Do you remember the day after Christmas

 

Do you remember your first box of crayons?

Someone precious to me

How about a winter day?

 

December, 1995

Do you remember the Day after Christmas?

Day after Christmas, 1959, Bill is in the front, with his Paladin mustache.

How about a forced posed picture?

My older brother at one year old

If you do, how blessed you are!

Homesick, so homesick.  I want to see my siblings , laugh, and tell stories.  This is the closest I will get, with two brothers gone

 

This is a repost of 2013.

Sunshine: Theology as seen by a four year-old

Sunshine:  Theology 101 according to a four year-old.

After I pick up Sunshine from Gateway Christian Preschool, we always have lunch together.

Having lunch with Sunshine is always an interesting event, even if it involves copious amounts of pbj, milk, and applesauce.  All it takes is a simple question, and her vast wealth of knowledge and opinions come flooding out like gold coins from Scrooge McDuck’s vault.

All I have to ask, “What did you learn at school today?”

Just before Easter, Sunshine’s eyes brightened at that question, and without missing a bite of pbj, or a drop of the jam from the oozy edges, Sunshine told me.  “I learned all about Jesus.  And, Grandma, did you know…”  

She paused for a swig of 2% milk, and to allow me to mop off her face.  “Did you know that Jesus gotted nailed to a cross?  That’s a thing that has two pieces of wood that make a small ‘t’.  The bad Romans (Where did she hear about them, I wondered.) took big nails, Grandma, really big nails.”  She spread her hands about a foot apart.  “And then they hammered them through Jesus’ hands, really hard.  Right through Jesus’ hands.”

Her wide blue eyes made contact with my green eyes, to make sure I understood what she said.  Oh, I understood.  I could feel His bones breaking, and the blood dripping onto the wood.  My green eyes became misty with tears.

With casual care, Sunshine licked off the strawberry jam that she had squeezed out from the bread, on purpose.  She likes to do that, and I don’t blame her; so do I.

“Then they stood the cross up like this,” Sunshine demonstrated with her yellow IKEA plastic spoon, “and dropped it in a hole like this.”  She brought down the spoon hard into the bowl of applesauce.  “That woulda really hurted, you know.”

Again her eyes looked deeply into mine, checking for understanding just like any good teacher would.  Oh, I understood how the cross would have hit the ground with a vibrating thud, and how this would have shook Christ’s body with waves of pain.  My eyes blinked at hers several times.

She told me the whole story, event by event, while I remained very still, listening and watching as my almost 5 year old granddaughter explained salvation to me.  “Miss Kenny gived us each a paper cross we color on, and I decided to color my cross like a sunset.”  I looked confused, I suppose, for now she patiently explained her ideas as if I were only 4 years old.  

“You see, Grandma, the red is for the Blood of Jesus, which He gave away so we can see Him in Heaven.  Then the orange is for the sunset when Jesus died.”  Another bite of pbj, and the last swallow of milk.  

“Can I have some more milk, Grandma?”  Without missing a beat while I automatically poured the milk into her pink IKEA cup, Sunshine lowered her voice to a whisper.  “Then I used yellow.  You know why I used yellow?” 

I shook my head, for at this point I didn’t want to or couldn’t talk.  “Well, the yellow is for sunrise, when Jesus got up out of His grave.  That meaned that He wasn’t dead anymore, that He was alive!”  She slammed her hand on the table.  “There!  See!  Jesus is alive!”

With the last bite of pbj, and the last swipe of the spoon around the bowl of applesauce, Sunshine finished up.  “Then I colored around the cross in blue, ‘cause Jesus went up to Heaven, and He’s waiting there for all of us.”  She gazed into my eyes and asked, “Grandma, why are you crying?  This is good news, not bad.  Jesus is alive!”

I pulled her into my lap and wrapped my arms around her.  Sunshine wiped her gooey face into my tee-shirt, and filled me with her warmth.  Yes, He’s alive, Sunshine.

Susan Kane

April 27, 2011

This is a re-post from six years ago.  I had forgotten about until I checked comments in Hold for Moderation section.  Sunshine is now eleven, my height, with the amazing blue eyes.  And she still knows what Jesus did for us.

Samuel and the Test...Part 3

For those who do not about part 1 and 2, here are the links:
Samuel, part 1  and Samuel, part 2

Source: Great projects for kids

Nana smiled as she looked in the rear view mirror.  A multi-colored Samuel was asleep in his car seat.

When complete silence had been all that was heard, Dr. Anna and Nana had nodded and the observers approached the room where three-and-a-half year old Samuel had been so busy, laughing, giggling, and creating.

Nana opened the door slowly, entering a transformed room.  In the middle of the room beneath the table, Samuel had curled up to sleep, holding pristine shoes in his arms.

But, the room, oh the room. 

The floor was a swirl of color that curled around the room, around and around. 

How did he…must have used his feet to scoot…No, it’s smoother than…What the… He used the cardboard…Slip n’ Slide!  My son loves that…

Source: Dreamstime

In the corner were the discarded and used up materials.  Gallons of white glue had been liberally streamed around the floor, followed by squirt bottles of expensive acrylic paint.  

Torn box lids lay around the room, showing that Samuel had surfed, scooted, slid, twirled around the room many times.  A trail of all colors remained behind him as he laughed gleefully.  

Then Dr. Anna pointed to the walls where colors poured down the wall with little boy hand prints creating waves upon waves. Oh, the hues in those waves.

Not Samuel's work, but check at this source.

Nana tiptoed around the paint to the wall beneath the observation mirror.  Discarded markers lay in pyramid heaps.  Her heart caught in her throat and tears glistened in her eyes.

Nana Moves In

Source

A dull day, that is what this is,dull gray.  Samuel thought as he looked up from a coloring project to The Mother.  She was making a cake for Nana, who was moving in with them. 

Grammy had moved in with Aunt Tammy Whammy when she decided she was ‘out of her depth’ with Samuel.  Out of her depth?  Samuel smiled at the words.  The old lady was drowning in the deep-end.  He continued working on a “Welcome, Nana!” sign.  The mother had written the words, although Samuel believed he could have conveyed the message better with his fiery bombs and flaming people.  Oh, well, whatever.

The mother had just poured the batter into the 8 ½ x 11 pan when the doorbell rang.  Jehovah Witnesses or young Mormon men?  She would prefer the young Mormons.  When she didn’t return right away, Samuel nodded.  The men.  Well, then. 

Samuel climbed down from his chair and ran to the opposite side of the table to peer into the cake better.  Oh, Fun-Fetti.  This is perfect. 

Thinking on the fly was one of his many gifts.  Scooping up some bits of broken crayons, Samuel carefully placed and pushed them into the cake.  Maybe a few more on this side?  After effectively burying the crayon shreds, Samuel returned to the sign, innocent by all accounts.

The Mother returned to the table, smiling and blushing.  Nothing like religion to make one happy.  She placed the cake into the preheated oven, and cleaned up the kitchen, humming happily.  Every now and then, she gave Samuel a nervous smile.

Samuel returned her smile.  “You okay there, Buddy?  Wanta play a video game?”  Okay?  I am juuuust fine. 

The timer rang and The Mother carefully removed the cake from the oven and placed it on the high counter.  Leaving the oven door open just enough to let the oven cool, The Mother ran to the bathroom.  The bathroom door closed.

Oh, woman.  Do you even think about the possibilities?  Samuel peered at the partially open door, and silently lowered it down.  Still hot, but not dangerous.  Grabbing some broken crayons, Samuel tossed them onto the oven shelves and bottom.  Oh, how lovely.  Samuel watched at the colored pieces spread out and pool in rainbow glory.  Silently Samuel closed the oven door, knowing The Mother would never notice.

The Mother returned.  “Nap time, young man.  For you and me both.” 

Samuel acquiesced, holding her hand lovingly.  The Mother was confused, but accepted this new step in Samuel’s life:  possible obedience.

In his room, Samuel listened for new sounds.  When the front door slammed and happy voices sounded, he knew Nana had arrived.  He listened as Nana spoke about the big roast she had ready to cook.  The oven will be heated up next.  He felt a tickle of anticipation.

Source

The smell of scorched crayon filled the house.  Oh, glory!

“SAMUEL!”  A dull gray day transformed into one of joyful color. 

Source

The Length of Time

When I hold a new crayon from a fresh box of colors, 

it doesn’t matter

what color I choose,

for I will fill the page with all the colors.

When I draw the first line, squiggle or circle,

I am six years old again.

When I buckle a new shoe across my granddaughter’s foot,

I am five years old, trying on my first pair of patent leather shoes.

I will dance around in them,

watching how the light shines

on the shoes and the buckles.

When I sit on the floor to watch “Peter Pan”,

I am again seven years old,

and I am hoping

that Peter Pan

will appear at my window someday.

When I hear my husband’s laughter

I am a newly-wed and deeply in love.

When I see the photos of my children dressed in brand-new

Easter clothes,

I am again a young mother, thinking about the roast in the oven and Sunday afternoon.

Our lifelines are ruled by the clock and the rotations of the Earth,

But our lives are lived by “…the length, the breadth, and the depth…” of our

memories 

and

imaginations.