Pacifier...

My wife found her hiding behind the overstuffed olive colored chair in our living room.  The perfect cover for a four year old not wanting to be caught with her passy.  Now how she came across this passy is still not clear to us.  We’ve not had a passy in our house for nearly two years.  Annsley was a sucker (pun intended) for a pacifier.

Ever since she was able, she had a pacifier firmly in place and was to never be without it.  Pamela and I thought we’d never break her from her pacifier.  We pictured her graduating from college diploma in hand, passy in mouth, waving to her family that was trying not to be noticed to be related to the passy sucking graduate.  But through persistence and much bribery our little Annsley was broken from sucking a passy by the age of almost four.  Not bad, right?

Her dependence upon her pacifier was so much that I had to drive to Wal-Mart at eleven o’clock at night to buy a new one, and it had to match perfectly, when hers was lost; something I swore I would never do (Father, please forgive for I have sinned).  Once she had been broken of her dependence on taking a pacifier, we burned those wretches (threw them in the trash actually) in the style of spinning wheels being burned in “Sleeping Beauty.”  However, like “Sleeping Beauty,” there was one lone spinning wheel, I mean passy, that was forgotten about.  And when Annsley found the passy the other day she again didn’t want to give it up.  Her mother argued with her reminding her that she was a big girl now and didn’t need a passy any longer.  Annsley argued back that she was a big girl who needed a passy.  Her mom shot back that when her daddy got home he would be mad that she was not his big girl any more since she was sucking a passy (a low blow I thought).  But persistent, Annsley shot back that she could have it until her daddy got home.  Touché. She takes after me…

But God invented mothers and put a brain inside their heads.  “Mother” was the version 2.0 of “father” and the brain was the upgrade that we fathers didn’t get.  In a stroke of pure brilliance, my brain-headed-wife suggested that Annsley give her passy to a baby that really needs a passy.  It was a bit manipulative given the fact that we’ve been teaching our children there are kids in the world who have nothing and we need to learn to share our blessings with them.  And in the style of a slick televangelist, Pamela pleaded with Annsley shedding a tear and using the TBN tactic of “just sow your passy-seed right now and God will pour blessings of big girl stuff upon you.”  Pamela then showed Annsley pictures of all the passy starved children living in the Sudan.  At this, I suggested that Pamela stop watching TBN.  But she was able to convince Annsley to “mail” her passy to a baby girl that needed a passy. (I also then forbid Annsley to ever watch televangelists as well.  She was too susceptible to the manipulation.) So together mother and big girl found an envelope, placed the pink passy into the envelope and she helped Annsley write a letter to “Babies”.  The envelope was addressed “To Babies” and the letter said,

“Please give this passy to a baby girl who loves pink,” (her words) signed Annsley.

So mommy and big girl walked to the mailbox dropped in the letter and walked back to the house for fresh big girl cupcakes (also part of the bribe… or God’s blessings, I can’t remember which).

And do you really have to ask?  Of course when I got home from work I checked the mail, secured the contents secretly under my shirt and then placed the envelope, the letter and the pink passy in the top of our closet.  I just wanted to be sure that when my little big girl was old enough to move off to college, that she could find it in the top of our closet so she would have the passy for her college graduation day.

Colored Jesus...

"Daddy, what color are my eyes?" He was driving, the windows down the Alabama April wind blowing in through the vehicle erasing the need for air conditioning. She was riding, back seat, booster seat, inquisitive.

"They're hazel, baby," glancing up in the rear view mirror, briefly, seeing his beautiful baby girl sitting up in her "big girl seat." She was resting her head against the shoulder strap of the seat belt like a hammock, looking out the window in the back of the minivan watching the passing trees and clouds.

"No they're not daddy; they're silver... like the stars." He could see a big grin corner her cheek. Her head remained turned toward the passing scenery.  She was seeing her eyes twinkle like the stars at that moment.

Dad just grinned a bit listening to the wind whip into the car now; feeling the wind in his hand as it stretch out the window slightly moving up and down as though it were riding an invisible roller coaster.  No radio playing; no sound except road noise and whipping wind.

"Daddy, what color is the sun?"

"Orange, baby girl," still driving, watching the intersections cautiously as they passed through the neighborhood.

"No, the sun is yellow, daddy."

He grins again looking up, glancing again in the rear view mirror, catching brief a grin back from his little girl. Her eyes did look like stars.

"Daddy, do you know which one is my favorite Jesus?"

"No, honey, which one's your favorite Jesus?" intrigued to see how she was going to answer.

"The purple one."

"Where on Earth did you see a purple Jesus?" asking the rear view mirror with nearly a laugh.  He was expecting to hear "baby Jesus," or "Jesus on the cross," or maybe the picture of him holding a small child on his knee that she saw in Sunday school or in one her books from home.

"You know, the one I colored purple, remember?" 

"Oh sure, baby..., the purple one."

"I don't like the yellow Jesus; the purple Jesus is my favorite one. Which Jesus is your favorite Jesus, daddy?"

Driving still, he didn't answer her for a while and just pondered the question. "Which is my favorite Jesus?"  Thinking in the framework of modern Christianity, there were so many to chose from... sort of like chosing a crayon from the box.

Smiling Over Sequins...

She stitched the ream of sequins back onto the little girls dress up gown. The little girl, who only moments before, came running into the kitchen devastated that her pretty pink dress up gown had lost the ream of sequins that lined the little gown’s neck line.

After a few moments, “There you go,” the mother said with a grin of satisfaction as the little girl put the gown back on and pranced back to whatever kingdom she had momentarily left to go see the seamstress.

The mother went back to work in the kitchen doing the things that mothers do.

In the midst of her cleaning and washing cabinets and counter tops, the mother heard a faint inaudible whisper, “I saw that.”

Her heart sank a bit from sheer shock of the almost felt whisper in her heart. “You saw what?” she thought in reply.

“I saw you mend the dress,” was whispered back.

“You were paying attention to my sewing?” was all she could think back to the Whisperer. Then in a moment of bare, honest thought the mother’s mind wondered, “Don’t you have more important things to do than to watch me sew?”

“Don’t you have more important things to do than mend a torn dress up gown?”

The mother captured in thought, considered the question. Why did I take time to mend the dress? Why didn’t I just send a little girl along on her way and explain that the dress was torn and that’s just life? After all, I do have so much to do. Nothing would ever get done… then she stopped. She knew the answers before she could finish the silly line of questioning and reasoning to herself as to why she mended her daughter’s dress.

“Exactly,” was whispered back. “You underestimate how much I really care for you. I actually watched you pack a lunch this morning, and it made me smile when you made a smiley face with the honey for a little boy's lunch. I smiled again when I saw you wipe a spot off of your husband’s overcoat this morning without him knowing. You, actually, make me smile often.”

This was almost more than the mother could take. She hadn’t considered that the Whisperer paid attention to such things. Of course her Sunday school knowledge of the Almighty would suggest this to be true, but to have something so profound yet simple to be realized in a whisper went beyond her understanding.

Then He whispered to her again, “You made me smile sewing back on the sequins as well.”

Just then the thoughts the mother was contemplating were interrupted by a little girl who came running back into the kitchen… this time, her shoe was untied.

Mother Earth says to Father God...

Setting - Central Park Bow Bridge in New York City - the day is a bit cool with a gentle breeze chilling the air just a touch, the sun is brilliant and warming. Two Main Characters are standing in the middle of the bridge - Father God is tossing bread crumbs to ducks below. He and Mother Earth are leaning on the bridge railing gazing into the water in the midst of a discussion. Both dressed inconspicuously.


Mother Earth: "Why do you do it?"
Father God: "Do what?" (pretends not to know what she refers, tosses another crumb into the water below)
Mother Earth: "Don't play. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Why do you continue to hang around here?"
Father God: "Why do you?"
Mother Earth: "Probably because I feel wanted. You know? I feel like here I have purpose."
Father God: "I guess that's as good a reason as any, right? Why do you think they want you?"
Mother Earth: "What alternative have you given them? Heaven? Hell?"

(She pauses gets a crumb and tosses down to the water - both still are leaning on bridge gazing down to the water below - very casual not looking at one another, only the water but still in casual conversation.)

"They need me. I'm all they have really that is of some substance. They can reach down and grab fists fulls of furrowed soil. They can smell the fresh cut onions on sweltering summer days. Can they do that with you? Can they feel You, smell You? I'm what they need... to have and to feel."
Father God: "They're supposed to have more than You. And, you're not as you once were, you know, when I used to walk among you? You're not enough anymore than clay is enough to sustain a sculptors life. Do you follow them after words - when they sleep?"
Mother Nature: "I hold them when they sleep. Can you do that?"
Father God: "Are you challenging me? You forget your place in all the hype. Remember, I hold you."
Mother Nature: "Oh. (pauses for a moment) Right." (She turns to look at Him with a question - only the bag of crumbs remain on the bridge railing where He once leaned. She reaches into the bag and tosses another crumb to the water.)

Scene

Okay, I'm no playwright... by any stretch of the imagination... but in light of today's "Global Holiday" - Earth Day - I had to contribute.

Why is humanity bent on worshiping anything and everything, but God? Man has always been misguided; from the Wiccans to the Druids to the Hindus to the Greeks. We have always been sold a bag of goods, today the bag of goods is made of grass hemp and filled with organic compost.

So you say, "Wow, Jeremy, you hate the Earth or what, dude?"

I love the Earth... okay, I like the Earth. Its my Hotel room for the moment on the trip home; and believe me I'm no Hotel trashing rock star. God wants us to be wise stewards of all the resources we have been given. From our money, to our families, to our nation to our world. It would be sin to treat with ill regard any tool we've been given. It's not wise. But, we humans are ridiculous. We set aside Earth Day Worship services and continue to neglect God who created this rock we humans love so much. We take it too far - as is our nature to do. We become Earth Worshipers. Just as Egypt devoted itself to worshiping Ra, Americans - westerners - are erecting temples to Terra.

Some things are devoted to destruction, and Terra just happens to be on the list. But, we will spend billions to prop up our idols. God is propped up by no one. He should be the real object of our focus and worship. Why don't we get that?

So, go ahead, recycle... Go green... buy your carbon credits. In a hundred years Terra will hold your shell... Who holds your soul?