A weary mother returned from the store,
Lugging groceries through the kitchen door.
Awaiting her arrival was her 8 year old son,
Anxious to relate what his younger brother had done.
"While I was out playing and Dad was on a call,
T.J. took his crayons and wrote on the wall!
It's on the new paper you just hung in the den.
I told him you'd be mad at having to do it again."
She let out a moan and furrowed her brow,
"Where is your little brother right now?"
She emptied her arms and with a purposeful stride,
She marched to his closet where he had gone to hide.
She called his full name as she entered his room.
He trembled with fear--he knew that meant doom!
For the next ten minutes, she ranted and raved
About the expensive wallpaper and how she had saved.
Lamenting all the work it would take to repair,
She condemned his actions and total lack of care.
The more she scolded, the madder she got,
Then stomped from his room, totally distraught!
She headed for the den to confirm her fears.
When she saw the wall, her eyes flooded with tears.
The message she read pierced her soul with a dart.
It said, "I love Mommy," surrounded by a heart.
Well, the wallpaper remained, just as she found it,
With an empty picture frame hung to surround it.
A reminder to her, and indeed to all,
Take time to read the handwriting on the wall.
As heard told by Glen Leverantz on "Glen's Story Corner" on Releavant Radio, www.RelevantRadio.com
Showing posts with label Kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kids. Show all posts
Friday, April 15, 2011
Friday, September 24, 2010
Heaven Scent
A cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the doctor walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing. Still groggy from surgery, her husband David held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news.
That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency cesarean to deliver the couple's new daughter, Danae Lu Blessing. At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound and nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor's soft words dropped like bombs.
"I don't think she's going to make it," he said, as kindly as he could. "There's only a 10-percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one."
Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Danae would likely face if she survived. She would never walk. She would never talk. She would probably be blind. She would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation. And on and on.
That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency cesarean to deliver the couple's new daughter, Danae Lu Blessing. At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound and nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor's soft words dropped like bombs.
"I don't think she's going to make it," he said, as kindly as he could. "There's only a 10-percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one."
Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Danae would likely face if she survived. She would never walk. She would never talk. She would probably be blind. She would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation. And on and on.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
"I Used to be Pretty" by Rob Chaffart
It is amazing how your brain can bring back to mind long forgotten memories, even insignificant ones. My youngest son, who is nearly twelve years old, was responsible for triggering a long forgotten memory this morning, an event in my life that happened when I was about his age.
It was late July, and it was breakfast time. I was sitting outside on the veranda of a hotel in Italy with my parents, enjoying the outstanding view of the city. Firenze, or Florence for us English-speaking people, lay nestled in the valley below, surrounded by the foothills of the Apennine Mountains. The Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore stood out in the distance in all of its splendor, complete with pigeons on every possible ledge.
Oh, the pigeons!
It was late July, and it was breakfast time. I was sitting outside on the veranda of a hotel in Italy with my parents, enjoying the outstanding view of the city. Firenze, or Florence for us English-speaking people, lay nestled in the valley below, surrounded by the foothills of the Apennine Mountains. The Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore stood out in the distance in all of its splendor, complete with pigeons on every possible ledge.
Oh, the pigeons!
The Quiet Man
Carl was a quiet man.
He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.
Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.
When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically un-assuming manner.
Without fanfare, he just signed up. He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened.
He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like a drink from the hose?
The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure", with a malevolent little smile.
He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.
Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.
When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically un-assuming manner.
Without fanfare, he just signed up. He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened.
He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like a drink from the hose?
The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure", with a malevolent little smile.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Price of Children
The Price of Children
The government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 and came up with $160,140.00 for a middle income family. Talk about price shock! That doesn't even touch college tuition.
But $160,140.00 isn't so bad if you break it down. It translates into:
* $8,896.66 a year,
* $741.38 a month,
* $171.08 a week.
* A mere $24.24 a day!
* Just over a dollar an hour.
Still, you might think the best financial advice is, 'don't have children if you want to be 'rich'. Actually, it is just the opposite.
What do you get for your $160,140.00?
* Naming rights . First, middle, and last!
* Glimpses of God every day.
* Giggles under the covers every night.
* More love than your heart can hold.
* Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs.
* Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.
* A hand to hold usually covered with jelly or chocolate.
* A partner for blowing bubbles and flying kites.
* Someone to laugh yourself silly with, no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day.
The government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 and came up with $160,140.00 for a middle income family. Talk about price shock! That doesn't even touch college tuition.
But $160,140.00 isn't so bad if you break it down. It translates into:
* $8,896.66 a year,
* $741.38 a month,
* $171.08 a week.
* A mere $24.24 a day!
* Just over a dollar an hour.
Still, you might think the best financial advice is, 'don't have children if you want to be 'rich'. Actually, it is just the opposite.
What do you get for your $160,140.00?
* Naming rights . First, middle, and last!
* Glimpses of God every day.
* Giggles under the covers every night.
* More love than your heart can hold.
* Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs.
* Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.
* A hand to hold usually covered with jelly or chocolate.
* A partner for blowing bubbles and flying kites.
* Someone to laugh yourself silly with, no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
It's What's On The Inside ...
As heard on Relevant Radio’s “Glen’s Story Corner” and retrieved from http://fhfnela.org/images/OND%2009.pdf on 3/17/10
On the Inside
I look like a monster. During a routine root canal last week, the dentist accidentally tore a blood vessel in my face, and the result is that the left side of my face is black and purple and swollen from eyebrow to throat.
While painful, the worst part of this mishap is the deep embarrassment at having my face look so monstrous. I hadn't realized the shock of my bruises until my neighbor dropped by and literally jumped off my porch at the sight of my face, clutching her heart and shrieking involuntarily.
"It's not even a good story," I told her, and explained about the dentist and the torn blood vessel. After a brief visit, I said good-bye to her, knowing she had never paid attention to our conversation because my face was so distracting. I was disheartened and embarrassed.
The embarrassment grew more deeply rooted when I took my son to kindergarten the next day. Upon seeing my face (which I thought was cleverly concealed by my hair swept over my face and the sunglasses I wore indoors), Noah's teacher gasped. Expletives spewed forth, causing me to laugh, and she to slap her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she apologized for her involuntary cursing. "You look like someone beat the life out of you!" I explained what had happened and literally ran to my car, heading home to hide from all human contact.
For several days, I avoided contact with people other than my family. My first foray into public in search of a video lead to new humiliation and had me determined not to leave home again.
On the Inside
I look like a monster. During a routine root canal last week, the dentist accidentally tore a blood vessel in my face, and the result is that the left side of my face is black and purple and swollen from eyebrow to throat.
While painful, the worst part of this mishap is the deep embarrassment at having my face look so monstrous. I hadn't realized the shock of my bruises until my neighbor dropped by and literally jumped off my porch at the sight of my face, clutching her heart and shrieking involuntarily.
"It's not even a good story," I told her, and explained about the dentist and the torn blood vessel. After a brief visit, I said good-bye to her, knowing she had never paid attention to our conversation because my face was so distracting. I was disheartened and embarrassed.
The embarrassment grew more deeply rooted when I took my son to kindergarten the next day. Upon seeing my face (which I thought was cleverly concealed by my hair swept over my face and the sunglasses I wore indoors), Noah's teacher gasped. Expletives spewed forth, causing me to laugh, and she to slap her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she apologized for her involuntary cursing. "You look like someone beat the life out of you!" I explained what had happened and literally ran to my car, heading home to hide from all human contact.
For several days, I avoided contact with people other than my family. My first foray into public in search of a video lead to new humiliation and had me determined not to leave home again.
Monday, January 18, 2010
A Girl and Her Dog
Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my 4 year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told her that I thought we could so she dictated these words:
We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office. A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.
Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, ‘To Meredith’ in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, ‘When a Pet Dies’. Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:
Dear God,
Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick.
I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her You will know that she is my dog. I really miss her.
Love, Meredith
We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office. A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.
Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, ‘To Meredith’ in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, ‘When a Pet Dies’. Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:
Dear Meredith,
Abbey arrived safely in heaven. Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away. Abbey isn’t sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog.
Since we don’t need our bodies in heaven, I don’t have any pockets to keep your picture in, so I am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by.
Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I picked her especially for you.
I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much. By the way, I’m easy to find, I am wherever there is love.
...
Heard on RelevantRadio.com, read by Glen LeverentzFriday, January 8, 2010
"Mouths of Babes" condensed from "Small Comforts" by Tom Bodett, as it appeared in Reader's Digest
Among the thousand truisms and clichés that were hurled at us as expectant parents was one I actually looked forward to. “You are going to learn the most important things from your children.”
I soon decided it was all just a wish. My wife and I spent the first 20 months with our child teaching him everything from rolling over to the dynamics of liquids in cups not carefully handled. I’d yet to see where the teaching left off and the learning began. And then the time arrived.
There are only a few words our boy has in his vocabulary. More is probably the foremost and means anything from fun to food. No is also a front-runner – he hears it so much he naturally repeats it at every opportunity. Hello, Bye-Bye, Momma and Daddy make up his standard casual conversation, and that’s about the size of it.
Except for one word. By far his most distinguished and seldom used expression is wow. He only says “wow” when something really impresses him: If dad lets a frying pan catch on fire. If we hit a ditch on the way to town. If the house were to burn down around him, I’m confident he would sum it all up with “wow.”
We recently spent the night at our friends’ house. They have an extra room in the basement, and we were set up with the bed and crib in the same room. I slept well but woke up too early and couldn’t get back to sleep.
In our natural habitat my wife and I don’t sleep with the baby. We normally first come to know he’s awake by a series of screams that would put any self-righteous banshee to same. But lying there wide-awake in an unfamiliar house offered me the opportunity to hear my child wake up for the first time.
I was thinking about my day, a Sunday, and all the chores that were at hand. We’d have to get organized and go home. My wife would clean the house. I would pay bills and do some home repairs. The prospect of all this was less than the stuff of dreams.
I heard my child stir. He rolled over, opened his eyes and said, “Wow.” Suddenly, I learned something.
With all my training on “good thoughts,” “looking on the bright side” and “taking it a day at a time,” I woke up to a near miserable world. This little boy with no experience at his disposal was at the place I’ve been looking for. To wake up in the morning, take a look at the world, and say “wow” is probably as close to contentment as a person could ever get.
I’m sure our child will eventually wake up, as most of us do, only to say “ugh.” I wish I knew what I could do to never let this happen. I wish he could teach me the way he sees things now.
If we could just make ourselves relearn what it takes to open our eyes in the morning, see that we are alive in paradise and say “wow.”
I soon decided it was all just a wish. My wife and I spent the first 20 months with our child teaching him everything from rolling over to the dynamics of liquids in cups not carefully handled. I’d yet to see where the teaching left off and the learning began. And then the time arrived.
There are only a few words our boy has in his vocabulary. More is probably the foremost and means anything from fun to food. No is also a front-runner – he hears it so much he naturally repeats it at every opportunity. Hello, Bye-Bye, Momma and Daddy make up his standard casual conversation, and that’s about the size of it.
Except for one word. By far his most distinguished and seldom used expression is wow. He only says “wow” when something really impresses him: If dad lets a frying pan catch on fire. If we hit a ditch on the way to town. If the house were to burn down around him, I’m confident he would sum it all up with “wow.”
We recently spent the night at our friends’ house. They have an extra room in the basement, and we were set up with the bed and crib in the same room. I slept well but woke up too early and couldn’t get back to sleep.
In our natural habitat my wife and I don’t sleep with the baby. We normally first come to know he’s awake by a series of screams that would put any self-righteous banshee to same. But lying there wide-awake in an unfamiliar house offered me the opportunity to hear my child wake up for the first time.
I was thinking about my day, a Sunday, and all the chores that were at hand. We’d have to get organized and go home. My wife would clean the house. I would pay bills and do some home repairs. The prospect of all this was less than the stuff of dreams.
I heard my child stir. He rolled over, opened his eyes and said, “Wow.” Suddenly, I learned something.
With all my training on “good thoughts,” “looking on the bright side” and “taking it a day at a time,” I woke up to a near miserable world. This little boy with no experience at his disposal was at the place I’ve been looking for. To wake up in the morning, take a look at the world, and say “wow” is probably as close to contentment as a person could ever get.
I’m sure our child will eventually wake up, as most of us do, only to say “ugh.” I wish I knew what I could do to never let this happen. I wish he could teach me the way he sees things now.
If we could just make ourselves relearn what it takes to open our eyes in the morning, see that we are alive in paradise and say “wow.”
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