Monday, November 12, 2012

Glasses and Teacups

Sam had his eye appointment today.  I have good news, and bad news - which would you like to hear first?  Well, I'll give you the bad news and hopefully the good news will cheer you up.  There's actually a couple parts to the bad news.....first, Sam is farsighted.  Like a +3.5-+4.0 farsighted.  So, he needs glasses.  Second, there's only a 50-60% chance he'll grow out of this and not have to wear eyeglasses for the rest of his life.  Oh, there's a third part to the bad news...they don't make infant frames in camo.

Here's the good news - remember that Bayley's assessment he struggled with last week?  The section on fine motor skills that he so gracefully failed?  Well - we have an answer.  He couldn't see the damn Cheerio!

Right now, that's all the good news I have for you.  You see, after Sam was born, I read a book called "Bloom", a memoir of a mom's first year with her daughter with Down syndrome.  In the book, the little girl, Nella, had to get eyeglasses and she was so stinking cute, I secretly hoped that Sam would need glasses too.  Well, have you heard the old saying "be careful what you wish for?"

As I was browsing through my limited choices of eyewear for Sam, my spirits fell.  The glasses made for infants are not exactly fashionable.  Not that I'm all about the fashion (that's Marie's department), but come on.  People already stare at Sam, and now we're going to slap a big old pair of plastic-rubber-wrap-around-shiny-blue glasses on him.

While I pondered this image - I realized - hey, if people are going to stare, let's give them something to stare at.  So, I chose the frame that best fit Sam's face and personality.  I wasn't so into the circular "where's Waldo" frames, and Sam's not exactly ready for prep, this is what I chose:

And let me tell you, he doesn't like them one bit.  Can you tell?  I'm hoping the adjustment to wearing glasses full time goes a little smoother once he starts spotting the Cheerios in front of him, and realizes he can pick them up and eat them!

Sometimes, it's awfully hard to understand where the whole "big plan" is heading.  It's even harder to just accept that we really have no control over tomorrow.  As a control freak myself, this is really hard to accept.  But on the same token, I do believe there is a plan.

Have you ever heard the song "The Potter's Hands?"  I sang this song for my brother's graduation service at church and it was sung at Ella's baptism.  I love this song.  It says: mold me, shape me - You are the potter and I am the clay.

It's not easy to sit back and be the clay, and it's not always easy to trust that the Potter knows what He's doing.  This past weekend, I heard a story that struck a chord. (AND a tear duct with me)  It goes something like this:

There was a couple who took a trip to England to shop in a beautiful store to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary.  They both liked antiques and pottery, and especially teacups.

Spotting an exceptional cup, they asked "May we see that?  We've never seen a cup quite so beautiful."

As the lady handed it to them, suddenly the teacup spoke, "You don't understand.  I have not always been a a teacup.  There was a time when I was just a lump of red clay.  My master took me and rolled me, pounded and patted me over and over and I yelled out, "don't do that.  I don't like it!  Leave me alone," but he only smiled and gently said, "not yet."

Then WHAM!  I was placed on a spinning wheel and suddenly I was made to suit himself and then he put me in the oven.  I never felt such heat.  I yelled and knocked and pounded at the door.  "Help!  Get me out of here!"  I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as he shook his head from side to side, "not yet."

When I thought I couldn't bear it another minute, the door opened.  He carefully took me out and put me on the shelf, and I began to cool.  Oh, that felt so good!  "Ah, this is much better," I thought.

but, after I cooled he picked me up and he brushed and painted me all over.  The fumes were horrible.  I thought I would gag.  "Oh, please, stop it, stop," I cried.  He only shook his head and said, "not yet."

Then suddenly he puts me back into the over.  Only it was not like the first one.  This was twice as hot and I just knew I would suffocate.  I begged.  I pleaded.  I screamed.  I cried.  I was convinced I would never make it.  I was ready to give up.  Just then the door opened and he took me out and again placed me on the shelf, where I cooled and waited and waited, wondering, "what's he going to do to me next?"

An hour later he handed me a mirror and said, "Look at yourself."  And I did.  I said, "that's not me.  That couldn't be me. It's beautiful.  I'm beautiful."

Quietly he spoke: "I want you to remember.  I know it hurt to be rolled and pounded and patted, but had I just left you alone, you'd have dried up.  I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled.  I know it hurt and it was hot and disagreeable in the over, but if I hadn't put you there, you would have cracked.  I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn't done that, you never would have hardened.  You would not have had any color in your life.  If I hadn't put you back in that second over, you wouldn't have survived for long because the hardness would not have held.  Now you are a finished product.  Now you are what i had in mind when I first began with you."

The moral of this story is this:  God knows what He's doing for each of us.  He is the potter, and we are His clay.  He will mold us and make us and expose us to just enough pressures of just the right kinds that we may be made into flawless pieces of work to fulfill His good, pleasing and perfect will.

So when life seems hard, and you are being pounded and patted and pushed almost beyond endurance; when your world seems to be spinning out of control; when you feel like you are in a fiery furnace of trials; when life seems to "stink" this this:  Brew a cup of your favorite tea in your prettiest tea cup, sit down and have a little talk with the Potter.  (Author Unknown)

I am clay.  Sam is clay.  There is a plan, and over the course of our lives, it will take shape.  My friend, David's mom, frequently says "it's hard to understand the big plan" and "oh what I would give for a peek up His sleeve" and I couldn't agree more with her.  I guess we'll just have see this story as it unfolds.  I pray for the strength and courage to enjoy the ride.

And while on that ride, I just might make it my mission to create stylish plastic-rubber-wrap-around glasses for littles ones - they'll come in camo, pink polka dots and many, MANY more.

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