Can a son ever give his mom a bad gift? I mean, well ok ruling out the completely absurd and grotesque, will a mom ever tell her son that the gift he gave her was a bad gift.

I've given my mom some horrendous gifts over the years. In the realms of impracticality, lets start with the painted gord I gave to her incidentally (I intended to keep it for myself) It was a project I did while I was in the 5th grade , Ms. Wortham's class. We painted them with different native american related symbols and then put some lacquer on them to give them a shiny finish. In the best of circumstances, a good mom would keep it on display for a week or so, then it would most likely find its way to a box, and in the end be placed in storage only to be thrown out at some future yard sale. This gord, that I so unprofessionally painted still sits on the living room box shelf and has for the last 14 years, more than half of my life. Maybe because it is inherently durable, but none the less 14 years. One thing I go for my mom recently (unintentionally) was a diorama style candle holder. The story behind that one is: I was driving down 'the ridge' one friday afternoon on my way to go backpacking with my brother, when a yard sale caught my eye. I pulled in suspecting that there might be one thing worth buying, being that it was the end of day. You know the point in a yardsale when you start to pack up everything leftover, getting ready to be donated to CARES, thats just about the time I pulled up. The ladies there was the good ole package-deal kind of yardsalers. But instead of adding things on and uping the price, it seemed like they just wanted me to take all there junk for next to nothing. So I looked around knowing that I better choose as few things as possible and be willing to take whatever they want to give away. So I found a table (that I still use today) and a blender then they started making the package deal larger, one things after another. Things like useless paper towel holders, cracked pots, random dishes, none of there offers real appealed to me until I saw a blue and white porcelain vase and saucer set and since I was free I decided to take it. Also there was a diorama candle holder that they stuck me with as I was leaving. I gave those last two items to my mom, unwrapped out the back of my car and she assumed they were early mothers day gifts, the diorama is still on display in the TV set. 

So today I made a porch swing for her. Only time will tell if my hypothesis is correct.

So can a boy give his mom a 'bad present', when it is given with even the slightest bit of thoughtfulness?

I think the answer is 'No!' it's not the present that is important. 

I think I'm stumbling across a very important life lesson, one that I hope I don't soon forget.

A present to a woman be it a mother, wife, daughter, or sister tells them first, that you love them. Secondly, that they were on your mind if only for a second when you procured that present for them. And I assume that in the optimistic outlook of they're mind that means the thought of them is often in your mind.(Because the thought of you is often on their mind, they don't choose for it to be there, it just is because they love you, ie. worried mothers, nagging girlfriends, pestering sisters they are thinking of you) Hence, they also are remember, not forgotten. Valued because they were made a priority. Cherished because you gave them a token that encapsulates all of that in a keep sake. 

So don't be surprised when those small things or actions never disappear or never forgotten.\

PS: Praise God too that somehow he cracked through the aimless thoughts of your mind in the moment that you remembered that special someone. He was able to love them through you :D

Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end.

There is and has always has been something deep down inside of me the hates goodbyes, ending whistles,  final conclusions, separations, and the like. How do you handle these things?

I once sat in the back of a car, the crickets filled the night air with sound. Senior prom night was everything I hoped it would be and now the icing on the cake with the girl of dreams. She moves in close to me, flashes a loving smile and I know what that mean, but I freeze. Thoughts fill my mind: This might be the last.., college, the future, the past, fears, uncertainties, every thought but the present. Anxiety grips me and doesn't let go. I shut down. 

I once stood in a shadowed room trying to catch my breath. The walls were closing in around me not as if they were going to trap me in but like they were all going to fall down and leaving me all alone. My vision was narrowing and I knew I wouldn't see happiness beyond the next moments. I knew this place had always to be so full with people and activity, but now it wasn't. I fought back the tears that I knew were coming. My whole body shook with anxiety. No! I wanted to scream. This can't be the last time I stand here! This is mine! My comfort zone! My identity is wrapped up in this place. No!

Another time: I hustle around my hut in the jungle packing my belongings frantically. So many things seem to say, "Take me!" or "You know you can't live without me." I know I have limited time and limited space. Each time I pass by my front door, I see their faces. They know better than me about what is happening. A rush of emotions washes over me. This is the end and it is time to leave. Logical thinking is quickly displaced by the emotional realities I am facing. My thoughts race: My identity is here. This is my house. I've learned the language, gained the people's trust, I've carried their sick and tended their wounds. I've lived along side them. I help on their farms. They're winning my heart. Isn't there more to this story? I look up and realize my bags are packed and I slowly cross the threshold as my heart begins to break. As my feet touched the dirt, I can hold nothing else in. If only my tears could say what I feel inside. I wish there was a time for this.

Life's doors weren't meant to be closed.

Memories are too strong and the heart, it seems to always long. 

Daily life and routine may move forward but the daydreams tend to always look backward. 

The places I go, the things I usually see, they have a way of making me, me.

I expected I would have done so much more, but now my experience leaves my feeling so poor.

Can't I say stop! and just step off the ride. or press pause on this movie and just close my eyes.

I fear it doesn't get any better, so lets do me a favor and not cut this tether.

You see I'm comfortable here, change and the future I can't see them so clear.

Who will be with me as I go, I can't imagine meeting the smallest changes alone.

Is it abandonment or lonesomeness I dread? Is this the reason anxiety fills my head?

I don't want this in my heart, this demanding and anger is tearing me apart.

Is there a way to meet the ending, and be content with a new beginning?

And just then....

My good Friend says, "Be anxious for nothing", and I the message so slowly receive.

How can I?! "But in everything by prayer", Good, that means my Friend will be there.

"with thanksgiving, let your request be made known to God", have I just been complaining about this path I'm on.

"and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding" Aww! Peace! That's what I have been missing.

"will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus" the protection I need and the name that frees us.

But I'm not even going through life changes right now. Some of my friends are though. so I guess by writing this I just hope to remind myself of how it feeling to see everything around you change. All the expectations for the future can be hard to handle, but they're better left surrender to God.

Getting back to it.

So I think I will start blogging again. Previously, my blogspot was used to post things about my life as a student missionary. Since that time, I have steadily accrued an average of 1 view a over the last year and that was me appeasing my curiosity. So I think this will provide me with an open, barely public forum to put my thoughts into words. I have quite a few thoughts, some that I estimate to be worth their weight in gold and others that couldn't tip the scales opposite a feather, but each one intimately important to me. They say character is a sum total of our thoughts and our actions or sum total of our plans and decisions, so by voicing the thoughts in a semi-organized way maybe the decisions and action might resemble consistency.