He Desires Me.

Years ago, my old pastor talked about Proverbs 22:6: Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.

One of the points he made about this scripture regarding "in the way he should go" was that it didn't say "in the way you think he should go." If you were a star football player, but your boy would rather play piano then as humbling as it may be, ditch the football practice and sign him up for piano.

So now we have Dyson.  

A 6 year old son whom I have bravely chosen to homeschool.  It's been the first week of school and I've already found I'm in for a ride. He is sooo far away from my "sit down and be studious" type 7 year old daughter.

Dyson is well....unique.  He'll play football. But he'd rather invent things. Or destroy things. For example, this is a bike inside of a small cardboard box (see below).  Yes, he took a screw driver and tore it apart. Spokes and all... and then declared "Mom, since we live in such a small space, now we have more room!"

He'll sit for...ummm...30 seconds to do his writing assignment, but then after about 3 letters, I've lost him.  I looked at Jeremy (my 32 year old Dyson) and I asked, "How in the world did you get through school?"  He responded, "I didn't. I slept through every class except shop, because I was so bored."

So, I'll have to be content with three letters, and work for the four tomorrow. I'm going to have to lean on God's wisdom on a daily (or hourly?) basis.  Speaking of hourly, tonight was an hour I thought I had off from the "school teacher" role.  I was wrong.

My husband was roofing and I'm sitting at home. I had spent the entire day doing laundry, preparing for school the next week, scrubbing toilets, grocery shopping, and doing everything that needed to get done so that I could enjoy a day of rest tomorrow. You get my drift.  It was now late and I had mentally checked out. I was ready to grab myself a Mr. Pibb, huge bowl of ice-cream and find something on T.V.  

The next thing I hear is Dyson storming in the house, anger on his face and arms crossed. "MOM! That did NOT go the way I had planned!" Welcome to reality.

He brought me out to the garage and I saw this: 

 Above is the box that was hanging from the string below.

 And below is the broom stick that was hitting the box that was hanging from the string above.

You got it folks. Dyson was playing "piñata," and dang it! It DID NOT GO THE WAY HE HAD PLANNED!!

The next thing I know he is asking the dreaded question, "How do you make a piñata, mom?"

Oh no.  Oh no oh no oh no. I knew what this meant. The last thing I wanted to do was jump on this teachable homeschool moment of an art class that had dropped right into my lap. Could have I said, "we'll figure it out next week, buddy."  Sure. But I knew in my heart now was the time.  With Dyson, especially with Dyson, you take advantage of any teachable moment you get.  Because the stars don't always align for him during normal "school hours".

I sooooo didn't want to.  The thought of the T.V. and an ice cold Mr. Pibb sounded sooooo much more fun.  But the next thing I know we are watching YouTube video's on how to make a piñata and I find myself making paper mache paste out of boiling water and flour, digging through his "this is trash, but Dyson will probably use it for something" bin to pull out a phone book (for it's pages) and a used balloon.

And here we go....

Piñata Making
PHASE 1: 

Yup. Jer came home, walked through the garage and said, "What the heck?"  You'll never know what good things will flow out of our weird son.  We're just along for the ride. I responded, "He is making a piñata. Don't touch it! It needs to dry overnight."

So here we are, encouraging Dyson to express his thoughts through his hands, and trusting it will glorify God in the end.  In this case, he plans to bring glory to God at his birthday party by celebrating himself - Psalm 139, right? Yup.

AND - Did you know that the piñata was created to represent evil? Sin is enticing and attractive, but the reward for those who beat the crap out of it (God vs. Satan) and not give up is an outpouring of gifts and blessings from above A.K.A. CANDY! BAM!

And just think, I could have chosen to gain 5 pounds through Mr. Pibb and ice cream instead of learning all of this.  Rock on.

Anyway, I'll post the end result here in a week or so. But right now he is 25% of the way done (75% ugly and 25% colorful).  After hours of gluing strips of construction paper on, he announced to me with great exhaustion, "Mom, I think I'm going to like my piñata just the way it is."

What he meant to say was, "This sucks and I quit." But leave it to Dyson to be positive.

I'm going to figure something out to help him finish strong. But until then, you'll just have to wait for the end result...and I'm positive you're just dying with excitement to see....

But for now when reflecting on all of this, I am reminded of how God works with me.  He is not just available during school hours. Unlike myself, he is waiting to jump on teachable moments and does not feel inconvenienced when they appear.

There is no bad timing on God's end.  I am so grateful I have a father who is waiting by my side to speak, teach and spend time with me at any given moment. He doesn't say, "just a minute." He doesn't cringe inside desiring some space. He doesn't even just tolerate me...

He desires me. And for that, I am grateful.

Oh How He Loves Me....

Every night Jer and I tuck the kids into bed and leave their night lights on. Tonight was no different.  Dyson excitedly jumped into bed to sleep in his new sleeping bag. He was so giddy about it. We prayed together and I asked him how his day went. As always (regardless if it was horrible or not) he responded, "I had a ggggREAT day mom!" I kissed and hugged him goodnight and walked out.

Following a hot bath, TV show with my husband and 40 minutes later, Jer goes to shut the kid's lamps off and then asks, "Where's Dyson?"  I pulled the covers over myself and responded, "I don't know. Check the closet."  

Dyson has this habit of thinking sleeping in the pitch dark in the closet is super cool.  No fear at all. After a few moments, Jer comes back, "He's not there."  That was odd. I jumped out of bed and walked to his room. The bed had already been stripped by Jeremy and pulled away from the wall. I looked underneath. Nothing. Checked his closet. Nothing. Fear immediately swept in as I looked at his windows, being triggered with my fear of abduction living on the main floor of the apartment complex only feet from the playgrounds.

I could hear Jeremy starting to panic as he turned on every light in the house on while shouting, "Dyson?!"  He had already frantically searched the girl's rooms, with no concern of waking them, as they slept deeply through it all.  I ran into their rooms and checked everywhere a second time. Nothing.

Now I was panicking. Kasiah sleepwalks. Not Dyson. He has never left his bed. Ever. This was completely unusual and out of character for him.  Now Jer and I were racing around the little space we had to cover, saying over and over, "This doesn't make sense!" and "I don't understand?!" Everywhere we looked, nothing.  We ran outside and around the house. Nothing. 

I felt the darkness set in and I imagined my six year old son, alone in the dark with some stranger who could careless about his precious beautiful life.  All I could see was his big eyes filling with tears and frozen with fear.

An eerie feeling set in. It was late at night, not in the middle of the day. Something about the still darkness made my stomach rot. We continued to look in the same places over and over, and still, nothing. By now, all I could think about was the precious time we were wasting and I grabbed my phone to call 911.  I wasn't panicked on the outside as much as I was on the inside. 

"911, What is your emergency?"  

I mustered out the sickening words, "My son....he's missing from his bed!"

"O.k., what is your address?"

I proceeded to calmly give all the information the dispatcher needed. He asked questions like, what color is his hair?  Tears filled my eyes and I started to cry. "He's California blonde... surfer like. He's known for his hair......"  My voice trailed off and I just wept.

"O.k. Maa'm. What was he wearing?"  Silence.  

I thought and thought and I couldn't remember. Every other night I knew what pajamas he was wearing. But this particular night he had gotten dressed and pulled up those covers before I even saw them.

Next, Jeremy raced past me, and asked, "Who are you talking to?" I responded ,"911". Completely panicked he yelled, "This can't be happening!"  

I knew his biggest fear was consuming him as well. I also knew he had sex slavery on his mind.  He always does. It's his holy discontent and has been for years.

I continued to stand in the garage and stay focused on the dispatchers questions, while looking out into the night, completely horrified. My son can not be out there dealing with this all alone. He just can't.

Suddenly, Jeremy screamed, "I FOUND HIM!" I looked into the house and saw Jeremy carrying him, shaggy hair, droopy eyed and confused, wearing (of course) his favorite pj's from Grandma, his Angry Bird pajamas. I quickly said to the dispatcher, "we found him....oh my gosh we found him...." and I don't remember much after that. I collapsed to the floor right there and found myself sobbing uncontrollably, a hot mess of every emotion imaginable.  I couldn't even move. I just cried and cried and cried.  

Finally when I was able to pick myself up off the floor, I made it into the kitchen, fell apart once more, and then Jer told me where he found him.  He had fallen asleep wedged between our entertainment center and lazy boy, a very small space for a six year old, and one I have never seen the kids even take note of. We didn't know whether to feel foolish, relieved, confused, or what....

I had a feeling inside that I knew what happened. He had snuck out of bed wanting to talk to me, but I was in the bath, so he hid until I was done, knowing he wasn't supposed to be out of bed....but not wanting to go back to bed.

Sure enough, that's exactly what happened.

Looking back, all I could think about was the fear, sickness and horrifying feeling I had of Dyson having to deal with whatever he was dealing with.... alone. It's one thing to have your child hurting while you're by his side comforting and guiding. But to not even be there. That was beyond what I could bear.

Then it hit me.  God must feel the same. It's not the hardship of the circumstances that concerns him. It's when I try to endure the pain without him. His comfort. His guidance. His arms wrapped tightly around me, bringing safety and peace in the midst of any storm.  It was this that pulled on my mommy heart-strings more than anything else. So, with that being said, I can't help but believe that the same thing pulls on my Father's heart strings as well.

Oh how he loves me. Oh how he loves me......