Dancing is something we do with our hearts. Singing is something we do with our smiles. Loving is something we do with our hands. Believeing is something we do with our souls. Laughing is something we do with our eyes. Praying is something we do with our lives. Breathing is something we do with our dreams.

So there's this guy...

So there's this guy. He's tall, handsome, strong, sensitive, and wonderfully caring. He can make me laugh. Sometimes he makes me cry, but he always apologizes, or makes it better somehow. We can have lots of fun together. We like the same kinds of movies and books and he encourages me in soccer and horseback riding and my academic career.

He happens to be my father.

Jesus gave me my father, and he made me a lot like him. I want to be like my father. I want to be able to fix things in my house when they break, and not have to call a professional. My father is the professional. I want to care for people through my actions. Every time someone is coughing while trying to speak in church, my daddy gets them a cup of water. My dad isn't great with words, he's sorta shyish, but he can show you in plenty of different ways he cares about you. I want to mow my lawn with a John Deer and a drive Ford F-150.

Our personalities are very much alike. We both have a competitive attitude, towards, um, everything. We're both stubborn. We like to be right. But my daddy does listen to people when they try to help or correct him. I'm not very good at that yet. He loves Jesus. He tries to be the spiritual leader in our family, because God has called him to be. He's good at teaching and explaining things. He talks to me because he genuinely cares about me. He wants me to feel better when I'm sick or I have killer sunburn.

He's smart. He likes things to work in the best way possible, not just work. I'm like that too. My father loves me. I know he does. He makes many rules, but he explains them, and he makes them because they guide me in the way he believes is best. He respects me. And he supports me.

I wanted to tell you about him. I thought you should know. And I wanted to remind myself.

Seagulls and Fireworks

My family and I visited my father's parents last weekend. Mommom and Poppop are da bomb...basically. But neither of them know it. And I do a horrible job of showing them. Sometimes my Mommom says some really strange things. Things like my cousin that disrespects the people around him and doesn't care is a good-looking and lovely kid. Things like that blue and gold and black motorcycle (that she has never seen) is gorgeous, simply because it is blue and gold and black. Things like seagulls are beautiful.

Seagulls, are not beautiful. They screech and poop everywhere and steal food and have the annoying tendency of following you around. No one thinks seagulls are beautiful. Except Mommom. Mommom says strange things.

Or maybe they are only strange things because the world would never say them. I daresay the vast majority would not look at my cousin as a lovely boy. And the vast majority would not say seagulls are beautiful. But when my Mommom speaks about seagulls, she's not speaking for the world. She's speaking for Jesus. Jesus thinks seagulls are beautiful. Jesus thinks my cousin is a lovely boy with wonderful creativity and potential. Jesus thinks motorcycles are gorgeous. Because all those things are the wonderful works of His hands, or the creations of a brilliant mind He created. So it isn't very strange at all that seagulls are beautiful.

Later that weekend some of my cousins from my mother's side were visiting her father. All of my parents' parents live close to each other in New Jersey. We all got together to see fireworks on the fourth of July. As we were waiting for the fireworks to begin, I was lying on a blanket with my cousin Ruth. (I affectionately call her Ruthie.) Ruthie lost her mother to lung cancer this past year. She is still the vibrant, sassy, beautiful girl she always was, but she's a little older inside.
Ruthie told me that people in Heaven see fireworks. Just from a different view.

Ruthie kinda startled me, I didn't really know what to say. I just smiled and said some word of agreement. But then I thought about her words. And I thought, "Wow, Ruth. That's wonderfully amazing, what you just said. That's love and hope incarnate." I think love for her mother, memories of family, and Jesus made Ruth say that.

I wonder. Do people in Heaven see fireworks? My mother told me sometimes she thinks about her mother in Heaven, but she said Grandma can't see us or the rest of the world because there is no sadness in Heaven. There are plenty of reasons to be sad when you look at he world; I don't believe fireworks are one of the them. I have no biblical proof to look to, no knowledge with which to form my idea. But I think people in Heaven do see fireworks. Just from a different view.