December 14 – “Crisis averted”

 

 

It was quite hoggy yesterday in Galveston.  Yes, I know.  I wasn't sure what that meant either the first time I heard it.  And coming from Cailyn it was difficult to discern any context clues as well.  We finally figured it out, though.  Hoggy.  Foggy.  Of course.  Come to find out, she had pulled it on her Mommy as well, and April turned it into a Sesame Street lesson on the letter "F."  Nice job, April.

 

We did have a near crisis yesterday.  Cailyn had settled down somewhat from her usual flurry of constant activity.  She was playing by herself in the den near where Mom usually sits and naps during the day.  At least we thought she was alone.  She was deeply engaged in a conversation with someone, but we didn't want to get too close and spoil the magic of the whole interchange. 

 

And then Mom entered the room.  She, too, had an agenda for play.  It involved getting as close as she could to Cailyn and offering to join her in that very loud, sing-songy voice she comes up with.  Cailyn handles Mom's attention pretty well for the most part.  She simply treats her as she would any other potential play mate.  If she wants interaction, she welcomes her and reads her into the ongoing script.  If not, however, she can be quite verbal about it.  That usually results in a statement of rejection in no uncertain terms, accompanied as well by a physical blocking of the pathway to insure no infringement on property rights.  This particular reaction fell somewhere in between the two. 

 

Mom came into the room, pushing her walker and sing-songing her entrance.  Cailyn was greatly involved in her own scenario, so she barely looked up.  That is, until Mom sat down, not in her spot in the recliner, but on the couch.  There it was.  The crisis point.  See, Mom had inadvertently sat down right on top of … those two elusive imaginary friends, Boy and Friend.  Cailyn immediately reacted, urging her to move quickly, a feat that wasn't going to happen on one of Mom's best days.  "You're sitting on Boy and Friend," Cailyn explained.  To which Mom retorted, "Oh, well, I'll move when they get here."  And so it began.  They were not even on the same page, so communication was not going to happen fast enough to rescue Boy and Friend or preserve a civil conversation.

 

Sensing the crisis, Chris stepped in.  She quickly acknowledged the difficulty of the situation and made a suggestion, "Cailyn, why don't you ask Boy and Friend to move over and sit on this end of the couch?"  Surprisingly, and thankfully, that's all it took this time.  Boy and Friend were happy to squeeze out from under their dilemma, and they apparently assured Cailyn that they were fine with the negotiations.  It's so nice when all ends well.

 

Isaiah 33:2 says, "O Lord, be gracious to us; we long for you.  Be our strength every morning, our salvation in time of distress."

 

Father, thank you for peaceful settlements.  Help our leaders discover some.  Amen.

December 13 – “A work of art”

 

 

We went to a banquet last night.  It was put on by the Galveston Baptist Association of churches to honor the pastors in our area.  I have been to it once or twice before, and it is usually, well, nice.  It doesn't ever compare with the one given by the Gideons every year.  They usually treat us to a meal at Gaidos or one of the hotels on the Island.  But the association usually caters a pretty good meal and the speaker is usually a funny guy. 

 

Last night matched up pretty well.  It was held at a church in Dickinson.  The main course was roast beef (two big hunks of it) with some green beans and mashed potatoes.  And the speaker was indeed a funny guy.  I think he was officially a music evangelist.  He said he travels all over the country, and he did a lot of singing.  Chris and I both agreed that his humor was targeted to his audience in at least two key ways.  First, a lot of what he parodied was related to being Baptist.  A lot.  In fact if you weren't Baptist, much of his stuff would make little sense.  He poked fun at deacons as a governing body in the church and at the "typical" church members who give pastors grief.  He also made comments on at least four or five occasions about Baptists eating a lot every time they get together.  I guess targeting Baptists is appropriate when you are speaking to a group of Baptist pastors and their wives.  His second target group was, well, old people.  I phones and texting and even email were ravaged in favor of just giving him "a call at the house."  He picked on the only youth pastor in the room.  Again, after looking around the room, he had his audience down pat.  Lots of geezers there.  Many of them were even older than me.  I did really like his Christmas medley, though.  He sang Jingle Bells like different artists would have over the years – Elvis, Three Dog night, and a couple of guys I never heard of, but the "older" guys in the room thought his rendition on whoever they were was hilarious. 

 

It was a pretty fun evening.  I got to spend it with Chris and the food was good.  It also made me appreciate even more what God has made Seaside out to be over the years.  Not so easily recognizable as Baptist, but clearly focused on Jesus.  That's a work of art there. 

 

Isaiah 32:18-20 says, "My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.  Though hail flattens the forest and the city is leveled completely, how blessed you will be, sowing your seed by every stream, and letting your cattle and donkeys range free."

 

Father, don't ever stop touching up your masterpiece that is Seaside.  We still need the hand of the Master.  Amen.

December 12 – “Caroling”

 

 

December.  It's a month for many things, but for as long as I can remember somewhere in there has to be at least one shot at going Christmas caroling.  My earliest memories of caroling in the neighborhood around our house came when I was somewhere around 6^th grade.  I had taken up the cornet in school so I wouldn't have to go to singing class with the dreaded Mrs. Littman.  The cornet is kind of a high class name for an instrument that is a lot like a trumpet.  It's not that Mrs. Littman was overly mean or hateful.  She was probably just another typically driven musician.  But I for one was quite scared of her.  She had white hair and demanded a lot that I obviously never had vocally.  But I digress.  Again.  I chose to play in the beginner's band.  My caroling memory was that year a few of us went door to door, not so much for the joy of singing, but more to see what people would give us.  And to make our experience unique, I learned a few of the more basic carols on my cornet.  I'm pretty sure unique would be a kind way of putting the reaction we got from the neighbors.  They were mostly very kind, though, and we scored some cookies and candy and fruit as a result. 

 

At Seaside a few years ago we started caroling around the neighborhood of the church.  We would gather at the building, then start a trek through the streets, stopping at homes with Christmas lights up and hoping someone would be there.  Once or twice we had a trailer available to ferry us from one house to the next.  For a few years we managed to make our trip coincide with a big Christmas party a member of Moody Methodist Church had at their home.  It was always a big highlight of the long walk to stop at the party and eat the cookies they would always bring out to us.  We sure looked forward to it, and they said they did, too.  The Christmas after Hurricane Ike we couldn't walk around too much because there was still quite a bit of debris littering the streets, so instead we did Caroling at the Corner.  We simply stood at the corner near Jamaica Beach's only traffic light and sang.  We set up a little manger with a doll in it, and a few of the children dressed up in biblical garb.   A family in the church brought up some goats and several others brought their dogs, so it became quite an affair.  We did that last year as well, but it was really cold and rainy, so we hustled through the songs and got inside as quickly as we could. 

 

Last night was caroling night again.  But this year we changed things up again.  Once again we found a trailer, but this time we did a hayride with no hay.  That stuff is pretty expensive right now, with the drought and fires.  Instead, everyone brought blankets and sleeping bags to sit on.  The guy who owned the trailer surprised us all.  He dressed it up with Christmas lights and even rigged up two spotlights in the center attached to a ladder so we could see the words to the songs.  All the lights blended with the colorful blankets and coats and hats to make for a pretty festive wagon.  This year we rode throughout the neighborhood singing to the Lord and to anyone else who happened to see us and venture out in the cold to see what was happening.  One lady and her son even joined us after we stopped by their house.  As we pulled into the parking lot of the local Stop and Go to make our way back to the church, the clerk came outside and waved, so we stopped and sang to him and his few customers.  Inspired, we pulled the trailer around the corner and stopped in front of Buck's Bar.  A customer was about to enter, so we called for him to bring everyone outside.  Sure enough, we ended up singing to a few of the patrons who were brave enough to leave the Cowboys' game and brave the chill.  Hot chocolate and apple cider and cookies back at the church made the evening complete.  Not exactly the same as my cornet accompaniment memory, but this one will rank right up there.

 

Isaiah 32:17 says, "The fruit of righteousness will be peace; the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever."

 

Father, bring us some of that quietness and confidence.  Amen.

 

December 11 – “Audit”

 

 

Fun times ahead for the holiday season at the Vaughan house.  We just got a letter from the Internal Revenue Service saying they want to look a bit more closely at our tax return for the year 2009.  WooHoo. 

 

I talked to our accountant, and he said that as audits go, this is one of the best kinds to have.  They asked for several specific things, and he told me under no circumstances was I to give them more than they asked for.  Thankfully, I do have a huge pile of documentation about stuff from that year.  They want receipts for pretty much everything we bought (which, by the way includes, well, everything in our house that wasn't donated to us after Hurricane Ike), as well as travel logs (which I will need to go through to separate out medical mileage from business mileage).  Had they asked for anything from 2008 or before, we would have had some problems.  All of that was all washed away by Hurricane Ike.  Now I just have to find some time in the next three weeks to put together the specific things they want, copy it all, and send it on to them.  Again I say, WooHoo.

 

Last night we had the opportunity to babysit for Kel's kids.  That meant we got to drive into Texas, up to LaMarque.  They had a white elephant party with one of the groups from their church.  We began the evening with a rousing game of tag which, by the way, has strangely become a favorite with Jachin and Micah.  We played last time they were here and I introduced them to the "No tag backs" call.  I got dizzy once when Micah chased me and Jachin around the table about six times.  He only stopped because Josiah joined in the game about that time.  That meant all four of us were running around in circles.  I'm not sure how Chris managed to avoid that one.  I won a bit of a reprieve from tag when I used my turn to tag one of the wise men in their nativity set.  As far as I know, he's still "it."  Watch out for those wise men.  They could pop up anywhere.

 

Isaiah 30:18 says, "Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion.  For the Lord is a God of justice.  Blessed are all who wait for him!"

 

Father, thank you for that compassion you show.  Help me to show it, too.  Amen.

December 10 – “Carving fingers”

 

 

I actually had a chance to spend an hour or so in the garage yesterday.  I know.  Doesn't sound all that appealing to me, either.  But after all, it is December, the time of year when those of us who attempt to carve a Christmas present out of a block of wood that is worth presenting to our wives on Christmas morning, must get down to some serious work.  My giftee has always been Chris.  She made the mistake of saying she really liked my earliest fumbling attempts, so it just encouraged me. 

 

I was hoping that when I slipped with the knife the last time I was working out there and cut a hole in my new blue jeans that I was done with the inevitable carving fingers accidents.  But alas, it was not to be.  Once again, as I do virtually every year, I have tiny little cuts on my hands.  And they are, as always, in just the right places to be quite bothersome when I do things like tie my shoes or pick up a cup of coffee or type.  But I am determined to tough it out once again and get the carving finished. 

 

I actually had an idea about what the carving would be before I began this year.  Not that I am at liberty to say what it is destined to become.  Sometimes I just start cutting and see if it begins to remind me of anything.  That's the Michaelangelo approach.  I heard what he did when he carved was to chip away everything that didn't look like it belonged, and then brighten up the rest.  Of course he usually worked in marble.  Not much room for error there.  I need a lot of room for error.  Think I'll stick to wood.

 

I started out this whole carving thing way back in the day when we were first married.  We used to get a real Christmas tree, and for a month or so I would cough and hack and pop antihistamines.  Then our children were born.  And when they started coughing and hacking for a month around Christmas, it didn't take long for the lovable pediatric nurse among us to put two and two together.  We got a fake tree.  Helped me out, too.  So when you bought a real tree back then – don't know if it's still true now – they would cut off an inch or so of the bottom so the tree could more effectively soak up the water and nutrients you were of course remembering to put in your tree stand.  It was that couple of inches of tree trunk that provided the base material for my earliest carvings. 

 

And my early attempts were pretty sad.  One year I made coasters by using one of those heat guns to burn pictures into the wood.  Another year it ended up being a candle with its single flame rising from the center of what looked like, well, a hunk of a tree trunk.  As the years progressed and we no longer had the yearly tree trunk to draw from, I used chunks of wood I found in the street or around the garage.  A few years I used balsa wood from Hobby Lobby, but that stuff was too soft.  Very difficult to carve.  One year I used part of the tree that feel after Hurricane Ike.  Many of the figures started their career intended to be race cars formed by the eager young hands of Cub Scouts.  Their blocks of soft pinewood proved to just the right consistency for carving, so I search all year for cast-off pine.  Sometimes I can find it in hobby stores, too, marketed as carving wood.  That's what I used this year, but my stash is running dangerously low since being wiped out by Hurricane Ike.  

 

I like to do animals.  A frog.  A hippopotamus.  A giraffe.  A beaver.  A camel.  A dolphin.  Over one two year period I did a manger scene.  This year … nope.  Can't reveal it yet.  But now I'm down to the sandpapering.  Never the most fun part of the process, but at least it means I'm close to the end for another year.

 

Isaiah 30:15 says, "This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: 'In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength.'"

 

Father, I long for some of that quietness and rest.  I understand it'll begin with repentance and trust.  Help me get there.  Amen.

December 9 – “Princess”

 

 

Cailyn got quite creative the other day when she was over.  I watched her play with Chris, and I was never more thankful that it was Chris she was playing with.  They were having a princess dress-up day.  Now don't think I don't know what a princess dress-up day is like.  I have indeed been involved in one.  The results were not at all pretty for me.  In my case "dressing up" meant dancing like a ballerina in the kitchen.  It didn't work in any other room of the house.  Just the kitchen.  I think in the grand schematics of the palace that obviously exists inside Cailyn's head, the kitchen was the "Princess dancing room."  I must say, though, I made quite a good dancer.  But that is a story for another time.

 

"Princess dress-up" had an entirely different meaning when Nani was involved.  Cailyn was the princess and she came up with the fashion plan for the day.  And to Chris' credit, she convinced Cailyn to be the princess, saving her the honor of modeling said fashion.  When I walked in Cailyn was wearing the blue jeans she arrived in plus another pair of leggings pulled on over them.  Thankfully, when I started to ask her what in the world she was doing with two pairs of pants on, Chris caught my eye with one of those married people looks, so I held my tongue.  All I ended up doing was pointing at her.  The pants were enough, but the crowning glory was the royal tiara on her head.  She had carefully spread out a baby wipe and had it clipped to her hair in several places.  Now that was a picture I wish I had.

 

Speaking of pictures, Cailyn was here during our life group meeting last night.  She had had a good nap, so she was "on" the whole evening.  At one point she got a bit rambunctious, so Chris took her into the princess dancing room which had now become, unbeknownst to Chris, the princess hair salon.  And this time there was no talking her out of it.  Cailyn was the salon master and Chris was the customer.  They were very quiet the whole time the work was in progress, and by the time we finished Bible study, the masterpiece was accomplished.  Chris was sitting on the floor with Cailyn beaming next to her.  Chris had a tiny little pony tail sticking straight up right in front of her head.  And when she turned to the side to talk to one of our guests I saw the rest.  Randomly spaced all about her head were multi-colored hair clips.  And it's not like she could be discreet about it.  Chris has white hair.  It is beautiful.  And it could only be described as colorful, since each clip stood out in this spectacular explosion of glittery purples and browns and pinks.  I did manage to sneak a quick picture of that baby pony tail, but it was with the first Iphone I came to, and it happened to be Chris'.  Now I'll have to find some way to secretly transfer it to FaceBook when she isn't looking.  Wish me luck.

 

Isaiah 29:15-16 says, "Woe to those who go to great depths to hide their plans from the Lord, who do their work in darkness and think, 'Who sees us? Who will know?'  You turn things upside down, as if the potter were thought to be like the clay!  Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, 'He did not make me'?  Can the pot say of the potter, 'He knows nothing'?"

 

Father, help the youngsters in school be able to focus these last few days before their big Christmas break.  And grant their teachers some patience.  Amen.

December 8 – “Your fault, Dad”

 

 

The other day when Kel's kids were over, they got to running around the house, as they usually eventually get to pretty much every time they come over.  On rare occasions they have to be prodded a bit by whispered warnings or surprise attack tickle-bouts, but most of the time they figure out a way to get started on their own.  Jachin and Micah had been running around the house, first chasing each other and then challenging and running from their Nana.  Kel watched in silence for a long time, then finally said in exasperation, "Slow down.  You are acting like a bunch of hooligans.  Jachin replied matter-of-factly, "But we are hooligans.  We were born that way."  Your fault, Dad.

 

And Cailyn was over yesterday.  For a few hours it was just she and I, when Chris took Mom took Wednesday Club.  That's the group of ladies that get together once  a month or so to talk about books they have read or experiences they have had covering a theme for the year.  Chris has missed quite a few meetings for one reason or another, so I don't know what the theme is for this year.  But she said yesterday they talked about Pearl Harbor.  It was the anniversary of the bombing that drew the United States into World War II.  Now, Chris is the youngest member of the club right now, and most of the other ladies have a good twenty or thirty years on her.  That meant they actually lived through the event.  They had boyfriends and brothers and fathers who were in Pearl Harbor at the time.  The most interesting tidbit I heard her share was that the survivors of the attack were given postcards to send to their loved ones at home.  But all they were allowed to write on them was that they were alive.  They could say nothing about the attack or the extent of the damage they could see.  All that was considered top secret and a matter of national security.  When the local mailmen realized what was happening with the postcards, they began to watch for them.  When one came through on their route, they would deliver the card at any hour of the day or night so the families could know their loved one was safe.  Fascinating stuff.

 

Meanwhile Cailyn and I watched some Caillou videos on the computer.  Then it was time for DadDad to be the baby and she would be the Mommy.  That meant I had to go to school.  She read some books to me.  Actually she borrowed my trick of talking about the pictures rather than actually reading the story.  And she used the same words and action I had used earlier.  Gotta be careful there.  But she did make an interesting comment.  At one point she told me she was playing with someone.  Always fascinated by imaginary playmates, I inquired as to jus who it was that had come into my house when I wasn't looking.  She replied, "It's OK, DadDad.  It's just my baby sister."  Quickly I asked, "And what's your baby sister's name?"  She twisted her mouth to the side, wrinkling her nose.  Her eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.  Suddenly, her entire countenance lit up.  Her eyes opened wide, and her mouth followed.  She jerked to a sitting position, threw her shoulders back, and announced, "It's Viva.  My little sister's name is Viva."  I repeated it to be sure I had it right.  Then I asked, "What if it was little boy?  What would his name be?"  I knew I was treading on thin ice here.  Imaginary friends who don't really exist are hard to imagine when the actual imaginary friend who does exist for the moment is right there.  She pondered for a moment, but was able to come up with, "Vivo.  His name is Vivo."  And that did it.  End of discussion.  Back to the hard work of play.  So, Nathan and April.  The ball is in your court, I guess.

 

Isaiah 29:13 says, "The Lord says: 'These people come near to me with their mouth and honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.  Their worship of me is made up only of rules taught by men.'"

 

Father, help me, help Seaside, always to give you honor with more than man made rules, but with our lives instead.  Amen.