Ian, putting on his brother’s clip-on tie: “Mom, Tobin must be a pastor, because he has a TIE.”

Ian, verifying apologetics issues: “Mom, we don’t believe in flying carpets, do we? Or flying brooms, or flying houses….but we DO believe in flying airplanes.”

Sacrificial Love
Here’s sacrificial love for you:

I dropped Ian off in his Cubbies room last night and headed off to choir, where we rehearsed the piece for this Sunday. Just minutes after we finished that piece and went on to the next, one of Ian’s Cubbies leaders dashed into the sanctuary and motioned for me. As I was getting up to go see what she wanted, she made the universal gesture which around the world means, “Your child has just barfed spectacularly and comprehensively.”

I picked up my stuff and headed down to his classroom. As I walked in, I saw that all the other children had gone next door for story time, and there were only 2 teachers in the room. I asked where Ian was, and they pointed to the little bathroom connected to the classroom. I poked my head in, and there were Lorri and Carolyn, dear ladies, washing Ian down, bagging his clothes and shoes (I did say comprehensively?) He was standing there in distress, wearing nothing but his underpants, and looking very white and sad.

I zipped him into a spare shirt from the shelf, wrapped him in my own overshirt, and picked him up. As I turned to leave, I saw that the place where he’d been sitting when he vomited had an enormous and ugly patch of carpet yet to be dealt with. “Oh,” I said, cringing guiltily, “maybe I should help you clean up that.”

“Oh no!” the teachers exclaimed in unison. “You get Ian home–we’ll deal with that!”

In spite of the fact that I myself spent the remainder of the evening and most of the night bouncing up to go hold his head and mop him up, and supply more fresh towels, the real sacrificial love award of the night goes to Lorri and Carolyn, who were willing to clean up someone else’s kid’s barf, and treat him tenderly into the bargain. I’m willing to give my life for other people’s kids, but I’d rather die than have to deal with barf.

Lord, please bless those saintly women, and help them not to catch Ian’s germs.


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