Thankfulness, day #19, I mean #1

I have seen several people I know posting update every day this month on 3 things they are thankful for.

I am drawn to this, as it sounds like wisdom from the camp of Ann Voskamp whose blog and website I have looked at a few times and am blown away by every single time. Every time. I am in awe. I have her 10 Point Manifesto for Joyful Parenting printed out and taped on my bedroom door at eye-level.

 So I thought it'd be a good idea to do that, maybe. Except I was taking a break from blogging every day in October because discipline in writing every day is so hard.

But looky here. It's the 19th of November, probably the 20th by the time I hit "publish". And I have been able to (almost) catch up on some good TV shows, and last week after the kids were in bed I wrote a sermon that kicked my butt all week long, but I haven't been just writing and I have missed that feeling. That feeling of something well-thought out through my fingers and re-felt again through you, whoever you are. Because I'm finding out after the fact some of you come here and read and go away and I have no idea... but my words are not bouncing out into the dark, so I shall post again.

Three Things I am Thankful For Today:

Ann Voskamp

I just went to her website to find a link and spent another half-hour there. Every single thing I read from her inspires me. Inspires me with her writing, but with her heart for the poor and her love for her kids and the fact that she is homeschooling 6 kids and is writing, producing books, bringing truth and beauty to the world. It whispers to me, "you can DO this, Joanna, this whole life you are trying to do today...."

My girls

I was so tired by the time I was reading the chapter book at bedtime that Sophia and Eleanor began to laugh at my tired drifting-offs... I was starting to dream. They tucked me in with such delight and pleasure to be putting Mama to bed. Nori giving extra kisses, whispering in the dark... Shhh Daddy, Mama is asleep. I awoke hours later at 10 pm, packed the school lunches and found a message from a dear friend, echoing one from earlier in the day... "I miss your blog, can we talk?" Too late to talk, but my sweet-girl nap has provided me with this window and a chance to respond to the twice-in-one-day prompt to just write. I awoke to find this note next to me, courtesy of my sweet Sophia.

In the picture, I think I am dreaming of Sophia. I love that.

Pax

In 1999, in some box of magazines at YWAM LA, I found this picture. I was thrilled as I had had the same advertisement photo posted on my fridge before I had left for LA and was happy to find it again. It became the insert on the back binder for the YWAM school Wade and I did together early that year, and I still have it. I had it because I loved the face, it reminded me of my nephew Mason who looked very much like this in 1999. I found it other day, and I realized it is Pax.

See?

A year or two later I was on the ferry on the way to see Jan, and I saw a little boy sitting on someone's lap, being read a story, and I wanted him. I craved him like I craved the best food I could imagine. It was palpable, a physical feeling, a distinct, a very specific beginning to the longing for children that brought a season where I begged and God said,  "Wait... wait..." and an eternal 4 years later we had Sophia. And nine years later we had a son.

Pax Henry Hawk Pallister. Named the latin word for Peace, for our desire for peace, in our home (dear God, the screaming of those two girls, there was no way we were naming him "Hunter" or "Warrior" or "Screamer") and in the world. Named for his Grandfather Henry George (Hank) Pallister, cowboy and author, of blessed memory, and Wade's boyhood hero, Tony Hawk.

And lately I have realized he was the boy in the magazine picture. He was the boy on the ferry. I have taken to whispering to him, in small moments, "Do you know I wished for you? Do you know I wanted you, and I prayed for you, and God brought you to me?" He was birthed in my heart first, in my womb last. When I always thought we'd have four kids, once Pax came, and Wade and I prayed, the Lord spoke so clearly and said to me, in a whisper, through my tears of joy , "Nobody is missing. Everybody is here." Selah.

Today was a home-school day (the girls go to a home-learners program at a local school two days a week) and usually those days are Pax-has-to-wait days. But today the girls had a field trip and Wade took them he and I were home alone and Pax was ready. He had a list of what we would do. We played Blue's Clues. I was Blue, he was Steve. I had to fly to the doctors on an airplane and he held my hand while I got a shot. We made a water xylophone and lemonade popsicles, just like Steve and Blue. He wanted to write a letter to Santa Claus, and he did not have to wait. We could write it right then, and for the first time, he instructed me to hold his hand to so HE could do the writing. We cut out the picture from the catalogue and taped it to the letter. He acted out for me, how Santa Claus would fly through the sky and sneak in the house and put it down for him. We stamped it and mailed it and walked to the mailbox in the rain, in the pouring rain, in our rain coats and boots, and we were on his time.

And at the end of the day, I marvelled at all I had managed to do around the house, in the midst of putting Pax first. So often I think he has to wait because of all there is to do. God, I beg, help me to remember today, where I put him first and at the end of the day, I said aloud, "How did the house get so clean? How did I manage all that?" And I had so much fun.

How did that boy get from the page to ferry to my womb to his tiny bed down the hall? Grace, grace, grace. What a gift. I am so thankful.

Hide and Seek

On Thursday the girls were at their Home Learners program and Pax and I were running a few errands. We passed a man on the street who I have seen around my neighbourhood for at least 10 years. I know I used to see him and pray for him when Wade and I regularly volunteered at the Chili Wagon outreach our church does in a neighbourhood park.

I haven't had much engagement with him, I know his partner's name and in past years I have been more in the habit of passing him by, but I had an impulse we were to stop that day and talk to Ken. I took some coins from my wallet & handed them to Pax, and crouched down at eye level with both him and Pax. Ken was sitting on the sidewalk, Pax was standing. Pax put the coins in Ken's hand.

I greeted Ken and told him I knew from the Chili bus, and enquired about his partner, and began to make conversation with him. I noticed a crutch and Pax asked "What that for?" We told him. I admired Ken's new shave and haircut, and for the first time I can remember he was smiling, chatting with both of us.

I asked about his injured ankle and he began to tell us his story, and I asked if it would be weird if we prayed for him. He said it would be fine, yet I wondered of he was just being polite - but I don't always feel like it's right to ask, so I try to go with my gut on these things.  I prayed a simple one-sentence prayer, encouraging Pax to pray with me, "Jesus, please heal Ken's foot, Amen."

Something struck a cord in my boy, because we have been praying for healing a lot these days. Our dear friend Don is Wade's spiritual dad. He officiated at our wedding and baby dedication, and he is family to us. Don has an inoperative brain tumour and it is getting worse every day. We are praying for a miracle for him, as nothing else will suffice at this point. His body is slowing fading along with many other faculties. We grieve each loss, and remain astounded and inspired at Don's joy, his thankfulness, his right priorities, his love for his family and friends, his faith.

Wade trims Don's beard on their last visit together. 

Wade often calls him, "Oh Captain, my Captain."

Pax has made some connection to praying for healing, as he looks at Mr. Ken, sitting on the sidewalk.

"You have a tumour?" he asks.

Ken smiles and says he does not. I explain to Ken that Pax's Papa has a tumour. And I as I do, I begin to tear up a little. And I notice, so does Ken. I am awestruck after 10 years I have finally made a connection with this man, but it's not me, it's Pax.

"Yeah, " Pax continues, "my Papa have a tumour. His brain is hiding."

"His brain is hiding?" I ask, as this is not language anyone else has taught him, but clearly his understanding of what we have said.

"Yeah," he continues, holding his new glo-in-the-dark Lightening Mc Queen and Mater night time pull-ups, noticing the big bus, making conversation, "yeah, his brain is hiding, and we can't find it."

My tears spill over as I look back at Ken, who is also looking back with brimming eyes. "Well, I guess he has been listening," I say, but really I feel like I am learning from Pax, listening to him. That night I will pray that God will help bring Don's brain out of hiding.

And after 10 years of not much connection, Ken struggles to his feet and to my shock, holds out his arms to me, to hug me. On the corner of Slocan and Hastings as everyone passed by, I received his hug, and his assurance that he would be praying for Don. Then the magic moment ended as Pax made a mad dash into the McDonald's and I had to chase him down, but I had felt the Kingdom come.

Oh Don. Come out, come out, wherever you are.