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Welcome to the KingZoo and Funny Farm, where we learn to live, laugh, and love together. Here you'll find snippets of life in our zoo, parenting tips we've learned along the way, reflections on shining God's light in this world, passions in the realm of orphan care, and our journey as parents of a visually impaired child with sensory processing disorder. Have fun!

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Sunday School according to Victor

Each week after church I like to ask Victor about the day's Sunday School lesson. The answers are always very interesting.

V: Mom, you're going to have a son.
Me: I am? What will his name be?
V: Abraham.
Me: I think you got that backwards; Abraham was going to have a son and his name was Isaac but if this is a prophecy you'd better warn your father.
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Abraham took his wife, Sarah, to Sarah's house and we put glue on the coat and that was it.
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In Ninevah there was mean people. Jonah was really scared there. And there was grass. The fish gobbled Joshua up. He stayed in the fish for a long, long time and then he was all yucky. That was really funny. He was stuck in there. He was all grotesque and yucky. He was trying to come out but he can't come out.
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The TV told Noah to build an ark so Daddy took me to listen to the drums. I was so excited.
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Sunday, September 18, 2016

Diagnosis day

September 18, 2013. I sent the Good Doctor to the pediatric ophthalmologist with Victor that day. He called me on the way home,

"The doctor says Victor is completely blind."

I never did like that doctor but I'm not sure if it's him or his message.

But here we are, 3 years later.

That doctor didn't know the power of prayer because around 1 year of age he showed signs of light perception and a year later he held a book to his face and told me which one it was.

And then we learned that blindness was the least of his troubles.

So now we pray for breakthrough in behavioral issues. And while the day-in-and-day-out is wearying and looks like we've made no progress, we have.

When he chooses to to bang his foot rather than his head, we've made progress.

When he responds to someone's hello not with a yell but with a quiet and polite, "I really don't want to talk right now," we've made progress.

When he allows us to comfort him after a fall rather than hitting us and yelling, we've made progress.

When he says, "Yes, Mommy," and follows through with my request rather than defiance, we've made progress.

We are exceedingly thankful for the number of wonderful people who have come into our lives because of Victor. And on my good days, I'm thankful for the lessons I am learning through Victor's diagnosis. Love, grace, joy, patience, and compassion have all been cultivated in this journey as has empathy for others walking a similar journey. And if this is what it takes for me to become more like Jesus, then this is the path I will walk.

Happy Diagnosis Day, everyone!

Monday, September 12, 2016

Rest, support, remember, and praise

There's something wrong with American Christianity.

Well, lots of things, not the least of which is the word American set before Christian. But those are lots of posts for lots of other days.

One of the problems that I see a lot is that when a Christian in America receives a clear, God-given call to serve the vulnerable (whether through ministry to those caught in sex trafficking, through orphan care, meeting the needs of the homeless, or any number of ways) but then faces hardship, that person is told by other Christians that he got the call wrong. Or maybe she's doing something wrong. Because, the speaker implies (or states), God wouldn't call you to a task so far out of your comfort zone, something for which you find yourself crying out to Him and others for help; He wouldn't give you a task that brings you chaos and tears.

To which I say, "Find me a hero of the Bible who didn't struggle in his calling."

A few months ago, I received two messages from two friends within a few days of each other. Each of these friends is on the front lines of ministry. Each of them heard the call, and followed it, and now finds herself and her family in chaos. And each of them said that she is afraid to share this with her friends because she knows what the response will be, "Well, maybe you shouldn't have brought so much on yourself," or "I tried to tell you this would be too much for you," or "That's what you get for thinking you can save the world."

To which I say, "Jesus started His ministry with these words, 'The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because He has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.'" (Luke 4: 18 - 19) He then spent the next 3 years modeling this for His disciples and for us and later urged us to 'God and do likewise.'"

Never, ever did He promise us that by saying yes to Him our lives would be easy. Instead, following Him means that our lives will be messed up. And it's good.

But it doesn't ever make it easy.

This morning I was reading the story of Moses and the battle with the Amalekites in Exodus 17. Joshua and his army were fighting the Amalekites as Moses had ordered. As long as Moses' held his hands up, the army was winning; if he lowered his arms, the Israelites lost ground.

I've always wondered how they figured out that this was the key to their success. Trial and error, maybe? A direct word from God?

I don't know. I also don't know if their revelation was met with comments from the peanut gallery, "Moses, that's stupid. What makes you think our success in battle is connected to you? Did God really tell you to do that? I told you before you even went into this battle that there was no way you should be doing this. It's just too much work."

What I do know is that he had two friends, Aaron and Hur, who presumably offered no argument, no admonition to give up the fight, no conversation about whether or not he was in God's will. Instead, they simply brought Moses a stone to rest upon. Their role at this point was not to question or discuss, but to find a way for Moses to rest. And they were faithful to that task. And when Moses' arms got tired, they held them up. Again, no misguided lecture about a God who wouldn't give Moses more than he could handle; they simply supported his arms. I like to think that they even shared a few good stories or jokes with Moses because we all know that laughter is God's gift to us in tough times.

And when it was all over, they wrote it down so they would never forget how God led them to victory through Joshua's obedience, Moses' faithfulness, and the life-giving rest and support from Aaron and Hur.

But they still weren't finished. Next came an altar, again to remember, but this time to remember that when the Lord goes before us, when we give rest and support to those who are obedient and faithful, that battle belongs to the Lord. Think of the many times after that, as they sat around the campfire, that someone would say, "Remember that time when..." and they could share a smile and a few laughs together, remembering the obedience to the call, the power of the Lord going ahead, the rest and support offered by the faithful friends, and the Lord's victory.

It takes a village. And everyone is called to join in the mission.




Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Pretty School

Well, if you were looking for an update on Victor's first morning at pretty school, here it is...

He survived. And so did I (but barely). Team Victor was missing only his OT (and that was because we decided that we didn't need one more person in the room today).

Arrival was shaky. we decided to skip the putting the backpack on the hook part of the routine. Not happening.

And who was worried about whether or not he'd use the potty at preschool? (Me.) Within the first five minutes, everyone in the room knew that Victor was headed for the potty. Success. Publicly.

But it's not as if all of their eyes and ears weren't already on him because his entrance at the end of circle time was an entertaining one. There was going to be no Victor in that compliant circle-sitting group. And he let it be known by not just a little bit of yelling and head banging and floor rolling.

Free play found him throwing little colored glass beads (from the light table - no surprise that this is the first object that caught his eye) and swiping the whole basket of crayons right off the table (my apologies to the little girl from our church - and her parents - who saw the whole crayon episode and looked at me with horror). Oh, and sneaking a bit of play-doh down the hatch.

He told his TVI to shut up and when she told him that it hurts her heart when he says that, he whispered it. Maybe words can only hurt when they are spoken loudly?

Sensory and anxiety and frustration overload came at snack clean-up when he was a bit confused about where to put his cup (dish pan) and napkin (trash can). So, he and his behavioral specialist spent a few minutes in the cubbies (where Victor ended up) while Victor yelled and rolled and banged his head. Out in the main area, the rest of Team Victor decided that I would just take him home when he was done but after 7 minutes (yes, we counted), he sat up and nicely placed his things where they belonged and announced that he was going to join the rest of the children on the playground. So we did.

And there were some glimmers of hope.

After the throwing incident at the light table, Victor decided to play McDonald's with me. I was able to get him to play McDonald's with the other child and student teacher who were also there. The other little girl was a beautiful example of the graciousness of children; she didn't miss a beat and ordered herself some McDonald's chicken which Victor happily supplied to her.

He joined a few children at the housekeeping area. Of course he then picked up a pretend pot and banged it on the table. Then another child joined in. Who says Victor isn't a leader? They'll all be accomplished drummers by the end of the school year.

He voluntarily joined the line-up for pre-snack hand-washing, found an empty chair on his own, and sat down nicely for all of snack. At this point all of Team Victor was a bit misty-eyed.

And he had a lovely time on the playground.

On the way home, when there were a few tears shed (mine) he told me to calm down and take some deep breaths.

Funny, that's what I used to tell him in the NICU.

And tomorrow we get to do it all again.


Friday, August 19, 2016

Raising PKs

When you are raising the pastor's kids, life can be a bit stressful. Especially if your family's particular pastor is an extrovert as so many of them are. Everyone knows the pastor. Everyone knows the pastor's wife. Everyone knows the pastor's kids. You can't hide. The PKs are on display whether the pastor's wife likes it or not.

The Good Doctor's call to ministry coincided with the conception of our first child. I'm sure there's a spiritual or Freudian or Murphy's Law explanation but I'm just going to move on. Think of it as you wish. But the take-away here is that our first-born was a PK for the entirety of his life.

That first child had trouble speaking. He was a late speaker. Some told me it was because I taught him to sign. Maybe so. At least we could communicate. Once the speech finally came, he had a bit (okay, a lot) of trouble with the /tr/ blend. He could have substituted any number of letters for that troublesome sound but he chose /f/. This was okay when he pointed out the trees in the yard. It was okay when we stopped for a train to go by. It was even okay when he was in trouble. The real trouble, however, was that he loved trucks. And they were everywhere. And he wanted everyone to know.

"Look, Mom, there's a f*&%!"

"Yes, dear, not so loud, please."

"Mom, there's a fire f*&%!"

"Yes, dear. You don't have to tell everyone."

"Mom, a dump f*&%!"

At least Noah didn't take trucks on the ark so hopefully the subject didn't come up too much on church property. But it did.

Then there was that unfortunate incident during Wednesday night kids' clubs. The preschoolers were asked what they like to do with their families. Since the Good Doctor had just taught his boys to play poker, they were eager to share their good fortune with their leaders. Who had a good laugh among themselves about the Mennonite pastor's kids playing poker. So one of them made a side comment about strip poker to which one of my boys went off on a tangent about taking his coat off. It was too much for those leaders who decided that yes, we must be playing strip poker at the King house.

For the record, we were not and still aren't.

Children's time in front of the whole church can be risky for any parent; riskier yet for the mothers of PKs. It was Christmas time and of course they were talking about the blessed event. The woman leading the children's time that Sunday (who also happened to be my aunt), asked the kids to name the various characters in the story. Mariana raised her hand when the group was asked the name of Jesus' mother and was called on. I wasn't concerned. Who doesn't know the name of Jesus' mother? Especially a PK? Mariana's response? Sally.

The same child told the whole church that the Good Doctor was not Isaac's father as we all assumed. It went like this:

The Good Doctor was preaching about our identity in Christ and how we grow in Christlikeness. Isaac was just a newborn baby so he borrowed him from my arms and held him up asking, "Who does he look like?" That was an easy one. The congregation scored 100%. Then he asked the obvious question, "Why?" Again, the congregation was spot-on with their answer, "Because he's your son." "Yes," said the Good Doctor, "He looks like me because he's my son." At this very moment Mariana decided that her father had had too much of the spotlight so she called out from her seat (too fast for me to clap my hand over her mouth), "No he's not!"

We had a few years of peace, until the Good Doctor pastored a congregation that encouraged audience participation. That particular evening he read a Scripture passage that included the word circumcision. He rhetorically asked, "Everyone knows what circumcision is, right? Is there anyone here who doesn't know what it is?" That same Sally-is-Jesus'-mother-but-Daddy-is-not-Isaac's-father spouting child innocently raised her hand. I think it's okay for the pastor's daughter to not know what circumcision is at a young age. However, the next day her father did take her to McDonald's for a little health lesson. She was duly embarrassed.

And then the peaceful years continued. Until Victor.

Two weeks ago he moved up to his new class for the school year. Later that week I received a message from one of his teachers. It seems as if Victor had made his way up to the front of the room during circle time (I can't imagine my child not staying politely seated during circle time) so she decided to make him her helper for the lesson. They were talking about how God made us. The children were to name body parts and then say, "Thank you God for making (whatever was named)." So, she asked Victor to name a body part. He very quickly and seriously said, "My pee hole."

I'm told that a few of the older kids grinned. Thankfully, most were clueless. And the teacher quickly suggested, "How about your belly? Everybody touch your belly!"

Leave it to the pastor's kid to force all the parents to have a health lesson following Sunday School.





Sunday, July 31, 2016

Sweet 16!

Dear M,

Happy 16th birthday!

We are thrilled that we can celebrate such a momentous occasion with you but we also recognize that we have missed so many before. I'm sorry for that but oh, so thankful that you are in our home now.

As you've probably noticed in our hallway of pictures, I choose a Bible verse to pray over each child. Way back i April, when we first heard about you, I was thinking that it would take me a while to choose a passage for you; that I would have to get to low you a bit first. Then one morning I woke up around 3:30 in the morning and couldn't go back to sleep. When that happens, I choose a person or situation to pray for. As I prayed for you and your transition to our home, it came to me - Hebrews 12:2. The morning before my sleepless night, I was in a meeting where this verse was used in a devotional. When I came home, Pastor Susan had posted this same verse on Facebook with some of her thoughts. When a verse shows up more than once in a short period of time, I ask what God might be trying to tell me. Nothing came to me - until that sleepless morning. I came to realize that these verses (I have added verses 1 and 3) are meant for you and will have significance for you.

Hebrews 12: 1 - 3
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses,
let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles.
And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,
fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.
For the joy set before Him He endured the cross, scorning its shame,
and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinners,
so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

It is clear to me already that God is the author (as some versions translate it) and perfecter of your faith. I'm glad you have so many in your cloud of witnesses already and believe that you will find more and more people to support you in life and faith. Choose well. it will make a huge difference as you make decisions and choose a direction for your life.

I know that you also like Jeremiah 29:11 - 13: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. Many people know and love verse 11 but they forget that there is more: call on Him, pray to Him, listen to Him, seek Him - then you will find Him.

i hope you know how special you are to us already. We pray that this year will be one of good decisions, spiritual growth, and bonding with our family.

Love, Mom

Monday, July 25, 2016

Laughing at myself

Sometimes you just have to laugh. Even in church.

Many years ago, when I first interpreted for the Deaf at our church, there were mishaps aplenty. Thankfully, our friends were very patient and understanding. There was that time that I interpreted a whole foot washing service as sock washing and they didn't bother to bring it to my attention until the whole service was over. As soon as they told me, I knew what I had done, and the correct signs for both feet and socks. For me, (and maybe for them) it has forever changed the meaning of that sacred tradition. Just imagine Jesus on his hands and knees removing the socks from his sandaled and sockless disciples and washing them right there - dipping them in water, wringing them out, wringing them out a bit more, dipping them back in the water, and wringing them out. Rinse and repeat. Can't you just see 12 pairs of socks hanging over the bench they were sitting on for Passover? Or maybe pinned to a line along the side? And Peter, protesting, as Jesus removed his mismatched Argyle socks from his dirty, dusty, sandaled feet? It's okay, just imagine; God can handle it, He created our imaginations and the ability to laugh.

And then there's yesterday, when the Good Doctor asked me to help him with communion. I get this question a lot and I often cannot help. This time I was already sitting in my seat in church so I really couldn't use the have-to-wash-the-cat excuse or the I-have-nothing-to-wear explanation or the-baby-pooped-in-the-carseat-gotta-wash-it-right-now defense so I agreed.

You might think this is not a difficult task but for me, the most nerve-wracking part is that there is this one phrase that you have to repeat over and over and over again, in a very solemn and serious someone-has-died tone. You can't mess it up. You can't smile. You can't let them see you sweat. You have to get your volume just right, too. Too quiet and the poor recipient has no idea why you are offering them a plate of tiny, clear, plastic cups of grape juice or why there is a loaf of bread wrapped in a napkin in your hand. Too loud and you spoil the suspense for the next person in line.

You get one and only one shot with each person and since there are so many people, that's a lot of chances to mess up. And once I start to get anxious over the fact that I have been asked to do this yet again (comes as part of the pastor's wife contract: Do you hereby solemnly affirm that any time you are asked to help serve communion and cannot come up with a sufficient excuse, you will joyfully yet solemnly fulfill your duties with the utmost religiosity? right above Do you hereby solemnly affirm that you will have all of the exact same skills as your pastoral spouse so any time someone comes to you for counseling, advice, or church information, you will respond in the exact same way that he/she does? and right under Do you hereby solemnly affirm that you will never, ever let anyone know that your pastor spouse has faults and do you hereby solemnly affirm that you will agree with anyone who comes to you singing your spouse's praises for something he/she has done at church?), then any recollection of what I was told to say the last time I helped serve communion goes right out of my head. I can remember that it either has something to do with bread or cup, depending on what is in my hands, but that is the extent of my memory. Of course, if the Good Doctor decides to change things up a bit and give you a new line, that is really going to be a problem.

So I always ask for a refresher and yesterday he told me to say, "This is the blood of Jesus shed for your sin." That's was all fine and good for the first person. The second one came along and I repeated, "This is the blood of Jesus shed for your sin," only this time it came out, "This is the blood of Jesus shed for your skin."

I blame Andrew for all of those years of snake ownership in our home. We must have put shed and skin in the same sentence one too many times in those years.

Father, forgive me, for I cracked a smile.

Okay, I outright giggled.

I apologized, corrected my mistake, and moved on.

Now I was afraid of the bishop finding out and the possibility of excommunication so I was very careful with the next person, and the one after that, and the one after that...

But even so, it happened again.

Father, forgive me again, for I almost peed my pants. In church. During communion.

And believe it or not, since some of us are slow learners, it happened a third time.

There are no excuses that can cover that. I'm old? I have too many kids? We used to own a snake who shed her skin?  All sounds so lame when you try to put it on paper.

And to add insult to injury, the Good Doctor insisted that I have to share it with the cyber world because as he said, "It will set you free from the performance trap."

Might set you free from your job, too, dear husband, but just remember, it was your idea to confess. In fact, that was in your sermon yesterday, wasn't it? Confession, right? Yes, I think it was. See, I was listening (but truth be told, that's in the contract too. I do hereby solemnly affirm that I will always be in attendance during my spouse's sermons, sitting with him upfront, looking lovingly toward my spouse but not too lovingly as to be a distraction, nodding my head at all of the profound points, never criticizing my spouse's words, content, or clothing).

Forgive me, Father, for I keep forgetting that one.