Valentine's Day Sleepover Interruption

What a joyous Valentine's Day we had this weekend! Just like Christmas being about the children, we were blessed with more time with our two adorable granddaughters coming over for a "sleepover". I'm sure their parents didn't mind another "date-night" on their schedule as well.

We try to space these events every few months, mostly because it isn't easy for me to juggle the care of an active preschooler and a first grader, and a sometimes-immature, well alot-of-times, immature old man.

The last thing I told him before we went to sleep was to be sure and let the girls sleep (they prefer camping out on the living room floor) and not get them up for Sunday pancakes too soon. Dean has been mysteriously waking up in the wee hours of the morning a lot, and I was hoping for once he would stay in bed and not pursue his word-search puzzles and solitaire out on the dining room table--just a stone's throw from where they'd be sleeping.

After finally getting them to sleep by ten o'clock, I was not pleased to wake up at about four and hear three voices coming from the other end of the house. Dean had been up since three, he said, and decided it was time for pancakes. The kitchen sounds and smells must have wakened the girls, who had declined the pancake invitation, saying they'd rather wait for grandma.

I tried to remain calm, thankful for the few hours of sleep I had just had, but doubtful if any more were coming. I hurried the girls into my big bed to encourage them back to sleep, and gave strict orders to the man in my life to sleep in his recliner (which he does half the time anyway) if he needed to.

All was not lost; the girls did drift back to sleep to the sounds of grandma's oxygen concentrator, but the same sleep escaped me for the moment, to be substituted for a nice nap the next day.

Dean remained on his own turf in the living room. But I felt compelled to check the stove a couple of times, just to assure that his pancakes were cooked appropriately. One black one left on a plate did not make me feel comfortable about his turning the stove off when he was done.

There have been many times in my own life that I'm sure I overlooked God's final instructions for me, leading to various degrees of crises He's had to see me through. How gracious and patient God is to "check up" on me as well.

I try to comfort myself with the thought that no matter how much turbulence I experience in my flight to heaven, God is the pilot, seatbelt, and flight attendant, overseeing reaching my final destination on schedule. What a great Caregiver He is!

Getting Over the Sleepover

Last night we kept our granddaughters for a "sleepover". It worked quite well until the sleep was over--about 3 a.m. Even though they obediently tried to go back to their makeshift bed of sofa cushions out in the living room and go back to sleep, it just didn't happen. They stayed in the living room, but it seems little sister was a jabbering fool, not allowing sleep to come for her five-year-old sister.

Grandpa couldn't wait to fix their Sunday morning pancakes though, so he went out at 4:30 to start their breakfast. I, of course, went out as needed for my mediation services. There were only a couple of outbursts (by Grandpa, of course), but none of us got any more sleep after that. (Good thing we had all retired shortly after nine the previous night.)

My daughter called to tell me she was coming to pick them up and offered to take Grandpa for an outing, just her and the girls, to give me a break this morning.

Just before they headed out the door, I mentioned that they hadn't had any sleep since 3 a.m. A temporary look of fear swept over her face, but she was locked in. So I have the house to myself. And she has, well, let's just say I hope she survives.

God gives mothers and grandmothers the patience of saints. Heaven knows we need it.

Service With a Smile

Sunday morning has traditionally been our pancake morning. Lately, I've been the main one doing the flipping, but this morning Dean announced that he was going to the kitchen to make our "usual" and asked what I wanted on the first one.

I told him butter and syrup, but a few minutes later he comes back to my room and asks what we can do with a scrambled pancake. He forgot to oil the skillet. Hmmm. I told him to toss it--in the TRASH, I added. He verified again what I wanted on my first cake, and a few minutes later comes in with a plate of food for me and a big smile on his face, saying "Service with a smile." The pancake, although covered with the appropriate syrup, looked woefully pale underneath. Thank heaven it didn't taste raw though, so I happily ate it with gusto. It was nice he still has an accomplishment all his own around here.

I wonder if my efforts to please God are giving Him a chuckle sometimes too. I appear to be doing just fine, in my own eyes, but my works of righteousness must fall awfully short of anything Jesus did. All I can really offer Him is my "service with a smile". Joyful willingness counts for a lot.

(Latest report from the kitchen: one burned pancake and one raw on one side. Sounds like I'm the lucky one in the middle.)