July 3 – “Happy Birthday”

Chris' Mom woke up this morning and asked what day it was.  Her confusion was perfectly understandable.  She sleeps a lot now.  Unless someone calls or comes over.  Then she puts on a great front like everything is fine.  Then when they leave she crashes on the couch, exhausted.  Chris told her today was Saturday, July 3rd.  Almost immediately she replied, "Happy Birthday, Nathan."  Out of the confusion come moments of perfect lucidity.  Lucidity.  How's that for a dictionary quality word?  Almost as good as perspicuity.  Or maybe clarity.  Chris said she had another good cry last night.  That's when I need to be there.  I have a shoulder that works really good at getting wet.  I will head down there either today or tomorrow after church.    Cailyn got here last night right at her bedtime.  Or so her parents said.  We went into the bedroom, and even got in the bed.  But this was not bedtime.  She was at DadDad's house.  It was playtime.  So what did DadDad do in this critical situation?  He let her play.  Come on.  I was going to be up late watching the Astros anyway.  She could join me.  And she did.  She finally crashed on the couch around ten or so.  I carried her into her bedroom and she never moved.  At least not until around three this morning.  She woke up disoriented and cried out.  I went in and stayed with her, but she never really went out completely.  She would just doze and wake up wanting to be reassured every so often.  Finally at 6 she was up and rarin' to go.  We had breakfast and played pretty hard, but around 8 she crashed again, and didn't wake up until her Mom came to get her.  What a night!   But the story of the day gets better.  I mowed the lawn.  With all the rain it really needed it.  Now remember that the house next door to ours is abandoned.  The city contracted to have the grass cut one time, but they haven't been back since.  As a result there are weeds growing all over the place.  In the front yard they have taken the form of little yellowish orange-ish brownish flowers.  They grow all over the place here.  But … as you get closer to our yard, the St. Augustine grass is beginning to take hold.  I have tried to baby it a little since the storm.  So I was mowing the good grass as well as a little bit more of the weeds, hoping to give the good stuff a boost.  As I turned a corner with the mower going strong, there stood Mom, right in front of me.  Just threw herself in my path, she did.  And she wagged her finger at me and said, quite angrily, "Don't you cut down these flowers.  They are pretty."  I was taken aback.  These were weeds.  What was the point in keeping them.  Yet this was my mother.  I have to honor her.  I was about to push around her when she did it.  She invoked the one name that stopped me dead in my tracks and shut the machine off almost by itself.  She said, "Well, Chris wouldn't want you to cut them.  She thinks they're pretty."  Now how can I in good conscience continue cutting those defenseless little weedlets when they have the protection of the Queen mother and the reigning queen in absentia (at least when Cailyn is not around).  Needless to say, the lawn mowing adventure was at an end.  Finally she told me that I needed to get inside and take a nap.  Ah, something that made sense.  It took me awhile to put everything away, but I followed orders.  Made me feel young again.  About six.   Ecclesiastes 9:9 says, "Enjoy life with your wife, whom you love, all the days of this meaningless life that God has given you under the sun— all your meaningless days. For this is your lot in life and in your toilsome labor under the sun."   Father, what an interesting time to see this verse.  Chris is miles away, and I just got in from mowing the grass.  Thank you for adding meaning to my life through my wife.  Amen.