By God's Grace...

Grace is 8 and is one of the sweetest kids I know. Recently, she wrote a letter to Jesus and drew Him some pictures.

Janet, Gracie's mum, asked me to write back, as Gracie would recognize her parents' handwriting. I agreed happily, despite the weirdness of "playing God"....

Dear Jesus,

Hi! It's me, Grace and right now I am anywere. I could be at my home, at the grocery store. And I just need to tell you somthing. I just wanna go to church to listen to Father Whalen and to go downstairs and to see Father Whalen and to to say hi to him and Im sooooooooooooooooooooo sorry about that. Please forgive me.

 Please write back soon and that is all I ask from you in return.

And thank you for everything.

Oh and can you say Hi to Papa M., Uncle John, Great Grandma and Great Grandpa.

And my tooth is out and it's a top one.

You are the Best ever.

Love,
Grace M.

Dear Grace,

I love receiving letters - thank you, Grace, for yours.

 It pleases me very much that you enjoy going to church and listening to Father Whalen. I like listening to him as well. I also like listening in on your lessons at the Good Shepherd program during Mass - it makes My heart happy, hearing children learn about My love.

I'll tell you a secret, shall I, Grace? For as long as you live, I will always love you. I will forgive you anything, as long as you're really and truly feeling bad about it. So don't worry about making mistakes - they help us all to learn, don't they?

I have passed your "Hello!" to Papa M, Uncle John and your Great-Grandparents. They send their love back to you and want to tell you that you are often in their loving thoughts. Papa M wanted me to tell you that he loves your singing best of all and hearing it makes him smile.

A tooth out is very exciting, indeed! It's another sign of growing up, isn't it? What a pleasure it will be to continue to watch you grow into yourself and discover the incredible beauty of the world.

Who do you think you'll be, when you've grown? I have an idea, but I'll keep it to Myself for now. It's such fun, watching people figure it all out for themselves!

Would you like to know another secret? Of all the people in the world, you are My favourite. When you're feeling hurt or doubtful or you just need a happy thought, you remember that, OK?

I love you, sweet Grace. Please write again, soon.

Love,
Jesus

And you, dear reader?

What would you like God to know?

What would you like to hear from Him?

A Poem For Luke, As He Turns FIVE!

What happened to my baby, the super cranky li'l dude?

The boy who waited till after bath to say that he had poo'd?

What happened to my tiny Red, whose pant legs had to be rolled?

The grouchy kid who rarely, if ever, did as he'd been told?

Where has he gone, my curmudgeon child, the one with the cheeky grin?

I only see him sometimes now, in the set of a firm, dimpled chin.

 

 

 

When once he shied from kisses, now Luke doles them out with glee.

He often hugs me softly these days, when once he'd punch my knee.

Diapers and wipes are things of the past: he's proud of his toileting skills.

And he carries his plate to the table, with only occasional spills.

Not long ago, the phone was a toy, that he'd chew on with great delight.

These days, he's apt to pick it up when it rings and sometimes he holds it upright.

Books, once the things he'd rip and tear into, with maniacal glee and aplomb

are now his most treasured possessions: "Please can you read to me, Mum?"

 

 

Where has he gone, the small lad who would tumble and wail his way to my lap?

He's too busy for bandaids and picks himself up now, often muttering, "Crap!"

Where has the time gone, these halcyon days, when the morning would stretch on for hours?

Now he is five and he's fierce and he's tough, possessed with fine boy Super Powers.

From birth until now, Luke has worshipped his brother, the way that I'd hoped he might do:

 best friends ('til they're not), they share secrets, my love,

fine red hair and a bedroom of blue.

 

That cross newborn boy who filled spots in my heart that I hadn't known were missing,

will, today, be five and I'm lost in these years, smiling through tears, reminiscing.

Sweet darling Luke, five years ago, you came into the world from my tummy.

Thank you for being your incredible self and for choosing me to be your mummy.

Happy Birthday, Took-Wookers.

I love you.

Mummy

Matthew is SEVEN!

Darling Matthew,

Before you were born, seven years ago tomorrow, I loved you. I loved feeling you move in my belly, watching as an elbow or a foot or maybe your hand pushed against me from the inside, there under my heart.

And then you were born, at the end of one last desperate push and I loved you even more. I loved you more even before I could murmur your name, before I saw your fiery hair, your serious gaze, your perfect tiny toes.


The day after your first birthday, you took your first steps and I could barely contain the rush of pride and awe and more love that filled me, even as I held out my arms for you to tumble into them, grinning.

 

Days after your second birthday, your brother was born and when I saw you at the door of the hospital room, where I sat waiting for you and Daddy to come and bring me and Luke home and you smiled at him first and then me, I loved you even more.

Blink.

When you were three, we uprooted our tiny family and began a new life here in Belleville. But on the last day in Newcastle, as I watched you and Luke move about the empty rooms of the only home you'd ever known, whispering, "Goodbye, House!" I thought I might melt with love for your bravery and your trust.

When, months later, I watched you put a trusting hand into the one offered by your JK teacher and bravely march off into your new role as a student, I melted all over again. And I loved you even more.

Blink.

At four, you discovered your own fire and I struggled against your will and your fierce new need for independence. Every night for a year, I snuck into your room long after you'd fallen asleep and prayed for patience and the courage to let you go, just a little bit. And then I offered up my thanks that you had chosen me and that you felt my love strongly enough that you could rage against it, knowing that it would never change. Realizing that, I fell in love with you all over again and again and again.

Blink.

I lost you when you were five, remember? For five, agonizing minutes, at the mall. When we were reunited at the Information Desk and I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around you, I remember feeling overwhelmed with pride that you had done all the right things to ensure your own safety, as I taught you but had never been certain you understood. And it overwhelmed me - this fierce, mama-love, as it sometimes can. Without you, I would be lost. Because of you, I have been found.

Blink.

Six. I don't think there's anything in the world more amazing than seeing it through the eyes of an inquisitive, sensitive six-year-old Matthew. All year long, you have challenged me to view the world we share through your heart - and what a view it offers. You are an amazing big brother - patient, giving, parental. You are wise and good and fair and as I have often thought, when I am grown, I want to be just like you.

Your sixth year has given me so many glimpses of the man you might one day be. And though we hold hands less often than we once did, I cherish those moments and I love you just a little bit more.

Tomorrow, you will be seven and I cannot wait to see what's in store for you, this year. And to see how loving you transforms me into the kind of mother you deserve. From you, I have learned my greatest lessons in forgiveness and patience and kindness, because you exemplify all of those qualities each and every day.

Happy Birthday, Matthew!

Thank you for choosing me. Every day, I love you more.

Mummy

On Norway's Lost Children

As I write this, my children are behind me, munching apples and waiting until it's time to leave for their cousins' birthday party. This morning, we shopped for another birthday party tomorrow, which will be followed by a week-long cottage holiday with friends.

We are blessed and lucky to have this life: awesome family, generous friends. Each other.

A world away in Norway, dozens of families are not so lucky and hundred of lives have been lost, torn apart by a lunatic.

My mind is trying not to imagine the horror that has stricken the tiny, peaceful country, but failing miserably. Memories of 9/11 assailed me when I heard the first news reports about the bombing in Oslo. I vividly recall a sense of unreality, a slow unravelling of the smug sense of safety that can only be felt by people like me, who've never known war or true terror.

But then came the truly devastating news: 80 children dead. Trapped, some so terrified they hurled themselves into the sea to escape the fatal bullets from a madman's gun.

They'd been camping - a large group of young people on an island, mid-summer. It's the sort of idyllic scene and experience I want for my own sons, one day. I loved summer camp as a young girl and look forward to letting the Reds know that same freedom and adventure.

I cannot allow myself to wonder what compelled this handsome, ordinary-seeming man to wreak such havoc in his own country, ending the lives of so many, especially ones so young. I do wonder what his mother is feeling, knowing that her son has tossed an entire nation into mourning.

 But my tears are not for her.

Instead, I weep for the parents of Norway's lost children - especially for their mothers. I am helpless and heartbroken for them all, imagining their agony but feeling - guiltily - so grateful that my sons are not among the dead.

And while I can imagine - in vivid, awful, gut-wrenching detail - their pain, I do not KNOW it. Even as I ache for them, I am aware of my own blessings and thank God for his grace.

It's a terrible kind of joy.

Isn't it?