Genetics, Phonetics & Synthetics
I shouldn’t get shocked. I shouldn’t get caught off guard. Alas, I am constantly shocked and further caught off guard. I am old. Well, maybe not old, but I am older than most of the mommies dropping off two youngsters at Mother’s Day Out.
Our two youngest sons, “brothers from other mothers,” are 4 and 2, we fondly refer to them as “the vandals”, because much like career criminals they enjoy demolition and defacement. These little boys are an ongoing doctoral thesis in the making. One black headed and caramel skin. One is blonde and hazel eyed. Needless to say they are not genetically linked, but they are brothers just the same.
There are aspects of them that are fully, “us.” Stuff that they most likely picked up from hanging out with us. There is stuff that they most likely won’t have to bother with, like our genetic inability to spell. And I look forward to them being school aged and seeing spelling tests where, unlike the spelling tests of the biological batch, go so far as to have their own names spelled correctly.
We are big folks, we tease that with Sam’s slight Latin frame his memoirs will begin, “I was raised by giants, friendly giants, but giants none the less…”
And dear, sweet Charlie, with his precious and uninhibited adoration for worship music. Absent of the sterile and politically correct, at church, he sings at the top of his lungs with both hands held high. And my husband asks, “What is he doing? Can you make him stop? Explain that isn’t the kind of thing we do?” And I just laugh and join in the song. For it wasn’t taught to him by us – no, he came like that.
My biological children have watched as we have embraced foster and adoptive care with great zeal. We pray they find a mission field that they love and are passionate about. But they too are only human. They have imperfections born of me and Justin and others born of the world.
Perhaps it is this current season, launching children, potty training others I should be most concerned with what lies around the next corner. And no, I am not referring to the icky mess I spy from my seat, although I am truly concerned what it could be. I pause and pray my husband will investigate, I don’t think I can face it tonight.
I find I am only slightly concerned for my older children as they head out into the great blue yonder. I have more peace than I used to – inspite of the shock and the off guardedness. I remember the year that Justin and I married and how crushed we were that Bill Clinton was elected. Everything that followed seemed to confirm our feelings for him. But I am calmer now than I was back then. And things change and you learn to roll with the punches. Monica Lewinsky who?
And in parenting, like life, you have the things you just won’t tolerate… hills you will die on, and then you have things that just aren’t worth the energy or the battle. When our oldest Maggie was a baby we would not let her sleep with us. Now? Any one of them can sleep with us – heck, all seven of them can sleep with us – all we ask is that in return we please be allowed to sleep.
We aren’t driven by what the media says – we don’t give it much thought. We try and do our part – but other factors take precedence.
We are driven by fatigue and a carnal need for sleep. The love of my life and I text each other scenarios in which we talk to each other about sleeping. Sexy innuendos have been replaced with teasers like, “I just took a quick nap in the line at the bank.” Or “I skipped lunch and slept in the supply closet for a full thirty minutes.” And we genuinely revel in the joy the other derives from cat naps. We are a dyslexic breed of folks, but we have adapted to a level of functioning on the least amount of sleep any two humans can survive on and still form a complete sentence that enables us to order a burrito.
We laugh in the face of the suggestion by the Surgeon General that the average adult needs 7-8 hours of sleep. HA HA! Isn’t the Surgeon General just another government official who would like us to believe that America is grander and full of promise and future of liberty and justice? Well, I don’t know how you get that title, but it is a manmade title. And therein lies the truth, who cares?
They say our country is falling to pieces.
They say we are in ruins.
They say the evangelicals don’t even know what is right anymore.
Who are they?
I say, let there be sleep. Bring on the orphans. To hell with retirement and 401Ks, health care reform and refugees. The synthetics that are the anti-politicians, that are actually just politicians saying they aren’t what they obviously are and the morons that back them or try and make us believe they actually can accomplish anything, when they can’t or won’t. What is good is now bad, and what is bad is now good. And the excuses get lamer: “at least he is a liar and a foul mouth pig, which is better than being a politician”…
which is exactly the same thing.
I submit the world and its troubles don’t make the real rules. You can have a different mother, and still be a brother. You can be raised by giant dyslexics and still be a short spelling B champ. You can be brought up in a house where no one lifts their hands in praise, and still be led by the Spirit to do so yourself. And the evangelicals might get desperate and vote for a real estate tycoon with a bad toupee, but from here until eternity there is One God. No one rules, fails, conquers, destroys, triumphs or takes Him by surprise.
Perhaps, I won’t cry myself to sleep like I did in November 1992. Perhaps I won’t even have the energy to cast a vote. Perhaps we will be ruled with corruption, destruction, malice, wickedness, pride and ignorance. And yes, I wish I could just pay my family doctor the $50.00 I owe him for an office visit. Granted life would be nicer if all lives matter, adoption not abortion, peace, love, and free ice cream for everyone.
In the off chance I sleep tonight, I hope to dream of a world where the vandals know right from wrong, they hold doors open for ladies, earn an honest wage for an honest day’s work, fight for the weak ones, speak out for freedom and profess a love for the ONE TRUE LIVING GOD…. Just as I hoped for their brothers before them.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
When the righteous increase, the people rejoice, But when a wicked man rules, people groan Proverbs 29:2