I Never Want to Grow Up

Daddy, what are you doing?

I'm reading a book, Elliot.

I want to read a book too, can I read with you?
Elliot climbs into his lap as he nods.

The plane is about to take off and Elliot takes his own seat.
What are you doing Daddy?

I'm looking out the window ...keep watching Bud, because we are going up into the sky!

Daddy, this window isn't glass. What is this window?

I think it's plexi-glass.

Confused he wonders whether this is cause for panic.
Why is the window "pexi"-glass and not just regular?

I actually have no clue, but I know it's supposed to be that way and it's going to be okay.

Elliot relaxes and squeaks in amazement as the plane ascends into the clouds. Once he is satisfied by the window situation, he interrupts the silence again with:
Daddy, what are you doing?

I'm fixing my watch, because the time is different where we are going.

Me too please? I help, you show me!
The father gives step by step instructions, even carefully guiding his son's fingers so that the job is done carefully and successfully; both Elliot and Daddy clap upon completing the task.

For the duration of the plane ride the two share laughs, trials, questions, hugs, rest, and everything in between. Elliot turns to everyone around him in confidence (including me), greeting them with:
Hi! I'm Elliot, this is my Daddy, and what is your name?



Meanwhile, I can't help but be completely blown away. This kid has got it, seriously got it. A four-year-old green-eyed stranger, with a thousand dollar smile, lives a rhythm that I desperately hope to learn.

Father God,
What are you doing?
I want to do it too!
What do you see?
Let me see too.
What is this you've put before me?
I know I'm secure with you.
I want to be more like you,
but I need your help;
Show me.
And when I still don't succeed,
Grab my every finger;
Lead and guide me.
Keep showing me who I am,
So that I am eager and confident to greet your children with:
Hi, I'm Ashley, THIS is my Father - He wants you to know your name too.


And they were bringing children to Him so that He might touch them; but the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw this, He was indignant and said to them, "Permit the children to come to Me; do not hinder them; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it at all."
Mark 10:13-15

she's seventeen.

She sits down, pretending to be apathetic - or at least that's what I have to believe. I'm viewed as an upper-class 'adult' figure; she's seventeen and with her peers, so I'm not offended in the least. There's an ACT-prep packet in front of her which serves mostly as a bed for her cellphone, because "it don't make sense anyway".

She pulls open her borrowed laptop and sighs. I hand her the slip with the college website on it. I'm asked to help her apply online. She types in "youtube" instead and begins to search her favorite music artists. I laugh it off and tell her she must've mis-typed something. Then she types in "facebook". I begin to feel frustrated, she knows what she's supposed to do... she's seventeen.

The application page is full of blanks which we can't fill neatly. Parent/Guardian: _____________, Miss Chante*?, A Step-Mom?, An Uncle?. Parent E-mail:______________, "ain't got one". Address: ____________, "we movin'".

Harder still. Volunteer involvement in the past four years: _______________, does taking care of your child count?, how about siblings?. She has a child; she's seventeen. My heart begins to break. "Let's skip this section for now", I say.

Essay. "aw, hell no", she laughs. "Oh c'mon, this is my favorite part" I say, eager to help her embellish her strengths on paper. I offer to leave her alone and come back and help her edit.



I take a breath and begin praying that I don't say anything stupid or naive. I find her staring at the screen minutes later.

Almost ashamedly, she pushes the screen to angle my way. My breaking heart sinks to my stomach. It's all starting to make sense. Her first sentences read something like: "Some people say you got to follow your dream. And I agree with them. You got to keep tryin. I want to follow my dreams to be a nurse and help people deliver babys. I have the career goals and leading..." She's seventeen. No one has cared enough to teach her how to structure a sentence. She's been passed from grade to grade with just enough to graduate. She doesn't understand a lot of words and reading is very difficult.

Filling my lungs I lean away, honestly just wanting to apologize. I can't help but continuously think, 'she's seventeen'.

Instead I realize how beautiful this moment is; for no reason it seems... well, or every reason. She wants what I want. She deserves it just as much as I do. I thought we were so different. No. We're so the same.

For once I don't have answers or an apology. I find myself smiling, nodding, and saying "good, keep going" before I walk away to pull myself together.

bugs, butts, and bathrooms

Young boys are funny things.

Ivan, for instance, has a bug phobia. His mind has tricked him into thinking that anything small and black is an ant, and anything small and white is a "mosk" - by which I assume he means moth. I guess he could mean mosque; but judging by the things he shrieks at, it would have to be (as Derek Zoolander put it) "AT LEAST THREE TIMES THE SIZE" for people to fit in!

Ethan is convinced the word "butt" is an obscenity. He is also convinced that screaming, writing, or casually slipping the word into every sentence will make him look cool or something. I'm just not the right person to correct this type of behavior. Call me childish, but try not to crack a smile when you overhear " I do like Magic School Butt, especially the one about Mrs. Frizzle-Butt in the body... Hey Ryan, pass me the butt - I mean red marker". I kid you not ladies and gentlemen!!

and then there's Myles. I haven't quite figured out yet if he's obsessed with the bathroom or with paper-towel. Either way he constantly asks if he can go wipe his hands. Now that I think of it, maybe he just has unusually sweaty hands? Sometimes I humor him and say yes, but I might have to start bringing a towel or planting trees.

My Future Child

"...HE is a MIGHTY SAVIOR. HE will take delight in you with gladness. With HIS love HE will calm ALL your fears. HE will rejoice over you with joyful songs" -Zephaniah 3:17

You know, I think I'm going to name one of my children Zephaniah. (Standing against the fear that peers may call him "Phanny", lol). Seriously though... I want to always be reminded of the truths of this verse. AND that my child would literally wear it across their chest, warms me already.

Picture it with me now;
"HELLO my name is: The Lord's Delight, Comforted One, Rejoiced Upon. But you can call me Zephaniah.

In the midst of battling shames of any kind - HE WILL DELIGHT IN (ME) WITH GLADNESS.
In the midst of fighting lies from every direction - HE WILL CALM ALL (MY) FEARS.
In the midst of my every short-coming - HE WILL REJOICE OVER (ME).

And yes, that's really all I have to say for today.