The M&M Story

Today M. asked me, "Mommy, do you love me when I get dressed myself, like I did this morning?" "Buddy, I love you ALL the time. I love you when you get dressed; I love you when you play with your toys; I love you when you play outside. I even love you when you get in trouble for hitting Briggs. I love you always and forever, no matter what." Max thoughtfully absorbed my response, took a minute and then piped up, "Mommy, I love you when you spank me and I love you when you tell me my time out is over. Mommy, I love you when you play with me and fix me something to drink. I love you when you help me pick up my toys." And we went back and forth with lots of "I love you when's," and I couldn't stop hugging and kissing my son all morning.

As I approach this first anniversary of Brian's diagnosis, I am amazed at what a year can be. I used to think at some point life would slow down a little; we would be able to take a deep breath and relax. Our first year of marriage, Brian and I directed two shows, started a new job, and rehabbed a kitchen. The next year I started grad school, and subsequent years brought babies, another new job, another new house, another rehab and then cancer. I guess for the Maynors, we will breath and relax in heaven, because it doesn't seem to slow down much on this earth.

Briggs is certainly coming into his own. Yesterday morning we stayed home from church because of dripping noses and hacking coughs. We were all on the floor playing with Rescue Heroes and puzzles when I noticed a strong smell coming from one of my children. "Okay, I smell poop. Which one of you has poop?" Briggs is still in diapers. Max does use the bathroom, but sometimes has trouble making it there in time, so it really was up for grabs. Briggs looked right at me and said, "Axies!" which is his pronunciation for Max and then continued with his playing. Max responded with, "No, Briggs. I don't have poop. You do," and giggled under his breath. I did everything not to laugh and, of course, I wanted to make sure I heard correctly, so I asked again. Same answer! Then a pause. And then a "Me, poop." Even at almost two, he's got it all figured out.

The other day we were outside (it was 77 degrees), and Max announced he had to use the bathroom. "Mommy, can I go pee in the grass?" he asked as he danced around holding a rake. "No, baby, you need to go inside and use the bathroom." "But before Daddy went to heaven, he said I could go pee in the grass." And how should I answer that?

I have a friend named Julie, and she's beautiful and funny and sassy, and I really like her. And I have learned that those who have suffered, get it and walk alongside you without having to ask or say a word. They just do it. Music has been a great ministry during these past months, and Julie gave me a song the other day that for now has earned a repeat on my CD player. The words are written by Christa Wells but sung by Natalie Grant. Until a week ago, I had no idea who these two people were. I'm not a huge fan of Christian music, maybe because most of what I have is from 1995, but she's got a cool voice, raspy and organic, and sings with passion and conviction. The lyrics remind me I'm not alone and that the grand plan is so much more than I could even begin to fathom in my limited, temporal mind. Held Two months is too little they let him go. They had no sudden healing To think that providence Would take a child from his mother While she prays, is appalling. Who told

We just returned from a great trip to sunny Southern California. M and B went on "ventures" with their Uncle Stephen and Aunt Nealy, played with friends on the beach, and drank "special milk" almost everyday from Starbucks. M climbed his first tree with his buddy Liam, and B and his buddy Noah enjoyed dried mango while visiting the Farmer's Market. I was most particularly struck with how amazing communities are. I had the privilege of visiting with a college friend who has faced similar struggles with cancer in his family. What an amazing testimony of support and love from his family and friends. People stopped by with gifts and love and encouragement. My friend's mother was such an example of grace. Here we were, visiting at a challenging time for *her* family, and she sat on the floor and played with *my* children. Never drawing attention to herself, the house always seemed in order and the children were happy. I witnessed a true servant and was humbl

I know this is a bit serious, and I should be writing about the witty things my children say, but I wrote this a couple nights ago and wanted to share it. I hope it is encouraging to you. My suffering seems so easy compared to my Savior’s. I remember repeatedly picturing Jesus in a manger, with itchy hay, and smelly animals breathing next to his sweet, newborn face. And then I see him watching his best friend deny him and another one betray him and then hanging on a cross for me and for Brian and for my boys and for all of you, His children. He suffered the dishonor of being born in a stable, with smelly animals, rather than a palace filled with gold, because He is God and is the only one with the power to save. He suffered the misunderstanding of family and friends, rather than support and encouragement and the faithfulness of a hometown, because He is God and is the only one with the power to save. He suffered the betrayal of a best friend, rather than loyalty and truthfulness,