The way I see it, middle-class America is designed for a family of four. Restaurant tables almost always accommodate four, most sedan-type cars will seat four most comfortably (try squeezing three in the backseat when 2 or more are still in car seats – not happenin’). Even amusement parks are best suited for parties of four.
When I was young, four was the “in” number in a family. I had one brother, most of my friends had just one sibling. Back then, the American dream included a house, two cars, a dog and two kids, preferably one boy and one girl. These days, though, it seems that most families are opting for three kids. It seems that a lot of couples have decided that five is a good family number. Have you noticed? I’m not sure about other parts of the country, but down in Texas, three kids is definitely popular. Whenever I see a family of five – especially with three boys, I can’t help but stare longingly and wonder about their family dynamic… who’s the shy one?... who’s the athlete?... which one is more like dad?
When Terrill and I first got married, I wasn’t sure how many kids I wanted. Right after Jack was born, I wasn’t sure I even wanted the one I had :-) But when Paul was just a couple of weeks old, I knew I wanted at least three. I can remember one night in particular when I had gotten up with him, sitting in one of our red chairs in the living room while I held him. Of course, he was adorable and precious, and right then, I was convinced I wanted another Saxon in our family.
I loved having three boys. I loved the reaction I got when I told people I had three. Eyebrows would go up and they’d say something like, “Wow. You must have your hands full. It must be chaotic around your house.” I’d have to agree, but then I’d always add that I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I loved the noise and the chaos of three boys. (Well, most of the time, anyway). People always expected that I wanted a girl. I have to admit that early on in our family planning, I thought a girl sounded nice, but once I started having boys, I was hooked.
In some ways, being a family of four is much more convenient. We no longer have to wrestle with decisions like: Do we opt for the bigger hotel room (and bigger price) or settle for the inconvenience of a roll-away bed? Can we squeeze a chair on the end of our restaurant table of four, or do we wait for a bigger table to open up? Every time we easily slide into a booth at a restaurant, I miss Paul. I thought longingly of him when we qualified for the discount rate at the resort because we were a party of four. No more squabbling over who sits in the far back of the car and who gets the middle. No need to spring for the extra set of headphones for the car DVD player… it comes with two.
Even though four is convenient, it isn’t right. Not for our family, anyway. And every time someone asks me how many boys I have, I wrestle with all the variables and who this person is, and do I want to put them through the details of how complicated that answer is, and do I have the emotional fortitude today to answer fully, or could I just say that I have three and not go into any details, and then my heart screams out, “THREE! THREE! I HAVE THREE BOYS!” but with my mouth I reluctantly say, “Two.” It breaks my heart every time. And no one ever raises an eyebrow or comments on how chaotic my house is.
September 1, 2009
August 19, 2009
Wondering...
I’m in the Wondering Phase now. I knew this day would come, I’ve dreaded it for a long time, but I think I have to say I’m officially here. It sucks.
When Paul first died, I could imagine him still being alive. I knew the sound of his voice, the feel of his bald head, and I knew all his funny expressions. I knew his “Yeah, baby!” expression with his hands in the double gun position. I could predict his reaction to things, what movies he would’ve wanted to see, what he would’ve laughed at, and when he would’ve cuddled up with me on the couch, interrupting one of my Sunday-afternoon naps.
I knew who his friends were, his classmates, his teacher. I even knew who was going to be Paul’s first-grade teacher and could imagine him strolling along the halls… one ordinary kid among many, sneaking to step out of line when the teacher wasn’t looking.
At his last birthday, Paul had a Dale, Jr. cake, and declared that next year, he’d choose Jimmie Johnson, so when what would’ve been his 7th birthday rolled around, it was easy to imagine him licking all the icing off the big 48 piece.
It was easy to imagine he was just gone for a little while, that he’d be back soon. It was easy to expect him to come home and re-enter the tangled mix of three boys wrestling on our king-sized bed.
It’s not that easy anymore.
What would two years have done to him? How much would he have grown? How would his hair have filled in…. straight and blonde, or wavy and a little dark? What friends would he have made in 2nd grade, and who would his 3rd grade teacher be? Would he still be as much of a NASCAR nut or would he have traded in his wheels for a baseball glove? Would he have been as crazy about Guitar Hero as his brothers? Would he still be a ham in all the church choir performances, or would he have grown into being to “cool” for such things? Would he still be as stubborn and persistent when he was told “no”? Would he still love his Maw Maw’s fried chicken and gray pudding (gravy) and ask for pink meat (ham) in his lunch? Which restaurant chicken strips would he be fixated on by now?
What would 8-year-old Paul be like?
All I can do now is wonder….
When Paul first died, I could imagine him still being alive. I knew the sound of his voice, the feel of his bald head, and I knew all his funny expressions. I knew his “Yeah, baby!” expression with his hands in the double gun position. I could predict his reaction to things, what movies he would’ve wanted to see, what he would’ve laughed at, and when he would’ve cuddled up with me on the couch, interrupting one of my Sunday-afternoon naps.
I knew who his friends were, his classmates, his teacher. I even knew who was going to be Paul’s first-grade teacher and could imagine him strolling along the halls… one ordinary kid among many, sneaking to step out of line when the teacher wasn’t looking.
At his last birthday, Paul had a Dale, Jr. cake, and declared that next year, he’d choose Jimmie Johnson, so when what would’ve been his 7th birthday rolled around, it was easy to imagine him licking all the icing off the big 48 piece.
It was easy to imagine he was just gone for a little while, that he’d be back soon. It was easy to expect him to come home and re-enter the tangled mix of three boys wrestling on our king-sized bed.
It’s not that easy anymore.
What would two years have done to him? How much would he have grown? How would his hair have filled in…. straight and blonde, or wavy and a little dark? What friends would he have made in 2nd grade, and who would his 3rd grade teacher be? Would he still be as much of a NASCAR nut or would he have traded in his wheels for a baseball glove? Would he have been as crazy about Guitar Hero as his brothers? Would he still be a ham in all the church choir performances, or would he have grown into being to “cool” for such things? Would he still be as stubborn and persistent when he was told “no”? Would he still love his Maw Maw’s fried chicken and gray pudding (gravy) and ask for pink meat (ham) in his lunch? Which restaurant chicken strips would he be fixated on by now?
What would 8-year-old Paul be like?
All I can do now is wonder….
August 1, 2009
Please Pray
Please, please, please...
Pray for Daryan (Dah-ree-on).
He is the little baby we met during our trip.
Click here to see his updates on the PLC website.
Pray for Daryan (Dah-ree-on).
He is the little baby we met during our trip.
Click here to see his updates on the PLC website.
July 29, 2009
A Great Trip
I've been home long enough to deal with the tough question many times over: "So.... how was your trip?" An obvious question in this situation. I just wish I had a better answer. "Great" just never seems to really capture all that I hope to convey.
"Great" doesn't do justice to the amazing community we felt as a team, how we prayed together, for each other and with each other, how we witnessed God at work together in unexplainable ways.
"Great" doesn't communicate the excitement of seeing families again, hugging and kissing them again, spending time in their homes again, and being humbled again by their hospitality and generosity.
"Great" doesn't decribe how amazing it is that people from completely different cultures, from completely different worlds, who speak completely different languages are able to enjoy each other, laugh together and cry together.
"Great" doesn't hold a candle to witnessing a team of Americans who stand out in a Muslim community, who are loved by this community, and who are truly demonstrating the life that Jesus lived.... a life of sacrifice based solely on LOVE.
"Great" doesn't describe the ways that my faith has been challenged, how my ideas of evangelism have been annihilated, and how the Lord is showing me how very little of anything I do is motivated by love.
"Great" doesn't say any of those things... and yet, for some stupid reason, it's the word I find myself using to describe my trip whenever I am asked.
So, if you've asked me about my trip, I'm sorry for my lame response. And, if you see me in the near future and ask about my trip, I apologize in advance for my "great" answer. Forgive me. It's a tough one to put into words.
"Great" doesn't do justice to the amazing community we felt as a team, how we prayed together, for each other and with each other, how we witnessed God at work together in unexplainable ways.
"Great" doesn't communicate the excitement of seeing families again, hugging and kissing them again, spending time in their homes again, and being humbled again by their hospitality and generosity.
"Great" doesn't decribe how amazing it is that people from completely different cultures, from completely different worlds, who speak completely different languages are able to enjoy each other, laugh together and cry together.
"Great" doesn't hold a candle to witnessing a team of Americans who stand out in a Muslim community, who are loved by this community, and who are truly demonstrating the life that Jesus lived.... a life of sacrifice based solely on LOVE.
"Great" doesn't describe the ways that my faith has been challenged, how my ideas of evangelism have been annihilated, and how the Lord is showing me how very little of anything I do is motivated by love.
"Great" doesn't say any of those things... and yet, for some stupid reason, it's the word I find myself using to describe my trip whenever I am asked.
So, if you've asked me about my trip, I'm sorry for my lame response. And, if you see me in the near future and ask about my trip, I apologize in advance for my "great" answer. Forgive me. It's a tough one to put into words.
July 24, 2009
The Heart
You have GOT TO, simply GOT TO go to the Preemptive Love website to see an amazing post. It is a VIDEO of Mohammed's heart surgery. The actual video of this 10-year-old boy's chest cut open and his beating heart being FIXED by the doctors. It is absolutely phenomenal.
Wow. It is just an indescribable sight. I've watched it multiple times and I will watch it again. The heart... the beating heart.... the center of our physical lives and the core of our spiritual selves. How do these work together? Where does one end and the other begin? I don't know... something about seeing this physical heart causes me to wonder about the spiritual heart and how much God desires just that - our HEART.
"I pray that the eyes of your HEART may be enlightened, so that you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward us who believe." Eph. 1:17-18
" ...for God sees not as the man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the HEART." 1 Sam 16:7
"...the love of God has been poured out within our HEARTS through the Holy Spirit who was given to us." Rom 5:5
Click HERE to go to the website, then scroll down to the video posted on July 24.
Praise our MIGHTY heavenly Father for the miracle of heart surgery.... for the amazing skill of doctors, the incredible passion of PLC workers and interns, and the sacrificial love of those who donate to this amazing cause.
Wow. It is just an indescribable sight. I've watched it multiple times and I will watch it again. The heart... the beating heart.... the center of our physical lives and the core of our spiritual selves. How do these work together? Where does one end and the other begin? I don't know... something about seeing this physical heart causes me to wonder about the spiritual heart and how much God desires just that - our HEART.
"I pray that the eyes of your HEART may be enlightened, so that you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward us who believe." Eph. 1:17-18
" ...for God sees not as the man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the HEART." 1 Sam 16:7
"...the love of God has been poured out within our HEARTS through the Holy Spirit who was given to us." Rom 5:5
July 7, 2009
For my trip to Iraq (July 9 - 19), our group of 5 is blogging on a GROUP BLOG. This way, you can hear about this trip from all of us. I hope you enjoy it!!
July 1, 2009
New Little Friend
Whit had a new friend over to play the other day. He inquired about some artwork on the wall and was intrigued when he found out that Whit had two brothers. Of course, the question prevailed... where is this other brother? I explained to him that Whit had a brother, Paul, who died a couple of years ago. He nodded thoughtfully and returned to the boys' room to play.
I was in the kitchen when he returned. Did Paul die of the swine flu, he wanted to know. No, I explained, he was very, very sick with a disease called cancer. Then our new little friend had a lot of questions about how long Paul was sick (I think in his 6-year-old mind, you are sick for a couple of days... maybe a week, and then you get better). I saw the bewilderment in his face as I tried to explain to him that Paul was sick for years - sometimes he would feel good and then he would feel badly again. Once he had enough information to process, he trotted off to play again.
In a little while, he came back to ask some more questions. At some point, it came up that Paul was bald for a while. When I told him this, his eyes got big and he immediately asked to see pictures of Paul. Well, howdy, I can tell you I was thrilled to oblige. I pulled out a photo album that a dear friend made that we keep on the coffee table, and poured over pictures of Paul in all his different hairstyles.
Then New Little Friend caught a glimpse of all of Paul's 24 cars that are lined up in our china cabinet. Being very astute at the fact that these precious toys are locked behind glass, he asked, "He doesn't like anybody playing with those even though he's dead?" I explained that these were just a few of Paul's cars, and I asked if he wanted to see the rest. As we made our way into the guest bedroom and I reached under the bed to pull out and dust off the car collection, New Little Friend said, "I bet you miss Paul a lot, don't you?" I sat down on the floor with this little boy and Paul's Nascar collection - not knowing whether I wanted to cry or jump for joy - and agreed with him that yes, I miss Paul VERY much.
When we moved to the closet, and I pulled out yet another huge vat of more cars, New Little Friend couldn't contain his excitement. "Wow. Paul had a LOT of cars. You must've bought him everything he wanted because he was sick." Now it was MY turn to be amazed. He'd pegged us in a matter of minutes!
I don't get to talk about Paul as much as I would like. I don't get to see anyone enjoying his Nascar collection as much as I would like. I don't get to show off pictures as much as I would like. Thank you, New Little Friend. Come back whenever you want... and make it soon...
I was in the kitchen when he returned. Did Paul die of the swine flu, he wanted to know. No, I explained, he was very, very sick with a disease called cancer. Then our new little friend had a lot of questions about how long Paul was sick (I think in his 6-year-old mind, you are sick for a couple of days... maybe a week, and then you get better). I saw the bewilderment in his face as I tried to explain to him that Paul was sick for years - sometimes he would feel good and then he would feel badly again. Once he had enough information to process, he trotted off to play again.
In a little while, he came back to ask some more questions. At some point, it came up that Paul was bald for a while. When I told him this, his eyes got big and he immediately asked to see pictures of Paul. Well, howdy, I can tell you I was thrilled to oblige. I pulled out a photo album that a dear friend made that we keep on the coffee table, and poured over pictures of Paul in all his different hairstyles.
Then New Little Friend caught a glimpse of all of Paul's 24 cars that are lined up in our china cabinet. Being very astute at the fact that these precious toys are locked behind glass, he asked, "He doesn't like anybody playing with those even though he's dead?" I explained that these were just a few of Paul's cars, and I asked if he wanted to see the rest. As we made our way into the guest bedroom and I reached under the bed to pull out and dust off the car collection, New Little Friend said, "I bet you miss Paul a lot, don't you?" I sat down on the floor with this little boy and Paul's Nascar collection - not knowing whether I wanted to cry or jump for joy - and agreed with him that yes, I miss Paul VERY much.
When we moved to the closet, and I pulled out yet another huge vat of more cars, New Little Friend couldn't contain his excitement. "Wow. Paul had a LOT of cars. You must've bought him everything he wanted because he was sick." Now it was MY turn to be amazed. He'd pegged us in a matter of minutes!
I don't get to talk about Paul as much as I would like. I don't get to see anyone enjoying his Nascar collection as much as I would like. I don't get to show off pictures as much as I would like. Thank you, New Little Friend. Come back whenever you want... and make it soon...
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