Some kind of wonderful…

The weight of words

I think it’s some kind of wonderful – the power of words. Words in our house are boomerangs that come right back at us, via Cammy. J This is hilarious, and humbling. Like when he’s frustrated with the stubborn lid of a play dough tub and he says, ‘Ah, give me a break, man!’ or when Scott wakes up from a nap and Cam reports to me, exasperated, ‘Scotty is crying for no reason!’ It’s also chillingly thrilling (which means incredible in the goose-bumps-all-over kind of way) to realise that our words can be the Holy Spirit’s conduits of life and truth and grace. Yesterday Cam was singing ‘Open the eyes of my heart’ (one of his favourites on what he calls the ‘holy holy CD’). He stopped singing and said, matter-of-factly, ‘Jesus is the light and there are so many sad things in the world that make the world dark and then Jesus is the light.’

Five months of looking at life

I think it’s some kind of wonderful that tomorrow Scott will be five months old. Cam was exactly this age when he had his cataract surgery, which brings back eina twinges – to think that, while Scott has had five months of multi-coloured clarity and recognition and beauty, Cam had had five months of light and dark. But: how I marvel at Scott’s enormous, black pupils, sans the milky, blinding shadows of cataracts. And how I remember marvelling at Cam’s brand new, post-operative black pupils. I so often still do. We’ll never understand it all, or have all the answers, but it’s some kind of wonderful that God is in the inexplicable details of cells and atoms and galaxies, that he ‘has plans which mortals don’t understand. He rests in the womb when the new baby forms. Whispers the life dream to infinitesimal cells.’ (Ellease Southerland)

Cameron

I think it’s some kind of wonderful that Cam had his OT assessment at Prinshof School (for blind and VI kids) this week, and that he is doing so well! They’ll probably only need to see him again when he’s five. It’s some kind of wonderful that Samantha (specialist aunt / OT J) has assessed him as a ‘sensory-seeking’ child – he wants to touch as much as possible, move as much as possible, etc. and he is maximising his vision. He’s not afraid of moving into spaces, trying new things in new environments – unusual for a VI child. He remembers things that happened way back, and he makes astounding connections between people, places, objects, colours, events… It’s some kind of wonderful that he is so loved and accepted. He even got to play ‘soccer’ with all the big boys on church camp.

Scott

I think it’s some kind of wonderful that Scott’s vocabulary is beginning to include voluble, enthusiastic squeaks. And that no one makes him laugh quite like his big brother. It comes out in gorgeous, happy, spluttering gulps. If I could bottle it and sell it, I’d make millions.   

Domestic bliss

Picture this, for some kind of wonderful (it really happened – yesterday):

I’m in the kitchen peeling potatoes. Scott is on the counter in his Bumbo, clutching a spatula and drooling intently, ecstatically. Cam is in the play room – singing and drumming simultaneously, as usual, and stopping every now and then to insist that I sing with. I’ve picked basil and coriander from my kitchen garden (which, miraculously, Lola has decided she no longer needs to excavate), and I’m going to add them to dinner, which we’ll be sharing later with people we love. There’ll be a candle on the table, and some lavender, and a breeze, and connectedness.

Life doesn’t really get better.

Of vegetables and surrender

I’ve made Cam a vegetable chart. If he eats just a mouthful of veggies at supper time, he gets a shiny tip truck sticker for his chart. So far so good! Last night, after minutes of laboured chewing, he managed a piece of cucumber and a miniscule piece of carrot. All is not lost! J

In my resolve to celebrate life effusively (in the realm of my boys and indeed in every part of life), I’ve lately been challenged to surrender all to God, to trust him with the scariness of vulnerability as I relinquish control, and to be like Jesus who humbly ‘left his case in the hands of God, who always judges fairly.’ (1 Peter 2:23)

Here’s a prayer I wrote:

Lord,

Choose for me the boundaries of every part of my life. Hem me in, behind and before, and protect my frontiers. Help me to accept humbly the invasions you allow. Make my heart soft to receive them, but shield me from needless, senseless hurt. Let me not be brittle or proud, with sharp edges that cut. Give me smooth margins of grace and gentleness, that I might bless others by being happy and uncomplicated.

Amen

It’s HOW you say it…

I’m always going on at Cam about tone and attitude (this in the context of whining or tantrums)… So yesterday he asked me, ‘Please can I have juice with the right tone of voice?’ J

The photos:
Un peu d’art risqué de Scott…; Cam drumming with pegs on the biscuit tins; and us on our way to Jo-Jo's birthday party (Cam insisted on wearing a tie).

Another EUA behind us...

Cam had an examination under anaesthetic on Friday afternoon. Praise the Lord for his grace: the news was good! The pressure in both his eyes is normal, and his eyes have even grown a little bit, which means his contact lens prescription changes. He quite enjoyed the whole event (despite having had nothing to eat or drink from 10 am...); he chatted very excitedly to Jacobus, Murray, all the nurses... until the anaesthetic took over. He was super grumpy for about half an hour after coming round, but then was absolutely fine.

The staff of the Eye Institute enjoyed meeting his little brother. J

These are some pics of Scott's dedication:

‘Let all that I am praise the LORD; with my whole heart, I will praise his holy name. Let all that I am praise the LORD; may I never forget the good things he does for me.’ – Psalm 103:1-2

Two letters

A letter to Scott on the day of his dedication

Our little Scotty,

Today we dedicated you to Jesus (officially) at WBC. It was a really special service for us! You looked so cute (I think it was only the second time you’ve worn shoes), and you were so good. You just took it all in with your huge blue eyes and you didn’t make a peep. Then you slept through the sermon, on Mom’s lap.

The whole family was there – all your aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents – and some of Mom and Dad’s special friends. You were really spoiled with presents and cards and letters and prayers. You even got a grown-up book about Scott, the Antarctic hero, adventurer and explorer! Pastor Mike wrote you a letter that you can read when you’re older. Aunty Pam and Uncle Jack couldn’t be at the service this morning, but they prayed very specially for you on Friday night.

Our prayer for you today, our little mighty hero Scott Gideon, is that you will come to know the Lord as your Saviour, King and Friend very soon. We know that the bigness of God’s plans is unthinkable, and we are so excited to be a part of the hero journey he has mapped for you. We pray that even as a little boy you might have a heart that is strong and courageous, and yet tender to the things of God and filled with kindness toward the people he puts in your life. We pray that you will have an unshakeable desire to serve God with every part of yourself, and that you will let your Christ-light shine before a watching world.

We love you so very much!

Mom and Dad

xxx

A letter to Cam after the adventure of the swimming fountains

Dearest Cammy,

On Saturday, Aunty Coral and I took you, Meagan and Craig to Irene Mall, to play in what you called the ‘swimming fountains’. (Scotty just watched from his pram.) You loved it! J You played for ages, got sopping wet, finished Craig’s milkshake and said you’d like to come again.

I was so glad that you hadn’t allowed anything to ruin your afternoon.

Actually, a rather horrid boy teased you. Just as you caught sight of one of the jets of water and tried to ‘catch’ it, the boy would block the water, leaving you bewildered. Your Aunty Coral, who loves you enormously, went over to the boy and had a word with him... He stopped for a while, then found you again and started splashing water in your face and laughing. When I see you vulnerable and confused like that I get furious, hurt, filled with dread, and afraid. I then went up to the boy and told him to leave you alone. He did, but he went on to tease some other kids.

Because your eyes look a bit different, and because you can’t see as well as most other people, other kids might tease you. (Of course, everyone gets teased about something, at some stage, so you’re not alone.) I’m so glad you have an awesome sense of humour. I pray that it would be simply unbeatable, and that your laughter would always triumph over vulnerability and hurt. I also pray that even at this young age you would enjoy the solid bedrock of a deep, abiding sense of your priceless worth as a child of God. He has gifted you uniquely, overwhelmingly.

And another thing. I want you to understand that any kind of mocking or condescension always comes from either ignorance or insecurity. The person bullying you either just doesn’t understand your situation, or he doesn’t feel too great about himself (and pushing you down makes him feel, briefly, a bit better about himself). Either way the bully should be pitied, not feared. Try and remember that, my darling.

And remember how profoundly, how limitlessly you are loved.

Mom

xxx

Extraordinary

Check out this amazing clip:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3AgO6H0H98

What a glimpse of God’s glory. How incredible that vision, depth and perspective are deeply embedded in our brains, regardless of what our eyes can physically perceive. We are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Cameron manifests this reality in so many ways. Just the other day he was describing to Murray the route we used to take from our old house to his school: ‘We went in Glenwood Road past Uncle Gav’s work, and we saw the orange bus, and then we crossed over Atterbury Road…’ He mentally mapped the route, without ever seeing clearly where we were going.

Scott is four months old today! And what a magnificent little fellow he is! He is sitting on his own for approximately five seconds. Clearly, he is destined for greatness… J

Telling Cam

I’ve enjoyed finding my rhythm again at school this week, and I count my afternoons with Cam and Scott a delightful privilege. I catch myself marvelling that my big, macho St Alban’s boys were the tiny babies of other mothers not so long ago. J

Murray and I decided a few weeks ago that we needed to tell Cam about his eyes (or rather, about everyone else’s eyes, as he still thinks that everyone wears contact lenses and the like) – in a matter-of-fact, love-steeped way. We thought it wise to let the already fast approaching realisation of his disability happen within the cushioning of his toddler confidence. We would be devastated to ever see him withdraw or lose his irrepressible zest and sense of humour, and we thought the knowledge would be safely received now, by his splendid little self-image J. We also wanted him to hear it from us. Being teased by other kids is inevitable, and imminent.

On Wednesday afternoon, while Scott was sleeping, Cam and I were sitting on the stoep. He was on my lap and we were just chatting. There were sprinklings of sunlight coming through the trees and the garden was mostly shade and stillness. He told me, ‘I’m growing taller everyday!’ It was the gap I’d been waiting for. I told him he’d surely be taller than me one day because Jesus made me quite short. In fact, I sometimes have to stand on a chair to reach the very top kitchen cupboards. But, thankfully, there are other things that I can manage fairly well. I used some other examples (i.e. Daddy’s awesome at this but not so good at that, etc.), and then I casually mentioned how God gave him very special eyes. I told him that he can’t see so well, but that it’s ok because there are loads of things he can do brilliantly, like sing (at which point he broke into his very best rendition of Jingle Bells), run, jump, count, etc, etc. (The list was exceptionally long, because I’m his mom so I’m allowed to think that he is marvellous at just about everything J).

He listened quietly and without any sign of disconcertion. Then the conversation went on to other things. I’m grateful for God’s grace in creating just the right time and place, and that there was no hurt, no confusion. I’m well aware that those things will still come, but at least this was a kind, comfortable beginning.