Oh, To Be Eight Again!

On November 23rd, Jonah turned 8 years old.  

As a birthday traditon, we have doughnuts for breakfast on a birthday morning.  I decided to surprise Jonah  for his birthday and instead of having birthday dinner, we had birthday breakfast.  So, this is what his doughnuts looked like in the morning when he stumbled down the stairs rubbing sleep from his eyes:

After Doughnuts, he opened his presents.

And then he ran off to play with his cousins.  We spent the rest of the day sitting around doing not much of anything until Sebastian came home from work.  Then we went roller skating and out to dinner at Red Robin (YUM!).  

When the waiter brought Jonah his birthday sundae,the baby was ecstatic- until he realized it wasn't for him.  As his face fell, and his eyes clouded over, I couldn't help but laugh at him.  Loudly.  I had to promise him some  "cream" when we got home.  He was so excited to get his cream that he plopped right down on the floor to eat it.

Happy Birthday.

I sure do love you!

Bold On A Sunday Morning

I stalled yesterday, and I didn't go shopping.  Partly because I hate shopping, partly because I hate menu planning, and partly because the baby was asleep for the better part of my shopping hours.  Darn naps.
Anyway, that meant I had to get up early today to go shopping before church.  So I did.

I have a favorite checker.  She shares my daughter's name, she always chats up my kids, and she is always smiling.  Why wouldn't she be my favorite?  As I was loading my groceries onto the conveyor belt, Elizabeth was telling the gentleman in front of me that she got up at 3 am, but that was OK because she would be off work at 10 am.  I piped in, "Well, then you'll be off in time to go to church!  Service starts at 11."

She finished up with the other order and I moved forward, and Elizabeth asked me where I go to church.  I pointed in the general direction of our church and told her the name.  I said if she was interested, then we would be the large family on the right near the back.

As she rang up my order she told me, "I'm not religious or anything, but I'm not against religion.  My mom was forced to go to church when she was a kid, so she never went as an adult.  I mean, I went to Sunday school and stuff when I was little, but that was pretty much it.  My dad and my step mom are Buddhist.  So I guess that just means that they try to be good people, and do good to others."

I asked her, "How do they know if they are good enough?  How do they know that when they get to the end of their lives, the good will outweigh the bad?" She paused for a nano second and looked at me.  "I don't have to know." I said  "As a Christian, I just have to believe  that Jesus died on the cross to pay for my sins. There is no accounting for me, because all of the bad is already paid for."

"Yeah, I don't know." Elizabeth replied.  "I guess it's just about doing good for others when you can.  But, you know, when I hear the religious Christmas music, I just...there is no way to describe the way it makes me feel."

"Because your heart is missing something." That was all I said.  She finished my order, we said goodbye, and I re-extended the offer to come visit our church.

Lord, I pray that You would take the little tiny seed of longing in Elizabeth's heart.  That You would cup it in Your hands and cause it to grow.   That You would nurture and feed it, and set it to blossom for the whole world to see.  Amen.