Monday, 28 January 2013
About a boy . . .
One of the younger sisters in my church congregation just had a baby boy recently. I saw him for the first time yesterday morning and I spent a few minutes in the hallway in between our meetings talking to her and admiring this newest wee one, come down from our Heavenly Father. His fingers so tiny and delicate . . . that beautiful little face, so perfect . . . so sweet. It reminded me of when my own boys were babies, and my girls too. It was so long ago, and yet . . . it seemed like just yesterday that I was holding them in just the same way and they, too . . . were fresh from our Heavenly Father's presence. My grandson Luke will be turning three in a couple of days. He is my oldest son's youngest son . . . this is for him.
Somewhere between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood, we discover a delightful little creature which is called a boy. These creatures come in all different sizes, weights and colours, but all come with the same goal in life which is to enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day and to protest loudly when that day comes to an end and the last minute is finished and the adult male in the house packs em off to bed at night.
You can find boys everywhere; on top of, beneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to! Mothers love and adore them, little girls hate the bones off them, older brothers and sisters tolerate them, adults ignore them, teenage girls adulate them . . . and Heaven protects them.
A boy is truth with a dirty face, knowledge with bubblegum in his hair . . . and the hope of our future with a frog in his pocket. When you are busy and wanting peace and quiet . . . a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding cacophony of noise. When you want him to impress, his brain turns to mush, or else he becomes a sadistic, savage, jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it.
A boy is a mixture of many things. He has all of the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of a small atomic bomb and all of the curiosity of a cat. In him is the imagination of Paul Bunyan, the lungs of an absolutist, all the daring of a great adventurer, the enthusiasm of a fire cracker . . . as well as all of the shyness of a trembling violet. When he makes something . . . and he often does . . . he appears to have five thumbs on each hand.
He likes ice cream and candy, knives and saws, Christmas, Comic Books, Dinosaurs, Video games, daring adventures, mud, his friends, the woods, water, horses and dogs, trains and fire engines, Saturday mornings and his Dad. He's not into school of any kind, company, girls, getting his hair cut, washing behind his ears, wearing a tie, washing his hands, overcoats, adults, or bed time. He's the first to rise in the morning and late for supper, but nobody can attack a meal with the appetite of a behemoth like a boy can. Nobody else can get the pleasure out of trees, forts, dogs and breezes like a boy can.
They are magicians which can cram more into one pocket than is humanly possible . . . two rusty knives, two half eaten apples, three feet of string, a variety of rubber bands, an empty Bull Durham sack, a couple of hard candies, a couple of quarters, nickles and dimes, a treasure map, a packet of bubblegum, a secret decoder ring, a sling shot, a dead frog and a big chunk of something completely unknown and undefinable.
Boys are wonderful beings. You can lock him out of your kitchen, or workshop . . . but you can never lock him out of your heart. You can keep him out of the study, but you can never keep him out of your mind. He's your captor, your jailor, your boss and master . . . . freckle faced, pint sized . . . a cat chasing bundle of noise, but at the end of the day when you are tucking him in bed with only the tatters of the day that was and your hopes and dreams . . . he can mend them like new, with three little words. I love you. And as those wiry little arms wrap themselves around your neck to say goodnight, you realize that life is good . . . amazingly, wonderfully and beautifully good.
(Adapted into my own words from a piece by Alan Beck. All of the photos this morning are of my grandson Luke. Happy Birthday Luke! Grammy loves you. )
Yesterdays Silver Lining: Ward Conference, where we got to hear some fantastic talks from our local leaders and be taught the things they would have us take into our hearts. It was pretty special.
A thought to carry with you through the day today . . .
"Going to church on Sunday does not make you a Christian any more than sleeping in a garage overnight turns you into a car."
Cooking in The English Kitchen today . . . Ham Hock, Peas & Creamy Noodles, quick, easy, economical and delicious!