So...Eli ate tar. What's tar, you ask? This is how Encarta Dictionary describes it: "tar-thick black liquid: a thick black liquid obtained through the destructive distillation of an organic substance such as wood or coal." Let me explain.

Our chubby monkey has been cutting a tooth for about three or four days now and has been as cranky as those old men who complain about the cost of milk "nowadays." We went to the beach to wear him out a little while getting us outside in the gorgeous weather we've had lately. We weren't there too long before he needed his milk, and trying to build a sand castle with a ten and a half-month child is difficult, to say the least. We saw earlier that he had a little tar on his thumb as he stuck it into his mouth, but thought he picked it up earlier. Sippy cup in, sippy cup out...tar. There was an amount that both horrified and sickened me at the same time. There was tar on the entirety of the roof of Eli's mouth, yet he cried because he was being restrained from drinking his milk.

Three lifeguards and two EMTs later and we were at the hospital on the inner-coastal. Eventually we made it through triage, and the casual jean-wearing doctor and loose-lipped nurse/technician held Eli down to swab out the nasty black junk in his mouth. We felt so badly for him because they had to restrain him for a few minutes while they got as much out as they could.

In the end we learned a few things: Eli will put ANYTHING in his mouth; Cocoa is a great name for a red rat-looking, homemade bear given to patients; and a hospital isn't the best place for an eighty year-old receptionist when we're frantically trying to find the ER entrance.

All in all, God in all His name's three letters (ironically {but not really} also "I Am") is a God who not only holds up the very universe from collapsing on itself; holds me back from punching out people who push me too far for loving Him; but is also the One who saves, saved us the trouble of a lot of mourning while keeping Eli from harm. Again, and always such a pleasure, I'm humbled and thankful for His mercy.

I Wish I Wasn't So Selfish

I wish I wasn't so selfish. No, I don't wish to be a shellfish, nor will I sell fish, but I wish I wasn't so selfish. This story involves an elderly woman, immense sadness, and a rejuvenated joy. Get to the point already? Sure, here goes.

I nearly didn't write this post because I was afraid it'd come off sounding like I was a high school dramatist wearing black clothes that are too hot for Florida weather, all while drinking McDonald's coffee, frowning at my choice of this drink over always-reliable Coke, wishing there really were Starbuck's restaurants everywhere like in the movies or post-modern novels.

The other day I was working and doing what I could to put gas in our two vehicles, mocha frappuccinos in our bellies, and diapers over Eli's butt. Something drew my attention to two women who were silently and gleefully shopping for what appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary. There she was, the most depressing and horribly sad expression for a human being that had passed my vision in never-too-long. I say never-too-long because there's no amount of time that needed to be counted in this sort of occasion.

This woman, this...creature that God had made with His precious hands...she nearly toppled me and crushed my kneecaps with her appearance. I don't get this-I didn't understand what about her dropped me as happened, but there she was. Elderly describes her age, but what of her other features...her hair billowed, like an alto-cumulus cloud that has gone white in fright of lightning. Her glasses were homely, strangely perfect for her face...nothing else could fit her as these glasses did. This woman's skin drooped slightly, gravity winning its hold on her years. The mouth: small, quaint, really, home to warm air that breathed slowly, yet always ready to speed up in case of trouble. Then there was her posture. She slumped as most older people do, but the crescent that made her back won't leave my mind's eye. She held on to the shopping cart as if her entire life has climaxed into never letting go.

I have saved her eyes for last for my heart needed time to prepare to recall all that I remember. There's no logic to my memory of what this woman looked like, but the eyes...those starry and innocent eyes. What is it about the eyes that crush me like a can under a tire?! One eye of this incredibly sobering woman was lower than the other, but only because the eyelid of her right eye lost its fight to gravity far before the left. Instead of porcelain or maybe off-white, her lower lid allowed the redness within her eye to come out, showing what most people would selfishly think to be gross or in need of medical attention.

There's not a lot that I fully grasp in life. I have a hard time comprehending friendship, love, hate, and patience. I don't quite get life as it opens before me. For some reason, I do understand this woman's beauty. My flesh says she's unlovable and not pretty in any sense of the word. My soul-my very spirit driven by God-calls to her in a hands-out kind of way saying, "You ARE beautiful! You are the innocence I thought was gone forever."

As all these descriptions and thoughts harshly flooded my brain and heart, she was gone, as quiet as she came. Before I lost her forever, this old woman floated along behind her lifeline, the shopping cart, shyly making her way through my world as wall flowers usually do. Her pressed lips were so tiny, but I distinctly heard her say to me and only me, "Don't let them see me this way."

Oh God! This is true, I understand it now. This is how You look at me. Well, before your Son took me by the hand with me saying, "Please, don't let them see me this way."

As The Wind Blows

As the wind blows, my refund check is spent. It's almost comical how quickly our money flees us when we need it to stretch further, but when one thinks about it, the point of money is to pay for things we aren't willing or can't make ourselves. I can't make more money, but I can spend what's been given to me. This semester I received three grants that overpaid for my tuition and books, leaving our checking account bulging. To get to where we are, though, Mr. Credit Card came to the rescue on more than one occasion. So about the amount I received for school and overage paid off the credit card, leaving my checking account at an all-too familiar low and the credit at zero spent.

The reason this non-dramatic story is making it to the blog is two-fold: for one, I should be doing school work and this seemed more appealing; two, this ALWAYS happens and must be stressed in black and white. Pretty much every cent and dollar have gone to bills for operations or every-day expenses. "Get another job, Justin," some say. Yes, this is a terribly good idea and yes, I just might take your advice. When I ask where I should work to bring in more cash, these voices full of advice leave me all alone.

Now one might scold me for thinking such things. They might even kick me right in the head, knocking in some much-needed sense. I can only hope that before the blows come to head, I can explain. Though my family of three seems to have the ill-est of luck saving or holding onto money, we've never struggled so badly that we were poor or even to the brink of insanity. Does this mean God loves us more than the poor? Nonsense! It means whatever it means, but it doesn't mean I'm angry or bitter. HE has provided so many times for us in times of stress and pain that I'd never have the breath in me to begin to say, "God hasn't provided for us."

The Lord Almighty has brought me from death's cold hands on at least three major occasions in my life, two of those while married. Okay, so "three times" isn't accurate. I've been in car accidents, nearly drown while surfing in a hurricane, was almost bitten by rattlers and cotton mouths while fishing, and had run-ins with some pretty cruel people. Twice my appendix gave me the jolt out of normality I didn't need, and one time...well, that time shan't be recorded anymore. He has provided. How many times have I walked and could have died in so many gruesome ways? Might I have fallen by virus or lightning? I was nearly struck on two reality-striking occasions by the light from the sky. Five feet is just too close to be burned.

With all these things in memory, I would never think to say He hasn't provided. If I have one of those days where I forget these things, maybe I'll imagine what spikes through my wrists and feet would be like. Or what about my flogged body against splintering wood? I could try to imagine pushing off my nailed feet to breathe, only to fall back against the wood post and repeat the never-ending painful movement. Whenever I think about the friends I don't currently have, maybe I'll remember how they fled and left Him alone to be taken prisoner. It's all nonsense to think so selfishly.

Thank You, my God, for the money you provide for my family. Even more, thank You for redemption.

Reconcilliation

Last year ended strangely. First, through a lot of hard work, Cari had Eli in November. I don't think there has been a happier day in my entire life (other than meeting Cari and marrying her) than when he was born. Thanksgiving and Christmas soon came and went, but these holidays were different than the others. Because Cari was recovering from the labor and getting accustomed to having a baby to feed every two hours, it was difficult for us to get around and mingle. We told our families that we were going to go to their houses for a little while and head back home sooner than usual. My mom sees holidays as a big deal and it must've been hard for her to see us for so short a time.

The days after Thanksgiving were hard because they started a downhill portion of my family's relationship with my parents and brothers. Once Christmas was over, New Year's probably was the last holiday for awhile that there was much talking between the two families. Not even I really know how the silence lasted so long, but for about nine months I didn't talk often with my mom and only so often with my father.

I tried reconciling with my mom but it was too early (even though three or four months fled before our eyes) to get much out in a non-convicting way. My dad was always good about asking when we were going to talk again, but to no avail. I just didn't wish to get back into the mix with my family. I liked having dinner with my father occasionally and leaving it at that. My brothers' attitudes were very discriminatory and accusing towards me. They took my mom's side because it's the only one they heard. I had no intentions of violently confronting them, but I made my side known through short contact.

Finally, last week, my dad had dinner with us and helped us to see it was time for another true shot at being a family again. For my brother's birthday we went over to the house and started off pretty well. Before long, though, I heard the sarcasm in my mom's voice and I bit my tongue not to reply in the same manner. Eventually things got better and the night survived our visit.

I guess the whole reason I'm writing this is because I've not really thought much of the party since it and it's "nice" that everything went okay. I guess it's nice. Who am I kidding? Maybe it's nice. I'm trying to keep a strong sense of accomplishment but at the same time, weariness. Do people really change? I guess time will tell.