "It's kind of like taking chimps to an opera house, huh?" He smiled, and we relaxed a bit.
As we finished up the rest of our meal, things settled down. As we asked for a box, Sadie whispered to me, "I want an extra sauce to take home." I said, "Well, we don't serve extra sauce to people whose names start with S!" She smiled, and when the waitress came back with boxes, she asked politely, "May I have a sauce to take home?" Sometimes, I think that making people understand that there is truly nothing to fear in most social situations might embolden them. I suggested we sing Austin Happy Birthday before we leave, and he said, "No way, mom!" I said, "C'mon, we can do it quietly!" He refused. I said, "What? Happy Birthday is not embarrassing. What do you think? Everyone is going to stare and point and laugh saying, 'Look at that guy! What a freak! He was BORN!'" Despite his laughter at the commentary, he still refused a birthday song. Well, I guess you win some and you lose some. In the fight against hormones, I rarely come out the winner.
Well, I guess when you think about it, the kids were just stating the obvious - that most of the things we do to impress one another and feel important (garnishes, cloth napkins, soup spoons) are unnecessary. After all, when faced with the vastness of the universe or the diversity of creation or the elegance of a magnolia tree in full bloom, the things we do are pretty much silly. They are just shadowy reflections of the glory for which we were created. 1 Corinthians 13 is most renowned as the "love chapter" of the Bible... the one people like to write on plaques (love is patient, kind, doesn't boast, etc.). The one teenagers use to measure the level of their latest crush. We forget there is another part to that chapter - one that is encouraging to me. 9 For now we know in part and we prophesy in part; 10 but when the perfect comes, the partial will be done away. 11 When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. 12 For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known."
A few years ago, I read a book that detailed the life of a woman who had been a staunch feminist until she gave birth to not just one but a few handicapped children... one of whom was severely handicapped. She related how one of her sons had to be institutionalized because he had a feeding tube and other things that made him too hard to care for at home. She said how she'd had to humble herself completely - taking on what she would have once considered humiliating tasks - in order to provide for the care of her children. She related a story of how, at one Christmas, they had brought their son home from the institution for the day. She said, "As it came time for me to take him back to his 'home', I stalled by washing dishes as he sat behind me in his wheelchair. As I washed, I felt God impress upon me that I must tell him that I loved him. So I knelt by his chair and told him, 'Son, I love you so much!'" She was met with a blank stare, and as she wiped away some drool from his chin, she went back to dish washing. She said that she felt impressed to do the same thing 2 more times, and she did. As she stood there with tears running down her cheeks wondering why God would want her to do such a thing when He clearly knew how her son would (or rather would not) respond, the reason came to her. She said she heard, almost in an audible voice, "That's you and me." In other words, she explained, God is always trying to tell us how much he loves us. He is always reaching out to us - in our face at times - and telling us clearly how much he loves us. Our response is a blank stare and a drool-covered chin. We do not respond. We are handicapped by our fallen state. We are unable to give Him anything He doesn't already own or possess. God's point to her, she felt that day, was, "Would you love your son any more if he was healthy? Would you love him any more if he could give you a smile and a hug in return?" Her response was, "No. I love him for one reason - because he's mine." He reminded her that, compared to His power and perfection, none of our talents amount to anything. We are all severely handicapped by our sinful state - particularly when compared to the Creator of all things.
That's God and us - He loves us because we are His. Nothing we do or don't do can make us more or less acceptable to Him. We are acceptable as the result of a perfect sacrifice - the blood of His Son, through which He sees us as wholly and irrevocably acceptable when we have been drawn to Him as Savior and follow Him as Lord. Thankfully, there are no shades of gray with God. There are no levels of acceptability. You either are or you're not, and it has nothing to do with whether or not you use the right dinner fork - or even how you vote, or even how you love. I don't know about you, but that is an incredibly liberating feeling. I don't have to be perfect. In fact, compared to God, we're all just chimps at the opera.
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