Clapton: The Autobiography

"Music will always find its way to us, with or without business, politics, religion, or any other bullsh** attached. Music survives everything, and like God, it is always present. It needs no help, and suffers no hindrance. It has always found me, and with God's blessing and permission, it always will." -- Eric Clapton

Toys for Tots

Three very tired children are hitting the bed in the L household shortly, and I could not be prouder as I tuck them in tonight.

We all got up at 4 a.m. to help shop for Toys for Tots and got home about an hour ago from the local organizers' warehouse, where we helped fill orders for distribution. Our 11, 8 and 6-year-olds worked like adults tonight for a Chick-Fil-A sandwich and a deep drink from the well of knowledge.

Filling a bag for a child and understanding that what's inside is a child's entire Christmas has done more for them than any number of sermons, lectures or abstract reminders of their own good fortune. And they've answered their own question:

"If Santa loves all boys and girls, why do we need Toys for Tots?"
"Because one of his gifts to us is the ability to bless others."
"Oh. Santa must have learned that trick from Jesus."

"Steve and Me" by Terri Irwin

"Crocodiles are easy. They try to kill and eat you. People are harder. Sometimes they pretend to be your friend first."
-- Steve Irwin

I remember sitting up late, watching Steve Irwin's memorial service and sobbing. We enjoyed his shows when we caught them and thought he was fun, but I wouldn't say we were huge fans. What saddened me more than anything was his wife and the dry-eyed, soul-crushing grief on her face.

Their kind of relationship is one I recognize because I'm fortunate enough to have a similar one with my husband. Pragmatic and unromantic, to some people, but a merged life, the way it ought to be.

Terri Irwin's book is a matter-of-fact story of her life with The Crocodile Hunter. No self-pity, no romanticizing their life together. She leaves you in no doubt about the kind of man he was by simply documenting hundreds of events in which he proved his commitment to and love for the important things in his life. From standing down a half-dozen drunk croc killers to surfing building-high waves, from proposing to Terri ("So, do you want to get married?) to nearly mooning an American television network reporter, Steve Irwin was the man you saw on television plus some.

Nothing juicy or tell-all about this book, but a terrific tribute to a beloved naturalist and one I'd enthusiastically recommend.

Adventures in babysitting

I am looking at a little one right now, giggling at him running around singing, "Ho, ho, ho!" at my stuffed Santa on the hearth.

He is Jackrabbit, the 19-month-old son of my baby brother. He is the babiest of my parents' grandbabies, likely the caboose of the 11-child grandtrain. He has velvety brown eyes and chubby cheeks, and a grin that makes you temporarily forget how naughty he can be. Or, at least, not care.

Yesterday I also had him, because his regular babysitter's child has the 'flu. I made him laugh by tying a big jingle bell to his belt loop, then singing "Jingle Bells" at him every time he shook it.

Seeing my own children with their infinite patience and tenderness toward this child makes my heart swell. Gently and calmly, they keep little hands from trouble, hug and pat and play.

I saw the same respect and care when we visited a retirement home recently, when Larry drew up a chair toward a particularly lonely looking lady, chatting and listening until he had her twinkling and cheery. Curly Sue and Moe made their rounds like jolly fairies, sprinkling smiles and kind words around the room.

Can I really be raising these fine children? An ill-equipped, impatient, overbearing, demanding parent like me? No, it must be God's doing.

Uh-oh. It's taste-test time in Fisher Price land, so I'm off to rescue Sonya Lee.

"Remember the reason for the season"

That's a really cute catchphrase. It rhymes and everything. Here's another one I like: "Keep Christ in Christmas."

You know what, though? We don't wait until Christmas to learn about Christ. And guess what we found out in our studies? The "X" in "X-mas" is a symbol for Christ. So if you X it out, you're really leaving it in!

Guess what else? We sing Christmas carols in June sometimes. And talk about the humble birth of the baby Jesus when we talk about His work on earth. So at Christmas, if we want to shop ourselves silly, sing "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" and eat Velveeta-laden casseroles until we throw up, we're still celebrating.

Should we say, "Happy holidays" or "Merry Christmas?" How 'bout both! Along with "How are you today?" and "What can I do to help?" A big, sparkly grin is nice, too, and a much better way to decorate your Christian self than a sequined sweater.

It's great to visit a nursing home at Christmas. It's also great to pay for the McDonald's order of the guy in line behind you on President's Day, rescue a stranded puppy on Easter, buy some groceries for a needy family on the Fourth of July and drive a disabled veteran to his doctor's appointment on Labor Day...all the while, celebrating Christmas.

Let me suggest something: If your main complaint during the holidays is that you don't approve of the music or activities that accompany Christmas these days, perhaps it's you who should think about "the reason for the season."

I occasionally exhibit at least one fruit of the Spirit

"Oh, the fruit of the Spirit's not a lemon
The fruit of the Spirit's not a lemon
If you wanna be a lemon, you might as well hear it
You can't be a fruit of the Spirit"

Self-control. I know I am capable of exhibiting that particular fruit now, because I resisted the urge to serve it up to people who have given me the what-for about homeschooling.

Our 6-year-old was whimpering about an impressive set of scratches on his torso, which he had obtained in the most glorious falling-out-of-a-tree incident seen in some time at the L homestead. We happened to be sitting in a tiny, crowded waiting room at the time. I asked Moe if he thought he'd live, or if he thought Laertes had scratched him with a poisoned fencing sword, like Hamlet.

Moe acted out a dramatic death scene, then popped open an eyelid, sat up and very seriously said, "Mom, you know it wasn't a fencing sword. It was a real sword. That was part of the trick. He wanted to make sure Hamlet died, remember?"

I apologized for my error and assured him I did remember, and then another thought struck him.

"Mom, Hamlet didn't mean to kill Polonius, right? I mean, I know he was a dirty ol' spy and all, but still, Hamlet didn't know it was Polonius hiding back there. If Hamlet wanted to kill Claudius and not Polonius, why didn't he just throw the curtain back and see who was hiding there?"

I was greatly enjoying the conversation when I happened to glance up to see a circle of staring faces and bugging eyes.

Moments before, a jolly homeschooler-bashing conversation had been running its course among the public schoolers, peppered with the same tired arguments and invoking that one imaginary homeschool family that someone sister's cousin's husband's uncle knows, the family whose children are all three seconds away from permanent retardation purely because their selfish parents who are too lazy to get up in the morning won't allow them to attend school.

Grinning at them all, I resisted the urge to say, "What? Don't they teach Shakespeare in first grade at YOUR school?"

Progress!

What are you, a comedian?

After being roughly handled by his orthodontist Tuesday, Larry told the doctor he "lacked finesse."

Bwahahahah! *snort*

"Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God?" -- Gal. 1:10

I just started Beth Moore's "Living Beyond Yourself" Bible study and this jumped out at me. I used to -- and I'm not completely cured, mind you -- worry myself sick over what people thought or said about me.

I am a Christ-follower. I am not perfect. I talk too much and too loudly, I'm bossy and opinionated and my vocabulary gets whittled down to one or two expletives when I'm extremely frustrated. I am a passionate advocate for the downtrodden, my family and friends consider me the go-to girl and I love with more than my words.

I wear shabby sneakers and sweats most days, and my shirts are freebies from Geddy's company. I have a haircut that's practically maintenance-free by design. I'd rather read than eat, but if I can do both at one time, yippee! I yell at my children sometimes. I wear makeup sometimes. I loathe two-faced, gossiping hypocrites, always. Sometimes, I am one.

I vote in every election and my conscience never pricks. I'm impatient, exhausted, angry and grouchy. I'm also generous, kind, fun and goofy. I could make you believe any lie I told, but I choose not to tell lies. I apologize when I'm wrong, which is often.

I believe in heaven and hell, God and Satan and their designs on all of us. I believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God, and not because I'm a weak-minded fool bowing down to a big, bad, tyrannical religion.

There I am, like me or not. I'm best with lots of butter.